A thousand, but none I can articulate right now. "Not yet. I need to process."
"Of course. My nurse will give you some prenatal vitamin samples and schedule a follow-up appointment for next week. In the meantime, if you have any questions or concerns, don't hesitate to call." He stands, extending his hand again. "And Wren? Whatever you decide, it's your choice. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
I shake his hand, grateful for his kindness despite the circumstances. "Thank you, Dr. Walker."
"Reed," he corrects with a small smile. "And you're welcome."
The nurse gives me the promised vitamins, schedules my next appointment, and sends me on my way with a smile. I walk out of the office as I disassociate from reality. Everything looks a little off as I try to come to terms with what just happened.
Pregnant.
I'm freakingpregnantwith Kasen James's baby.
There’s a part of him inside meright now.How did I let this happen?
I'm so distracted that I nearly collide with someone in the parking garage as I walk toward my car.
"Sorry, I wasn't—Mom?" I blink in surprise, finding myself face to face with Margot Callan, her sleek gray pixie and designer glasses unmistakable even in the gloomy light in here.
"Wren?" My mother's sharp eyes scan me from head to toe, stopping on the folder in my arms, then glancing up at the sign for the medical building. "What are you doing here?"
Of all the people to run into on this day outside an OB/GYN's office, it had to be my mother, the woman who raised me on equal parts feminist theory and warnings about men who'll suck you dry and throw you away with nothing left.
Yeah, she’s going tolovethe news that I went and got myself knocked up.
"I was just—it's nothing." I tuck the folder into my bag. "What are you doing here?"
"Book club meets in the coffee shop across the street. This is the closest parking garage." Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "You look pale. Are you sick?"
"No, it was just a checkup," I say, hating having to lie to her. She may be intense, but we’ve always been pretty close. I know she only wants the best for me.
My mother's mouth presses into a line as she watches me. She's always been able to see right through me and I try to keep any trace of my current drama off my face. "You're not taking care of yourself again.” Her frown kicks up into a half-smile. “Working too many hours, I assume?"
"Guilty." I shift uncomfortably. "I learned from the best. Look, I need to go. I have a presentation to prepare for tomorrow."
"Nonsense. You look like you need a decent meal and some quality time with your mother." She links her arm through mine, leaving no room for argument. "I was headed to Verdigris for lunch. You'll join me."
It's not a question. My mother doesn't ask; she bulldozes.
Twenty minutes later, we're seated at a small table by the window, my mother sipping sparkling water while I pick at a salad I have no appetite for. She's spent the last fifteen minutes updating me on what’s been going on with her. She’s this badass professor and I’m so proud of everything she’s built, but sometimes it’s a lot.
The Margot Callan excellence that has always been an inspiration is also an impossible standard for me to live up to, and sometimes I feel like a disappointment, even though she’s never said anything like that to me.
"Enough about my department politics," she says finally, setting down her glass. "Tell me what's really going on with you."
I set down my fork, abandoning the pretense of eating. "I told you, it's just work stress." No way am I about to confess anything to her before I’ve even had a chance to make a decision or, you know, curl up in a ball and ugly cry.
"Wren Elizabeth Callan." She fixes me with the same look that mostly kept me in line as a teenager. "I didn't raise you to lie to me."
Something about her concerned tone hits me right in the feels. It's the same mix of authority and warmth she always uses when she knows I'm bullshitting her because it always works to get me to spill everything. Before I can stop myself, tears fill my eyes.
"Oh, sweetheart." My mother's hand covers mine on the table, her voice softening. "What is it?"
I swallow hard, fighting for control. "I made a mistake, Mom."
"We all make mistakes. That's how we learn." She squeezes my hand. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it."
I almost tell her. The words are right there, just dying to be set free.
