Of course, if I had done a better job being safe, I wouldn’t be sitting on the examining table feeling like I was standing in front of an execution squad. But unlike in the nightmare, there were no black lacy bra and pantiesinvolved.
My gaze dropped to the file in her hand. “Is there a chance the results arewrong?”
“There’s no doubt about it, Holly. You’re pregnant.” She wheeled the stool closer to me and sat on it. “I take it this wasn’t a plannedpregnancy?”
I snorted a laugh. “It wasn’t even planned sex. It just kind of happened.” At least that had been the case the first time. Not so much while Josh and I were in Australia. And ever since then, my body had been whining about how much it craved an encore with Josh. All right, make that five or six hundredencores.
That was why I had agreed to go out with Brad the other night. How did itgo?
Not bad at first. He picked me up at my apartment and took me to a restaurant. Nothing fancy, but it was still a nice place. Things had gone well at first—until something suddenly hit me. No, I don’t mean literally. Although a concussion might have gotten me out of the date sooner. It was just that Brad had been talking non-stop for the past fifteen minutes, and I had no idea what he was saying. I’d been smiling and nodding, but my mind had been somewhere else. Or more specifically, it had been thinking about how much fun I’d had with Josh in Australia—and I didn’t just mean thesex.
Not once did Brad realize I wasn’t even listening tohim.
That was the first problem. The secondone?
I was so aroused thinking about Josh, I had an even tougher time paying attention to Brad afterthat.
Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I was on a date with a good-looking guy and was super-aroused (even if it was because my thoughts were focused on the wrong guy), so I must have had sex. You would think so,right?
Wrong. My body threatened retaliation if I even considered having sex with Brad. Or more specifically, it threatened no more orgasms ever again—which when I thought about it, that pretty much summed up the one time I’d had sex withBrad.
And since I loved orgasms, I took the threatveryseriously. But did that really matter? No—because I’d already decided there would be no second date this time around withBrad.
Which was probably just as well. What guy wanted to go out with a pregnant woman when the baby wasn’this?
“You do have options,” Dr. Sinclair said, tone non-judgmental.
I did have options—I knew that. Choices I had to make for myself even though it took two to make ababy.
Some people would say that Josh had as much right as I did when it came to deciding the baby’s fate. Others would claim it was my body, mydecision.
But given I knew Josh’s view onhimhaving kids, the final decision was mine. The question was, if I decided not to terminate the pregnancy, would I be able to hand the baby off to another woman toraise?
If I had been an unwed teen, the question would’ve been easier to answer. But I was twenty-eight years old with a great-paying job. And how would my colleagues react to me going through nine months of pregnancy only to give away the baby in theend?
Did it even matter what theythought?
An image flashed in my mind of a little girl, smiling as we played on the beach together, searching for shells. A little girl who loved me unconditionally, the same way I lovedher.
And I knew in that instant, while I might not have wanted kids, there was only one option that was right forme.
My hand went protectively to my stomach. “I’m going to keepit.”
It didn’t matter if the baby was a girl or a boy, I wanted this baby—even if I had to go italone.
Even if I had no clue what I wasdoing.
“All right then,” Dr. Sinclair said. “Based on my calculations of your last menstrual cycle”—which I had roughly figured out at Erin’s insistence—“that puts you in your eleventh, almost twelfthweek.”
Eleventh. Twelfth. Those were numbers. If there was one thing I understood, it was numbers. “What does thatmean?”
“It means you’re almost finished your first trimester. Second trimester begins at thirteen weeks.” Her smile was warm and reassuring—like a teddy bear to a young child. “Do you want to hear the baby’sheartbeat?”
“Really? You can hear thatnow?”
Her smile widened at the awe in my voice. “Yes, youcan.”
She helped me lie back on the exam table, adjusted my top to reveal my still-flat stomach, and squirted the cool gel onto my skin. She then moved a weird instrument around, searching…searching…searching.
