On Second Thought(125)

How many times had Daniel and I had sex? Twice in the same night. Both times with a condom. Trojan was going to get a very strongly worded letter, yessiree.

“I’m so sorry about this,” I said for the twentieth time.

“It’s fine. Eat your sandwich. I don’t want you to faint.”

There was, I supposed, a microscopic chance that I was pregnant with Nathan’s baby, not Daniel’s. No matter what those fourteen pregnancy tests and two periods had told me.

But logic and all the signs told me what I was sure science would confirm. I’d been so tired lately. Peeing more than was normal. The smell sensitivity.

Oh, boy.

Daniel sat down next to me. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. I sat there stiffly, my heart still thudding. My boobs hurt. Why hadn’t I noticed this before? Should I be cuddling here on the couch? Then again, cuddling was a little bit like closing the barn door after the horse had bolted, wasn’t it?

Daniel took a deep breath. “Look. I always wanted kids. I love kids. We’ve known each other a long time, you and me. I like you. This is not the worst thing in the world.” He looked down at me. “We can get married if you want.”

“Daniel, my husband died four months ago.”

“Yeah, the timing isn’t great.” He paused. “Kate, do you want to have the baby?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think I could...terminate.” I bit my lip. No, that was not something I could face. “I’ll have to go to the doctor. And I’m forty. God knows, a million things could go wrong. Miscarriage. This might even be a blighted ovum or something. An ectopic pregnancy.”

“Right.”

“So maybe I should go to the doctor tomorrow and we’ll talk again. Okay?”

“That sounds good. I’ll come with you.”

“No, no. Not this time.”

He sighed again. “Okay. Whatever happens, though, I’m here. I’m with you. I know I’m not your type and I’m a big dumb firefighter, but I’m here. Now, you’re staying over tonight. You can sleep in the bed, I’ll take the couch, but I’m not driving you home tonight. If we’re gonna be parents, we should spend more time together.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?” The words were automatic, my lips numb.

“I have four sisters. Of course I’m bossy. Oh, man, they’re gonna go crazy about this.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Right.” He looked me up and down. “Since you’re already pregnant, you wanna—”

“No, Daniel. Jesus.”

He laughed and messed up my hair. Ah. A joke. Then he went into his room to put clean sheets on the bed.

*

The doctor in Tarrytown—recommended by Daniel, because his sister used the same one—confirmed everything.

The condoms in Nathan’s night table drawer were two months past their expiration date. Yes, the doctor said with a wry chuckle, those dates did matter. Hahaha. She asked some embarrassing questions about what Daniel and I had done and when. If Daniel had, er, lingered a little, that could’ve done the trick.

I was pregnant.

Four weeks along, based on my blood work. The ultrasound showed a gestational sac; the baby was too small to be seen.

It was a high-risk pregnancy, given that I was forty. Certain tests would be recommended later on. Chances of miscarriage were higher. I had to take folic acid and prenatal vitamins and stop drinking coffee and alcohol. She told me the receptionist would schedule monthly visits for me.

I was pregnant.

I called Daniel with the confirmation. He offered to come over, but I told him I wanted to be alone. Called Ainsley, who was working at the Blessed Bean, and told her, too.

Then I went home, numb, and sat in the den (or study), watching Hector swim around his beautiful bowl, Ollie curled up on my lap, moaning with love from time to time.

What would the Coburns say? What would Brooke say? She’d hate me. They’d all hate me. I didn’t blame them.

“Nathan?” I whispered. “Hey.” I started to say the words, then stopped. Even his ghost didn’t deserve to hear my news.

My breath began to shake, and my hands tingled so hard it hurt, and the familiar dread rose up like a cold tide.

But I couldn’t have a panic attack. I couldn’t. I was pregnant. What if hyperventilation was bad for the baby? Huh? What then?

In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three.

Ollie’s tail wagged.

What was I going to do? I kept breathing as best I could, Ollie’s cold little nose burrowed in the crook of my elbow, grounding me. I should get a dog, probably. Or just steal Ollie.

I’d have to move, for one. I couldn’t stay here, in Nathan’s house, percolating another man’s baby. So yeah. I’d clean out his closet, finally. Get at least something in motion. Then, if I didn’t lose the baby—already, even though it was about as big as a pen dot, I was thinking of it as a baby—I’d...I’d go. I’d tell the Coburns. There was no point in saying anything until after the twelve-week mark. Why break their hearts sooner than I had to?

I closed my eyes and wished so, so much that I’d never asked for that second glass of wine.