Page 42 of Stuck with You
17
The last six weeks have been pure agony. I’m convinced that I can’t possibly carry this baby to term, that I’m sure to miscarry. After years of looking at my body as a failure, how can I not be paranoid.
Every morning, I breathe a sigh of relief when I stare down at my panties and see nothing. I count down the days. I’ve been to see Doctor Riley and she assures me that everything seems to be running smoothly, and the fact that it’s taken me so long to conceive does not indicate in any way that I’m more likely to miscarry. Although she is very diplomatic when she does point out that women my age have a higher chance of miscarriage.
I’ve been dodging Jacob’s calls, avoiding him at all costs. I just know that if he sees my face, he’ll know that something’s up — he knows me too well. I don’t want him to know. I don’t want to let him down again. I don’t want to get his hopes up. So I cross off another day, I eat healthy and take my prenatal vitamins, and I try to keep busy to distract myself. And despite the fact that I’m not religious, I say a little prayer every day.
I’ve sworn Kayla to secrecy — no one else knows. She promises not to say a word until I’ve reached twelve weeks — the magic number. Once you've reached twelve weeks, the chances of miscarriage are very small.
Abby and Baxter know all about it, of course. I’ve promised them that nothing will change when the baby gets here — they’ll still be my babies too.
* * *
I’m dreaming,and I hear a loud ring in the distance. It gets louder and louder as I inch closer to the sound. I startle awake — my home phone is ringing, the sound grating. No one calls my home phone with the exception of my mom, Jacob and telemarketers. I shove a pillow over my face and let it go to voicemail. My heart skips a beat when I hear Jacob’s voice.
“Hey, Corrie. I know you’re around, and you’re avoiding me again. What’s going on, Corrie? Tell me what’s going on. I don’t get it. One minute, you’re telling me to move on and get this divorce rolling. And the next, you’re avoiding my calls and cancelling meetings. It’s kind of hard to get things finalized when you won’t come to a meeting or sign anything. We need to talk, sweetie…” His words trail off, and then he adds, “Hope you’re well, Corrie. I love you.”
I sit up on the bed and count the days in my head. Three days. In three days, I’ll be officially twelve weeks. I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning.
I bounce off the bed and call him right back. Abby and Baxter are already at my feet.
“Hello, Corrie,” he answers. “Well, what do you know… you’re alive.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“What’s going on, Corrie?”
“You want to meet for lunch on Friday?”
“This Friday?” he asks.
“Yes, this Friday… in three days.”
“And you’ll tell me what’s going on?” he asks. “I’m worried about you.”
I smile. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, bye. Looking forward to it.”
I can barely contain my excitement. “Me too. Bye, Jacob.”
* * *
I’m dressedto the nines; a pretty red shift dress, a little snug at the waist, paired with red peep-toe heels. We’re meeting at our favorite spot. I can’t stop fidgeting as I wait for him by the entrance — I feel like I’m on a first date.
Finally, I see him in the distance. He’s beautiful in his usual suit. His beard is trimmed neatly and his hair is slicked back, in need of a haircut again. His face lights up as he eyes me, from head to toe. “You look amazing,” he says before planting a sweet peck on my cheek.
“You too.”
He smiles. “I look exactly the same every day.”
“I like the tie.”
He tears his eyes from me to speak with the hostess. She leads us to our table. When she leaves, he turns to me again. “Seriously, there’s something about you… you look really healthy… happy,” he says with a dash of concern. I can almost see the gears turning in his head — he’s probably wondering if I’m seeing someone.
“Well, I’ve gained a few pounds,” I tell him, smiling wide.
“Well, it looks great on you. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
