Page 19 of All or Notching
The last few months have been both joyful and tiring. Tristan was correct. Only a few days after confirming my pregnancy, my belly popped out. My colleagues at work quickly did the math and hammered me about My Guy from the bar. Then while I lamented about our age difference, they congratulated me on bagging a virile young doctor. Their humorous jabs didn’t make me feel any better.
My sisters, as I predicted, literally jumped with happiness when I told them the news. Of course, they wanted all the details. How did we meet? Is he happy about the baby? What are our plans? Why isn’t he with me for the holidays? And do I love him?
Somehow, I avoided most of their inquisition by allowing them to take me shopping for all the things Imusthave. Our Thanksgiving turned into a weekend event, hundreds of dollars spent, an order placed for a crib, and a to-do list a mile long. But I will admit, the closeness we shared was lovely. I finally had something in common with them, and I found, other than the morning sickness and light-headedness, I enjoyed being pregnant most days. They all made the trip to my place for Christmas and had the opportunity to meet Tristan when he dropped by with a present for me. Or rather, the baby—a teddy bear wearing a Santa hat.
They fell instantly in love with him and proclaimed Doctor Tessler my future husband. If only it could work that easily.IfI ever get married, and that’s a big if.
Tristan has been so busy at work I have seen little of him. We talk on the phone or through text messages a couple of times weekly. And when our scheduleshavecoincided, he’s come to my place for dinner or to hang out and talk. We’ve gotten to know each other, but it feels awkward. I don’t want to intrude on his life. I don’t want to tie him down. I sometimes get the impression he feels obligated to check in on me. He wants to talk about the baby and my plans, but I constantly put him off. I don’t know. I don't know my plans for the first time in my life, and it’s freaking me out. I’ve always been so organized and goal-oriented, but now I’m taking it one day at a time.
The blue curtain surrounding the bed I’m lying on whips open and speak of the devil, there he is, eyes big and round, his chest rising and falling beneath his green scrubs and white lab coat, breathing like he ran all the way from wherever he came from.
I suck in a breath because seeing his chest heaving like that reminds me of our one night together. My mind immediately pictures him braced over me, arms trembling, sweat dripping, body straining, his copper nipples within reach and something I focus on as he pumps in and out of my body, lighting up every nerve ending, pushing me closer and closer to release.
I’ve gotten past our age difference because he’s so good-looking and kind. I can’t help but be attracted to him. Every time he visits, he makes my meals. I laughed the day he confessed he’s not much of a housekeeper because my house has gone from everything in its place to stacks of baby magazines on my coffee table, a dining room full of baby things that still need to be unboxed if I’d ever get the nursery ready, and maternity clothes hanging over every surface in my bedroom.
We’ve slowly become friends. Friends who are going to have a baby in a couple of months.
Though he hasn’t told me much about his family yet, I know he has a sister, and his father is also a doctor. Soon to retire, actually. His mom passed away a few years ago.While the passing of my parents is more recent, he still grieves for his mom, too.
“Laurel? What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” He glances back and forth between Sally and me.
“Everything is fine, Tristan.”
“She fainted. She smacked her head on the floor after dinging the table's edge.” Thank you, Sally. Now he will worry about me even more than he does. The man always asks how I’m feeling, whether I am sleeping, eating enough, or keeping my stress level down.
He grabs the chart off the hook at the end of the bed, flips it open, and scans the notes. “Says here you needed stitches.” He raises his head, and his gaze connects with the offending white cotton like a laser.
“Just a couple.”
“Six.” Sally needs to stop talking.
“A couple times three.” I know I shouldn’t make light of it, but I wish they would relax.
“This isn’t funny,” he says.
“She’s not taking this seriously.” Sally chimes in simultaneously.
Thankfully, the attending appears and brings a halt to them grilling me. He glances at Tristan. “Doctor Tessler What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Ian.” He gestures between him and me. “We know each other.”
Okay. He didn’t admit to being my baby daddy. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“How is she? Anything she needs to be concerned about?”
Doctor Frye looks at me, his stare probing. “It’s okay, you can say whatever you need to. They’ll find out anyway.”
“Alright then.” He takes the chart from Tristan, scribbles something in it, and then gives me his full attention. “No concussion, but your blood pressure is lower than we’d like to see, Laurel. Based on what you’ve told me, this isn’t the first time you’ve fainted.”
“What? You’ve been fainting? Why didn’t you tell me?” Oh, dear. Tristan’s face is turning red, and there’s a little vein popping out on his forehead.
“She didn’t tell me either.” Really, Sally, please stop.
Doctor Frye ignores them and speaks to me. Thank you, Doctor Frye, for realizing I’m an adult and can care for myself. “I’m assuming your physician is aware of the problem as well? As your pregnancy progresses, it could get worse, and given your age, it’s definitely cause for concern. Will your husband be picking you up?”
“She’s not married.” We’re all surprised at how quick Tristan offered up that little piece of information.
“Do you live with anybody?”