Meant for Me (Take Me Now)

by Sullivan, Faith

  “Ben, you can’t reason with Lauren when it comes to dealing with Ryan. She’s too unpredictable. She’ll only negotiate with someone who has something on her. Ryan might be a mess, but she’ll never admit it. His reputation in the community is more important to her than getting him the help he needs.” I plead my case, hoping Ben won’t let me down. “You have to either get Ryan to go after his stepsister or scare Lauren into thinking that you’re going to reveal the truth about Ryan’s sexuality to the world. I’m afraid those are our only options.”

  “I’ll think about it, all right?” Ben shifts into drive, turning the truck back onto the road. Apparently he’s had enough of our conversation.

  “I’ll need an answer soon. The sooner—either you or Ryan approach Lauren—the better.” I’m firm, probably firmer than I should be. But Ivy’s life may hang in the balance.

  If Lauren insists on Ivy’s involvement with the script going forward, it may very well kill her. And I’m not going to stand by and let that happen. Lauren’s a heartless bitch who left Ivy bleeding in my arms—not once, but twice. She needs to be taken down. Eric’s too busy watching over Ivy and running his business. So it’s up to me to do everything in my power to remove the target the Prices have on Ivy’s back—even if I have to get my hands dirty to do it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ivy

  “Are you ready?” Dr. P. asks, holding the ultrasound wand between my legs.

  “Yes,” I respond shakily as Eric grips my hand even tighter.

  I’ve been waiting for this all week, but now that it’s here, I’m dreading what Dr. Patel is going to find. I was hoping that he’d squirt some gel onto my belly and examine the baby though my stomach, but he wanted to get a more detailed look with the transvaginal model. I didn’t enjoy it the first time around, but I’m just going to have to grit my teeth and get through it somehow. Discomfort be damned.

  “Breathe for me, Ivy. Relax,” Dr. P. says, his eyes fixed on the monitor. “That’s it.”

  “Are you okay?” Eric whispers down to me.

  Not really, but I don’t want to spook him.

  “Uh huh,” I respond, forcing a smile.

  Dr. Patel wheels his chair over to the screen, turning up the volume. Soon, a gentle thud, thud, thud starts filling the room. “Bingo! There it is!” he exclaims.

  “Is that—?” Eric starts, leaning forward.

  “Your baby’s heartbeat? It sure is.” Dr. P. grins up proudly at us.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” Eric asks, a look of sheer wonder on his face.

  “It’s too early to tell,” Dr. P. chuckles. “But it’s a nice, steady beat. Your baby sounds healthy and strong.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I murmur as Eric bends over to kiss my forehead.

  “That’s our baby, Ivy,” Eric says, pointing at the screen. “Can you believe it?”

  It’s a special moment, and I feel myself getting emotional. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but I can’t help it. We almost lost this baby twice already. But Dr. P. just said it’s healthy and strong. I couldn’t be more relieved.

  “So everything looks fine, Doc?” I ask as he zooms in on a particular area.

  He’s quiet as he studies the image, repositioning the wand at a different angle.

  “What is it, Dr. P.?” Eric implores, observing his every move.

  “Jeanette, can you ask Dr. Kramer to come in here, please?” Dr. P. requests of the nurse assisting him.

  She quickly leaves the room and returns almost instantly with another doctor.

  Eric starts fidgeting beside me as I hold my breath.

  “What’s up, Amir?” he asks, striding into the room.

  “Can you take a look at this for me, Peter?” Dr. P. inquires, still not looking at either one of us.

  Dr. Kramer studies the image carefully. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Amir.”

  “I know. That’s why I called you in here,” Dr. P. continues. “I wanted to make sure.”

  “Yes, I read through your notes last night after our consultation. Your initial diagnosis appears to be on target, but it’s such a unique case.” Dr. Kramer stares at the image, mystified.

  “So it’s a placental abruption?” I don’t bother with any formalities instead I jump right into their conversation.

  “Thank you, Peter.” Dr. P. says as the other doctor gives me a weak smile before leaving the room.

  “What the hell is going on?” Eric demands, dropping my hand as he approaches the doctor.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wanted my colleague to confirm my suspicions. I don’t like to treat these kinds of cases lightly.” He pauses, removing the wand from inside of me. “Unfortunately, an ultrasound usually can’t confirm a placental abruption because most of the time they’re too small. But it appears as if, somehow, a portion of your placenta has already detached, but not all the way. See this line here? It’s hanging, suspended in the amniotic fluid. The initial separation is what caused the bleeding the first time. As the baby grows and begins to move, the placenta doesn’t remain stationary. I believe the second time it almost ruptured but didn’t. It’s still attached, but only by a thread. If it breaks off completely, it will put you and the baby at great risk.”

  “But will it break off?” I grab the sides of the exam table, willing my hands to remain steady.

  “In all likelihood, yes. There is a slight possibility that the placenta will heal itself and eventually be able to slough off that portion like a scab, or it might remain attached throughout the pregnancy, but the chances of either of those scenarios aren’t very good.” His eyes are sad when they meet mine, like he’s failed me somehow.

  “What course of action do you recommend?” Eric asks, not wasting any time.

  “We could take the overly cautious route and abort the pregnancy before the baby gets any bigger. But I’m hesitant to do that, and I’ll tell you why.” Dr. P. scoots his chair closer, resting his elbows on his knees. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong. It’s not in distress. Ivy’s bleeding has stopped. She made it through the week. Those are all encouraging signs not to give up just yet.”

  “But if that flap rips off, that’s it?” Eric questions.

  “That I can’t tell you,” Dr. P. responds. “And that’s the frustrating part. If the baby continues to grow at a normal rate, then it means that the placenta is providing it with the nutrients it needs. There’s no hole, so to speak. But with growth comes increased movement as the available space in the womb gets more and more restricted. The baby could inadvertently rip off the flap and severely damage the placenta. If we make it to twenty-two weeks, I can do an emergency C-section, but if we don’t and it ruptures, we could be endangering both of their lives. It’s a tough call.”

  “What causes something like this to happen?” I inquire, staring mournfully at the monitor.

  “There are a variety of factors—smoking, drinking, drug use by the mother. Physical trauma, high blood pressure, and so forth,” Dr. P. rattles off.

  “What about stress?” Eric questions.

  “As the sole reason? No, but it doesn’t help matters,” Dr. P. admits, removing the latex gloves from his hands.

  Eric sighs in relief, but he’s letting me off the hook too easily. He’s forgetting about the night I went out drinking with Sophie. The night I called him drunk, ranting about Cassidy’s shirt. It was not even twenty-four hours after we’d had sex, the critical time in a woman’s body right after conception. There’s no way that Dr. P. can tell me for sure, but this could very well be my fault, not Lauren’s.

  “I wouldn’t advise making any rash decisions. Mother and child are stable for now. Think it over and get back to me. Either way, I’m here for you. I’ve handled many high-risk pregnancies before. Nothing quite like this, but I assure you I’ll keep an eye on things,” Dr. P. says, helping me lift my legs out of the stirrups. “The minute you see any bleeding, you call me. The minute you feel any pain, you call me. Do
not leave the area for the remainder of the pregnancy. Stay close to home. I know the particulars of your case, and I’m usually here or at the hospital. I’d hate for you to end up in an out-of-town emergency room wasting valuable time bringing them up to speed.”

  “Understood, Dr. P. Do I still need to stay in bed?” I try to remain upbeat as the frown on Eric’s face deepens.

  “The less movement, the better. I’m going to have the receptionist set you up with a schedule of weekly appointments. Things can change quickly and I want to monitor you closely. If that’s what you decide to do,” Dr. P. remarks, writing on my chart before handing it to the nurse.

  “And what if we don’t?” Eric asks, confirming my worst fear.

  “Then I would recommend moving ahead with the termination as soon as possible. The larger the fetus grows, the more difficult it is to remove.” Dr. P. isn’t taking sides, but I can tell abortions are a part of the job he doesn’t enjoy.

  “Thank you, Dr. P. We’ll be in touch.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it warmly before moving on to Eric.

  “Remember, if you need me, call me,” Dr. P. admonishes before leaving the room.

  “You can get dressed now,” the nurse says before following him out the door to give us some privacy.

  “Can you hand me my top?” I ask Eric, not wanting to start an argument until we get out of here.

  Eric immediately starts in on me. “Ivy, I think we should schedule that procedure before we leave.”

  “Eric, didn’t you hear the man? He said to take some time and think it over. We don’t have to jump to any rash decisions,” I respond, sticking my head through the collar before hopping down off the exam table.

  “I’m not playing Russian roulette with your life,” he insists, bending down to help me, but I swat him away.

  “You’re not,” I reply, getting angry. “Everything’s fine. For now, the baby’s fine.”

  “Yeah, for now,” he huffs.

  “We’re not having this discussion here, okay?” I slip a foot into one of my Ugg boots, holding on to his arm as I pull it on.

  “But we are having it.” He’s determined to get the last word, so I let him. He may think he’s won the battle, but no way in hell is he winning the war. He can badger me all he wants. Unless the placenta ruptures, I’m going to hold on to this baby for as long as I possibly can. I owe it to the kid after starting it off on such a bad note. I don’t think I’ll drink alcohol again for the rest of my life, as long as this baby survives.

  “Please don’t turn this into a day I’d rather forget.” I reach for his hand, placing it between mine. “Eric, we just saw our baby for the first time and heard its heartbeat. It was such a magical moment. Nothing should ruin that for us.”

  He gazes deeply into my eyes before raising his head to look out the window. It’s like he’s trying to decide what to do. He’s conflicted, but I know what I want, and I’m not going to deviate from it. He’s just going to have to trust me.

  “Let’s go home, okay?” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. He shaved this morning and his skin is soft. I let my lips linger, thinking back to the day I shaved him. I’d readily give him anything, but not this.

  We created this baby together, and we’re going to see it through to the end—whenever that may be.

  Chapter Twenty

  Eric

  I was planning on driving Ivy out to the Hideaway Cliffs after her doctor’s appointment, but Dr. P. axed that idea.

  I thought it’d be the perfect way to celebrate hearing our baby's heartbeat for the first time. I was hoping for the best, but the news we received isn’t good. Ivy could die at any time. And I’m not about to sit back on my heels and wait for that to happen. I need to take action. Sometimes even the best intentions require a change in plan.

  My mom advised me to take my time and make my proposal to Ivy special. But that was before. Things are different now. We don’t know how much time we have left together. It could be decades. It could be days.

  I have my grandmother’s ring in my pocket. I almost whipped it out in the exam room but thought better of it. I’ve been carrying it around with me since I boarded the plane to L.A. I’ve been waiting for just the right moment, but it just hasn’t presented itself. I’m so ready to pull the trigger and make her my wife that I almost didn’t care that we were surrounded by posters depicting the proper way to conduct a breast self-exam.

  I glance over at Ivy, and she’s staring absently through the truck window at the snow flurries filling the air. Her hands are on her belly. I noticed she’s been doing this more and more, as if to protect the life growing inside her that’s threatening to extinguish her own.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, and she looks over at me, a smile forming in the corners of her mouth.

  “Actually, I’m starving,” she proclaims, causing me to chuckle.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re getting your appetite back.” I exit the parking lot and merge into traffic. “Why don’t we get some McDonald’s and enjoy the first snowfall together?”

  “You had me at McDonald’s,” she jokes.

  It’s just down the block, so it’s not long before we’re at the drive-thru. I don’t even have to ask what she wants. I already know. Not a big fan of the cafeteria meal plan, she told me this place was her addiction in college. She grew up on Happy Meals since her mother was usually too lazy or too loaded to cook. I learned early on in our relationship that fast food is a source of comfort for her. I don’t know how she’s not three hundred pounds after eating so much of it, but I’m willing to grant her this one indulgence. Even if she can’t cook worth a damn, she sure knows how to feed my hunger in ways that are a lot more satisfying.

  “Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our new chocolate chip frappé today?” the automated voice regurgitates through the speaker. I give Ivy a tortured look and she starts to laugh. We never want what they want us to try.

  “No thanks,” I reply as the snow begins to accumulate on the side-view mirror.

  A fully human voice crackles on the other end. “How can I help you?”

  “I’d like two number one Extra Value Meals,” I reply, already anticipating the next question.

  “What size?”

  “Medium.”

  “And what would you like to drink?”

  “Two chocolate shakes.”

  “Will that be all?”

  “Yep.”

  “Your total is $12.06. First window, please.”

  I reach into my back pocket for my wallet before turning the corner. I only have a few crumpled ones. I’ll have to use my credit card. I hate to charge little things like this because they tend to add up in hurry, but I used all my cash for the $100 co-pay on Ivy’s office visit. In my head, I rapidly do the math. If the baby makes it to twenty-two weeks, that’s an additional $1,400 I’m going to have to come up with for the weekly doctor visits. Thank God she finally reached the deductible on her insurance plan and I didn’t have to pay for today’s ultrasound. The fall attractions at the garden center were a success, but I still have to make payments on the loan, plus utilities, groceries, gas, and so on. Things are going to be tough until spring. We’ll just have to hold on and tighten our belts. It sucks having to live on such a strict budget, but there’s no other way with all these added medical bills. I try to ignore the dollar signs racking up in my head as I hand over my credit card to pay for the food.

  Ivy’s taking it all in, but she’s not saying anything. She knows money’s tight. She hates being reminded that she can’t contribute, but I don’t mind providing for her. I just wish I had more to offer except a mountain of debt and a cabin without central heat. She’s going to be spending a lot of time inside. I’ll have to look into getting some space heaters for the bedroom. The fireplace downstairs isn’t going to cut it.

  I hand Ivy the two shakes to keep her occupied as I slide something into the bottom of the bag while it’s on my lap. She’s sticking the
straws through the lids as I pull into the first available parking spot and keep the engine running. It’s too cold not to. I reach for my drink and place it between my legs as she starts opening the bag, propping the containers of fries on the dash. The only thing to look at is the used car dealership across the street, so I don’t care if the windshield gets covered with snow. It’s kind of depressing actually.

  I wait as she passes me my Big Mac and rummages through the bag for her own. Until she gasps, drawing out a tiny black box. “Eric, what is this?”

  It’s definitely not how I envisioned it happening, but if I can’t drive her out to the Hideaway Cliffs then I’m not about to wait a second longer.

  “Open it,” I urge as I watch a kaleidoscope of emotions flash across her face—shock, relief, fear, joy, and everything in between.

  She snaps back the lid, and my grandmother’s ring sparkles up at her.

  “Oh, Eric,” she whispers, breathless.

  Reaching for her mittened hand, I slowly pull it off. Bringing her hand to my lips, I kiss it, holding it between my own. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She hesitates, lowering her eyes, and I know I really botched this. I didn’t plan a big, flowery speech. I took her to the least romantic spot on earth. I didn’t tell her the story behind the ring. I just rushed it, and now I can’t take the moment back. This is going to be how I proposed to Ivy—in my junky old truck, freezing our asses off, in a McDonald’s parking lot. Real classy move, Young. Of course she’s going to hesitate. Who wouldn’t?

  “Eric, you know I’d like that more than anything in the world…” She pauses.

  “But?” I provide the word she doesn’t say.

  “But I think we have a lot we need to discuss before I can say yes.” She places the ring next to our fries, not even taking it out of the box.