Baby & Bump (The This & That Series)

by Moss, Brooke

  To say I looked like hell would’ve been an understatement.

  “Nate, I’m pregnant.” The words came out an octave lower than my usual voice, and then bounced around the office like a ping-pong ball.

  Nate’s eyes went from my face, to my stomach, then back to my face, then down to my stomach again. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He sat frozen on the edge of his desk, with one hand over his mouth.

  I’m sure he meant to make me feel like he was contemplating my announcement. But I knew better. He was crapping his pants. Right there in his corner office, in his three hundred dollar slacks.

  Three minutes of painfully awkward silence passed. “Well, say something, for hell’s sake.”

  His face was as white as the stack of documents on his desk. “It’s… it’s not mine.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Oh? Is that so? How do you figure?”

  “Because we used a condom.” He wiped a line of sweat off of his upper lip. “I remember.”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks so hard they throbbed. I didn’t come to fight with Nate. I only came to do the right thing.

  “No, Nate. We didn’t,” I said with metered patience. “You asked if I had any, and when I said no, you announced that you’d be careful. But like always, Nate, you were sloppy.” Anger pressed down on me, tightening my skin.

  He bounced off of the edge of his desk. “I wasn’t sloppy! You were sloppy! How dare you blame this all on me!”

  I pointed my finger at him. “You came to my apartment for a booty call!”

  “Well you were the one who was trashed alone at home!” His face was turning purple.

  “You woke up the next morning and vomited in kitchen sink!”

  “You told me you were on the pill!”

  “No, I told you I wished I was on the pill!”

  He dragged his hands down his face. “Well, you—”

  “All right, stop!” I backed away from my ex husband. He was safer that way. “It was both of our faults. We both know it. We both caused this. Now we have to deal with it.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “Hilary and I are engaged now. The wedding is in Hawaii this August.”

  Sympathy washed over me, dampening my anger.

  I mean, Nate was a douche bag, there was no denying that. But, like I said, we’d both caused this, and he and Hilary had been temporarily broken up at the time. Nate hadn’t meant for this to happen. Neither of us had.

  “Listen,” I said. “I don’t need anything from you. I just felt like you needed to know. That’s it. I just wanted you to know. To give you the chance to deal with it in your own way, I guess.”

  “Oh, no.” Nate shook his head, and he straightened back up. “I’m not dealing with anything. This is on you, Lexie. Hilary cannot find out about this, do you understand me?”

  “Why would I tell her?” I snarled at him, all of my sympathy fizzling away. “I don’t even know the woman. The only thing I know about Hilary is that she has terrible judgment in men.”

  Nate’s nostrils flared. “You’re getting an abortion, right? You’re taking care of this mess, correct?”

  It felt like he’d punched me in the gut. I’d expected him to be a total ass, but to ask me to get rid of our baby? Unthinkable. “Yes. I’m taking care of this mess, Nate.”

  His eyes softened. “You’re not keeping it, are you?”

  “I…” I gulped. “This may be my only shot. I want to keep it.”

  He grimaced. “I won’t own up to it. If you tell anybody, I’ll lie.”

  I nearly laughed. Nate was so clueless. His reputation had been flushed down the toilet long before that drunken night. “There’s a whole series of daytime talk shows devoted to proving who baby daddies are. If I wanted to, I could call Maury Povitch and get a DNA test. But your rep is safe, Nate. This baby is mine. Mine alone.”

  He turned away from me, and rested his hands on his desk. “Then I guess we don’t have anything more to talk about, do we?”

  I shuddered at the memory of my ugly conversation with Nate. I didn’t want to think about that day ever again.

  “So who’s the blonde?” Candace’s voice shook me out of my thoughts.

  I looked at the wall of windows across the room, and shifted lower in my seat. I couldn’t run into Nate here. Not tonight. “I don’t know. Probably Hilary.”

  “I’ll take the filet. Medium. Thank you.” Candace said to the waiter, who was jotting down her order, while still staring at Marisol.

  When she stopped talking, his eyes flicked to me. “And for you, ma’am?”

  I wrapped my arms around my stomach self-consciously. Aw, hell. I’d become a ma’am overnight while Marisol was getting undressed inside our waiter’s mind. “I’ll take the crab soufflé and a pear salad, please.”

  He moved on to the next person and Candace leaned close to my ear. “So who’s Hilary?”

  I lowered in my seat another inch or two. If Nate walked past the glass wall to go to the restrooms, I was a sitting duck. There I would be, in all my pregnant glory.

  “Hilary is his fiancée. They’re getting married in Hawaii this summer.”

  Candace snorted, and slapped her hand down on the table. “Hey, Marisol.” When our gorgeous friend looked our way, she said, “Did you hear that good ol’ Nate The Great is taking the vows again?”

  “Oh for the love of all things holy.” Marisol offered us an exaggerated eye roll, and rested her head on Fletcher’s shoulder. My stomach pitched. “Is he marrying the girl with the nose ring?”

  I shook my head. “Um, no.”

  “Is it the one with the twin sister?” One of Candace’s eyebrows rose high on her face.

  Marisol leaned forward, but kept her arm across Fletcher’s lap. “Holy Hannah, is it your divorce lawyer?”

  Fletcher’s eyes met mine. “Who’s Nate?”

  “My ex husband.” I held his eye contact and didn’t look away.

  “He slept with his divorce attorney?” Fletcher’s frown deepened.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Marisol waggled a finger in his face. “He slept with Lexie’s divorce attorney.”

  “And their landlord.” Candace took a sip of her drink. “Don’t forget her.”

  I cringed. I’d forgotten about that one. Mother of all things beautiful, I’d procreated with such a bastard. Sweat pricked underneath my arms, and I shifted in my chair. Would it kill the waiter to crack a window, for Pete’s sake?

  “To Lexie’s taste in men!” Marisol held up her glass and laughed.

  Fletcher frowned. “Lexie, I had no idea…I’m so sorry.”

  Marisol nudged him. “Ugh. Don’t be such a downer. This is a party, remember?”

  “You’re making fun of your friend.” Fletcher scowled at Marisol. “Your pregnant friend, whose husband, by the sound of it, was a chronic cheater. It’s not nice, Marisol.”

  My throat tightened, and the baby shifted in my belly. Fletcher was standing up for me. I wanted to stand up on the table and dance, but refrained. That wasn’t how one stayed incognito in a glass paneled banquet room. Fletcher’s gaze left Marisol’s and he smiled, bringing those gorgeous eye crinkles back.

  Suddenly I had to use the bathroom. Bad.

  Candace’s eyes were wide. “Whoa. I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry, Lex. Are you all right?”

  Nodding, I pushed my chair back. “I’m fine. I just need to use the restroom.”

  Marisol pursed her lips and pouted for a few beats. “I think my boyfriend needs a drink. Waiter!”

  The young waiter popped up out of nowhere, just as I slipped out of the room. Slinking right up against the wall like some sort of knocked up cat burglar, I sidled my way towards the restrooms—praying that I wouldn’t run into Nate, or his…

  “Oh! Excuse me!”

  Too late.

  I’d walked headfirst into Hilary as she came out of the restroom, in all of her thin, blonde glory.

  �
�Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to duck past her.

  “Hey, wait.” She touched my arm. “Aren’t you Lexie?”

  I looked up and offered her a feeble smile. “Guilty.”

  “I thought so.” Hilary held out her hand. “We’ve never met formally, but I’m Hilary Paxton. Nate’s fiancée.”

  I took her hand and shook it. My heart was hammering inside of my chest so hard it was difficult to hear what she was saying. “It’s nice to meet you. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” She beamed. “And apparently I should be congratulating you, too.”

  My throat sealed shut. I had no words.

  And just when I thought that I was going to have to feign stomach problems to get out of the conversation, the door to the men’s room swung open, and Nate emerged.

  “Holy shit,” he hissed, stopping in his tracks right in front of us. His eyes were the size of serving plates, and they bounced between his fiancée and my swollen stomach.

  “Nate, don’t be rude.” Hilary swatted at his arm. “I was just telling Lexie congratulations. Did you know she was expecting?”

  Nate’s glare was positively lethal. He stared at me like I was a bug that needed to be squashed. Hard. “Nope. Congratulations, Lex.”

  “Thanks.” I was going to throw up. Now I was sure of it.

  “Better you than me,” Hilary laughed, pressing a hand to her ridiculously flat middle. “I admire you. Pregnancy and motherhood. Whew! What a challenge. Good job.”

  “That’s right, honey.” Nate laughed, but no humor met his eyes. He looked repulsed by me. The feeling was mutual. “Come on, we’ve got to go. Everyone’s waiting.”

  “Right,” Hilary chirped. “Well, it was lovely to meet you, Lexie.”

  “You, too,” I said.

  “Goodbye now.” Nate practically pushed his fiancé in the opposite direction.

  I watched as they stalked away, and used the back of my hand to wipe away some of the sweat that was now covering, well, all of my skin.

  This was a mistake. I couldn’t do this. Seeing Marisol and Fletcher together, then seeing Nate with his fiancée, I felt like I’d been completely drained of all my energy. I didn’t care about my pear salad, or even about Marisol’s birthday anymore. I wanted to go home. I wanted my sweats. I wanted Chinese takeout. And I wanted the solitude of my little apartment. Stat.

  Charging past the private room, I made a beeline for the exit, gasping in relief when I went through the door and the cool night air hit my skin. I already felt better.

  “Where are you going?”

  I heard the click, click, click of heels following me across the parking lot, and when I turned, I was surprised to see Candace and Marisol following me.

  “What the hell?” Marisol held out her hands. “You’re ditching me on my birthday?”

  Candace bit her lip. “I saw Nate coming out of the bathroom. You ran into him, didn’t you?”

  I nodded, unexpected tears clogging my throat.

  “Oh, honey.” Marisol put an arm around my shoulder. “I didn’t know you still cared about the bastard.”

  “You know, I agree. This is weird.” Candace wrapped herself around my other shoulder.

  I felt dejected. And empty. And just so damn tired of keeping everything inside. The secret was starting to rot inside of me. Seeing Nate—and the repulsed way he looked at me—only aggravated my condition.

  Taking a breath, I moved out from under their arms. “Guys, I have to tell you something.”

  “Wait, I have something to tell you guys, too!” Marisol blurted.

  Candace nudged her. “Shut up. Lex is trying to speak.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. It was so like Marisol to interrupt. “Go ahead.”

  Marisol clapped her hands excitedly. “I think tonight’s the night,” She announced with a squeal. “Finally. Who waits this long for sex?”

  My tears started again, and I covered my face. This night just got better and better.

  Candace scoffed. “Oh, good Lord, Mar. Of course tonight is the night. It’s your birthday. I’m sure Fletcher’s going to give you a birthday present to remember.”

  I hiccupped.

  “Oh, geez,” Candace rubbed my arm. “Okay. Lexie’s turn. Spill it. What do you want to tell us?”

  My voice came out muffled from behind my hands. “I want to tell you who the baby’s dad is.”

  And the floor was mine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Well, as it turned out, Marisol’s birthday did turn out to be a good night.

  For me, at least.

  When I’d gone into work that Monday morning, she’d come in with a scowl splayed across her pretty face and Spanish curse words spewing out of her mouth. Apparently Martha had gotten sick at her sleepover on Saturday night, so Fletcher cut the night short. There was no birthday present to remember for Marisol, unless she considered his gift of silver bangle bracelets the right present. But she didn’t. In fact, she’d called his gift a poorly disguised cop out.

  I would have treasured silver bangle bracelets from Fletcher like the Holy Grail, but whatever.

  The news that he’d rejected her—even by default—was enough to lift my spirits as I settled into the last stretch of my pregnancy. And thank goodness I was almost done, because I felt like a moose.

  For a while, I’d looked pretty cute, if I did say so myself. Through the miracle of pregnancy, I’d finally gotten the boobs I’d prayed for as a tween. My bra cups runneth over, and every shirt I owned finally stretched gloriously across the front. (I’d always wanted that to happen.) And my stomach had taken on that darling little round quality that maternity models always had, just barely tenting their shirts, and accentuating how lovely and lean their arms and legs appeared.

  But that phase ended as quickly as it had begun.

  My face had started to puff up. Every day when I woke up and looked in the mirror, it seemed my lips or cheeks were fuller. If I kept going at the rate I was going, I was going to wind up looking like I was made out of pizza dough by the time I delivered.

  But the swelling didn’t stop there. Suddenly, my waif-like legs were becoming puckered and paunchy. I could press my finger into my white flesh, and the divot would stay for a good twenty seconds before my skin smoothed out. And my feet after work? Forget about it. Large, block-like squares of modeling clay that made lacing a sneaker almost impossible? Ugh. I was destined to wear flip-flops for the next two months. Fletcher’s nurses said it was typical for me to swell during the last trimester, especially considering how many hours I spent on my feet. They said after a relatively drama-free pregnancy, it was bound to happen.

  “Good afternoon, Lexie, how are you this week?”

  The receptionist at Fletcher’s office grinned at me from her perch behind the counter. Since I was in my third trimester, I’d started coming to my check ups with the nurse more often, and the staff knew me by name.

  “Fine, thank you.” I tapped a silent tune out on the counter as she logged onto her computer. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was feeling a bit giddy about my appointment.

  I mean, sure. I was puffier than the Stay Pufft marshmallow man, but the nurse wanted me to see Fletcher for a non-stress test today. Hooray!

  Who would have thought that a test brought on by hypertension and edema could be so thrilling?

  “Okay, I’ve got you all checked in,” she told me brightly. “Dr. Javornik will call you back shortly.”

  “Thanks. Uh, what?” My heart stuttered.

  The receptionist offered me a tilt of her head. I’m sure it was meant to be reassuring, but it kind of made me want to deck her. “Dr. Haybee marked all of your appointments until delivery to be switched to Dr. Javornik’s caseload. I assumed he’d discussed that with you.”

  My face went beet red. I could tell because I could see my reflection in the mirror hanging on one of the walls. (Seriously, who put those in a gynecological office? What giant pregnant lady wants to look at he
r expansive figure in a gilded mirror?) “Um, no. He never told me. Can I… can I ask why?”

  “Hmmm.” The receptionist pressed a few buttons. “It doesn’t say. I would imagine it’s because Dr. Haybee’s caseload is pretty heavy right now.”

  My mouth dropped open. Fletcher had broken up with me.

  I mean, okay. I was fully aware that he and I were nothing, but in a sense, considering that this is the only way we got to see each other anymore, he’d dumped me.

  Another head tilt from the receptionist. “I can see you’re upset. And that’s understandable. It’s easy to get attached to your obstetrician over the course of your pregnancy.”

  I glared down at my hands. Lady, you have no idea.

  “But I promise you,” she said with a smile. “Dr. Javornik is wonderful. She’s been in obstetrics for over thirty years, and she’s quite popular with our first time moms. She’s very gentle and reassuring. And she practices a lot of holistic medicine.”

  “I don’t care how reassuring she is.” I sounded like a pouty teenager, but I couldn’t stop myself. My skin was tight, and my gut ached. My hoo-haw felt like a brick, and my feet were too fat to wear shoes. Plus, my heart had throbbed every single night since sharing that kiss with Fletcher. All I had to look forward to were my OB appointments, and now those were taken away from me.

  I was a freight train, building up speed, one wrong comment from a total meltdown. “I don’t give a flying monkey’s ass about her holistic medicine. Do you hear me?”

  One of the receptionist’s eyebrows arched. “Oh-kay.” She pressed a few buttons on the keyboard, frowned at the screen, then pressed a few more. “Listen, Lexie. It seems as though Dr. Haybee is booked solid for the next several weeks, and you really should have your stress test today.”

  I breathed through my nose. I was pretty sure my face looked like an overripe tomato. “Stress test. Got it.”

  She clicked a few more keys, refusing to look at me. “Let’s get you in with Dr. Javornik for the test today, and then I’ll speak to Dr. Haybee about what he wants to do with the rest of your appointments.” I must have grimaced, because she added, “And don’t worry. Our doctors do deliveries based on their on-call schedules. So depending on when you go into labor, there’s still a good chance Dr. Haybee will be the one to deliver your baby.”