The doctor listened intently, nodding as I spoke. When I finished, she placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The first step is to take a pregnancy test. Whatever the result, we’ll figure out the next steps together,” she said, her voice imbued with a calm certainty that helped steady my fraying nerves.
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. The possibility of being pregnant hadn’t even crossed my mind until now, and the reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. The doctor left the room to give me some privacy, and I sat there in the paper gown, feeling more vulnerable than I ever had before.
Here I was, having meticulously laid out a plan for my life, ticking off each milestone with precision. Buy the house, fix it up with Max, a small wedding once it feels like home, then start trying for a family. Everything was supposed to happen in a certain order, a sequence I had convinced myself was the right path.
And yet, as I sat there, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the surprise. Pregnancy was the furthest thing from my mind, a distant “next step” that suddenly felt like it might be thrust upon me without warning. The concept of motherhood wasn’t something I was opposed to. It was the timing and the sheer surprise of it all that threw me.
I had envisioned a certain timeline for these milestones, a way to ensure everything was perfect and Max and I were ready. But life had its own plans, and the realization left me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. It was a reminder of life’s unpredictability, a lesson in the futility of trying to control every aspect of our existence. How would Max react? Were we ready for this? Could we handle the accelerated timeline fate seemed to be pushing us toward?
As the doctor returned, her expression unreadable, I took a deep breath, ready to face whatever news she had for me.
* * *
When I walked through the door of my parents’ house, my mother was there, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the conversation I dreaded having. Her keen eyes missed nothing, and she immediately sensed the storm of emotions brewing within me.
“Isabella, what’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice gentle yet probing as she guided me to sit beside her on the plush sofa that faced the panoramic windows overlooking Gramercy Park.
The words tumbled out with a chuckle before I could stop them. “Mom, I’m pregnant.” My voice was a mix of fear and anticipation, bracing for her disappointment or judgment, especially since Max and I weren’t even engaged.
Her reaction was nothing like I expected. She chuckled softly, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and pride. “Isabella, you’re not sixteen. Did you think I was going to scold you?” she asked.
I raised my eyebrows at her. “I mean, kind of. We’re not even engaged, Mom,” I said, leaning back into the sofa.
“Isabella, do you want to be a mother? Do you want that right now?” she asked.
“I actually told Max the other day that if I could’ve planned it perfectly, I would’ve bought the brownstone, fixed it up, gotten married, and pregnant all in the same day,” I admitted.
She laughed. “Okay, sweetheart, this seems right in line with what you wanted, is it not? Who cares if you and Max aren’t engaged? This is your life, your journey, your happiness. Don’t let outdated societal norms dictate how you feel about this wonderful news.”
Her words washed over me, a soothing salve to the turmoil I felt. My mother, a world-renowned sex therapist, had spent her career challenging societal norms and advocating for personal freedom in matters of sex and relationships. Her support at this moment was unwavering, and my belief in the right to choose one’s own path was clear.
“If you strip away everyone else’s expectations, Iz, would you be happy about this?” she asked, her gaze locking onto mine, searching for the truth beneath the layers of societal conditioning.
Her question pierced through the fog of my uncertainties, forcing me to confront what I truly felt, absent the weight of expectation. Would I be happy? The answer came from a place deep within, a resounding yes that filled me with a sense of clarity and purpose. Yes, the timing was unexpected, but the more I allowed myself to feel without the shadow of “shoulds” and “supposed tos,” the more I realized how much I wanted this—how much I wanted a family with Max.
My mother’s smile widened, my eyes sparkling with unshed tears as she reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “Then that’s all that matters, Izzy. This baby is a blessing, a new chapter in your incredible story. And you have my full support, every step of the way.”
Her acceptance and encouragement felt like a balm to my soul, the fears and doubts that had clouded my mind beginning to dissipate. In their place, excitement and anticipation bloomed, the possibilities of what lay ahead filling me with a newfound sense of joy.
“We’ll navigate this together,” she continued, her voice firm yet tender. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. You have a family, a partner who loves you, and now, a little one on the way. There’s nothing more beautiful than that.”
As we sat together, the sun dipping below the horizon, the sense of peace that enveloped me was profound. My mother’s words had given me the strength to embrace my future with open arms, free from the constraints of societal expectations. This wasn’t about following a prescribed order of milestones. It was about carving out my own path, one filled with love, laughter, and now, a new life. And in that moment, I knew everything was going to be just fine.
THIRTY-THREE
MAX
The morning air was crisp as I made my way to the brownstone, a sense of anticipation thrumming through me. Isabella’s text had been a simple one, asking if I planned to come over to work on the house today. Of course, I did.
The messy stage of drywall awaited; sections of walls needed to be completely redone and others required a bit of patching. It was tedious work, but necessary, and I was eager to get started. More than that, I was excited to see Izzy again. She’d been lying low the past few days, presumably shaking off the tail end of what I had suspected was the flu. I hoped she was feeling better.
As I approached the house, the tangible progress we’d made filled me with a deep sense of pride and excitement for our future. The new electricity and plumbing were in, a significant milestone that brought the old building back to life and made our dreams for it seem all the more attainable. Some walls were still missing, a stark reminder of how much work lay ahead, but the floors had been beautifully refinished, now protected under layers of paper to shield them from the chaos of renovation.
Stepping through the double foyer, the potential of the space tugged at something in my gut. The downstairs area, which would eventually become a blend of living and entertainment spaces, was a canvas waiting for our touch. Light streamed through the dust-covered windows, illuminating the raw beauty of the exposed brick and the smooth expanse of the hardwood floors. Despite the disarray, the essence of what the house could become was palpable—a place filled with warmth, laughter, and shared memories we had yet to make.
I set down my tools and took a moment to envision the future. The living room, with its high ceilings and large windows, would be the heart of the home, a cozy space where we could unwind after long days. The adjoining dining area, currently nothing more than outlined by chalk lines on the floor, would one day host dinners with friends and family, the air rich with the aroma of home-cooked meals and the sound of animated conversations.
I smiled at the sound of Isabella’s voice filtering down from upstairs. She was humming to herself in one of the rooms on the second level. Moments like this gave me little glimpses into what our future was going to look like. Isabella could overthink and overanalyze, but I had known since one of our very first conversations.
