by Jessica Marx
I believe a lot of what he says. I’ve heard so many terrible things about him as a man - I just don’t see him that way. I trust him - I think. There is always a little voice of doubt in the back of my head telling me that I’m being naive, but I let it go. My gut says that Mason is for real so I’m going with that. Hopefully I won’t be wrong in the end.
I place the bag on the counter and go into the guest bathroom, locking the door behind me for no reason. I’m the only one here. I’m nervous and if by chance Mason comes home early, I don’t want him to know that there’s even a chance I could be pregnant - which I’m not. I just want to be sure.
Just in case.
Without another thought, I pee onto the stick and lay it on the counter. I anxiously read the box to occupy my time. I try not to look at the stick for a few minutes, waiting the suggested time.
I pick the test stick up expecting to feel relieved and toss it in the trash, but instead I’m surprised to see a plus sign. I look again - and then again. I stare at the stick waiting for it to change to something else - anything else - but it doesn’t. Holy shit. This can’t be right. I turn and wretch into the toilet.
This can’t be. It has to be wrong. The directions on the box say to take the test first thing in the morning. That has to be what it is. It’s the wrong time of day so the results are obviously false. Right?
I stare at the stick for several minutes before stuffing it back in the box. I put the box back in the bag and wrap it up. I jam it down to the bottom of the garbage can. I can’t let Mason see it. I need to know it’s right - and then I’ll decide if I can tell him then. Holy shit. The room is spinning. I go lay down on the couch before I throw up again.
I lie there for a while trying to fall asleep, but I can’t. My mind is racing. My head is flooded with a barrage of thoughts and scenarios. Mason said he would always take care of me - but a baby? That was never part of the deal. It’s never even been discussed.
I look around the designer loft. It’s no place for a child. He has no intentions of raising a family here. He never said so, but he didn’t have to. I hope this was a false positive. I don’t want to lose him.
I glance at the clock. I still have another couple of hours before Mason gets back. I get up, grab my jacket, and leave the loft. I have to take another test. I need to know. I walk a couple of blocks to the closest Duane Reade. This time, I’m not messing around. I buy a three pack and quickly walk back to the apartment. This is the most energy I’ve had in weeks.
Determined to prove the first test wrong, I immediately go to the bathroom and take another test. I know I should wait until morning, but I don’t think I can. This time, I watch the stick work it’s magic. The plus sign appears again in a matter of seconds. Fuck.
What am I going to do? Tears begin streaming down my face. I can still check again in the morning, but I feel pretty positive I’m going to get the same results. Oh my God.
There are people who try for so long to get pregnant - like Kait. I should be happy it happened so easily. Maybe I would be - if I were married and planning a family - which I am not. What the hell am I going to do? How am I going to tell Mason?
“Samantha?” Mason calls.
Shit. He’s back. I wipe the tears, but they’re still falling.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I call from behind the bathroom door.
Seconds later, he’s knocking, “are you okay?”
“Yeah. Still not feeling so great.” Not completely a lie.
I wash my face and put the used test back in the box. Good thing I brought the whole package in here with me. I put everything back in the bag and shove it in the back of the cabinet. I don’t know why I suddenly think Mason is going to be digging through the trash, but I’m scared to put it in the bathroom garbage.
Mason is standing on the other side of the door when I come out, “you don’t look so good,” he says, pulling me into him.
“Thanks,” I reply, with an eye roll.
“You know what I mean. Have you been crying?”
“No. Yes.”
“Is it that bad? Should I call the doctor?” Ugh, if he only knew.
“No. I’m just exhausted. I’m sick of being sick,” I lie, forcing a smile, “I think I’m going to go home for the night.”
“Home? This is just as much your home as your mother’s house.”
“No. I feel gross. I should go.” I can’t be around Mason while I have this huge secret. I have so many things going through my head. How am I going to stay here with him? I need to sort this all out.
“I don’t care if you feel gross,” he says sweetly, “I’m going to take care of you tonight. No arguments young lady.”
“Young lady?” I repeat with a smirk.
“Yes, you’re being childish. Now you’re going to stay here and I’m going to make you feel better. That’s it.”
“Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”
“You don’t. Now have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Mason really is amazing. I know he would let me leave if I really wanted to, but he wants to take care of me. How can I say no? I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Once he hears the news, I don’t know how long he’s going to stick around.
He reappears a few minutes later, “come to the bedroom.”
I look at him like he’s crazy.
“No, not for that. Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter,” Mason jokes. He holds out his hand but I don’t move, “can you make it there on your own or do I have to carry you?”
I roll my eyes and take his hand. He leads me into the bedroom. The curtains are all closed and the big, fluffy blanket is folded over. I have to admit, it looks very inviting.
He walks over and stands in front of me, “Now don’t get the wrong idea,” he says. Mason slowly turns me around and unzips my dress. He carefully pulls it down and I step out of it.
“Sit,” Mason commands kindly. I listen, taking a seat on the bed.
He gently pulls my shoes off, “arms up.”
I giggle, “this is silly,” but I put my arms up anyway. Mason slips one of his tee shirts over my head. I wrap my arms around myself, pulling the tee shirt close to my body.
“Now lie back and I’ll tuck you in.” I do as he says. I curl up on my side and he pulls the soft blankets up over me.
“How about a nice chic flick?” Mason asks, pointing the remote at the flat screen.
“Wow, I must look awful,” I kid.
“No. I just want my baby to be as comfortable as possible.” The word ‘baby’ sends a stabbing pain through me. He usually calls me ‘Samantha’. It’s like he knows. Tears well in my eyes again.
Mason leans over the bed and kisses me on the cheek, “now I’m going to make a little something to eat. I’ll come join you in a few and if you want, you can join me for dinner in bed.”
He leaves the room and a steady stream of tears pour down my cheeks. I love this man. I love him. He’s perfect. He’s treating me like a princess and he thinks I just have a bug. It’s going to break my heart if he leaves me.
When Mason returns, he’s carrying a tray with two bowls and a plate of crackers.
“Crackers in bed, huh?” I joke, trying to sound better than I feel.
“For you, of course. Just try not to hurl on my sheets. That might be a deal breaker,” Mason winks. He takes a seat in bed next to me.
I don’t eat anything - I can’t. We watch a couple of sitcoms. Well, Mason does, I have too much on my mind to pay attention. When he finishes his dinner, I curl up next to him and rest my head in his lap. He pets my hair back and at some point, I doze off.
I wake to the sound of Mason getting ready for work. I still want to take another test since it will be first thing in the morning, but I don’t want Mason to know. I get up and once again, have to throw up. I know now, it’s morning sickness. I race to the guest bathroom and gag several times, but nothing comes out. I didn’t eat anything yesterday so I’m no
t surprised.
“Samantha?” Mason calls. Ugh, not now.
“In here,” I reply from the bathroom. He taps on the door and it swings open.
“I think you should see a doctor today,” he says quietly, “there’s a lot of things going around, maybe you have the flu or something.”
“I think you’re right,” I agree, taking the opportunity to get away from him for the day. I don’t like lying to him. I try to justify that not telling him technically isn’t lying, but it is.
“I’ll let Kait know you’re still not feeling well. Do you want me to make an appointment for you?”
“That’s okay. I’ll see my regular doctor. I’m sure I can get an appointment.”
Mason stands helplessly at the door, “fine. Call and let me know what happens though, okay?”
“Sure.” No. No way I can tell him anything yet. Maybe not ever.
“Do you need anything before I go?”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you for being so sweet.”
“I wish I could do more. I wish I could make you feel better.”
“Let me vomit in peace. That would make me feel better.” I force a grin.
Mason looks like he feels my pain, “I’ll call you in a bit.” He takes a step forward, then rethinks it and blows me a kiss from the door.
“You sure…” he begins.
“Yes, go. I’ll be fine.”
Mason reluctantly picks up his things and steps onto the elevator. I wait until the doors close completely. I go back in the bathroom and lock the door. Removing one of the tests from the back of the cabinet under the sink, I get in the now familiar position and hope for the best.
Third time’s a charm, as they say. Positive. I don’t know what made me think it would be anything else. Wishful thinking, I guess. I sit back down on the toilet and try to figure out what to do. My doctor is on Long Island near my mother’s house. I know I’m not sick now, but I should definitely pay her a visit. I don’t know what else to do.
I get dressed and call the office. They’re able to see me later this afternoon so I get my things and take the subway to the train. I don’t bother calling Mason - I know he’ll want Dan to drive me and I don’t feel like dealing with anyone right now. I just want to ride alone.
I doze off on the train, but wake up before my stop. Then, I take a cab home, surprising my mother.
“Sam! I wasn’t expecting you. Is everything okay? Why aren't you at work?”
My mother is one person I can’t keep a secret from. I’ve never been able to hide anything from her. I had no intention of telling her what’s going on, but her simple question opens a flood gate. I start crying hysterically.
She hugs me close and lets me cry, completely unaware of why I’m so upset. She holds me there for several minutes until I calm down a bit.
“What happened, Sammy? Did you lose your job?” Fair assumption since it’s noon on a weekday. I shake my head no.
“Did you and Mason break up?” she asks, looking more concerned.
“No.”
“What’s got you so upset then?”
I can’t say it out loud. I don’t want to. That will make it real. I begin to sob again.
“Sammy, you’re scaring me now. What can be so bad?” Ginny asks. She’s visibly upset now. Thinking about my father’s passing, I don’t blame her. I’m sure she’s assuming the worst.
“Oh, mom,” I sob, “it was an accident. I didn’t…I don’t…”
“It’s okay, Sammy. Whatever it is, it will be fine,” my mother says.
“I’m…I’m pregnant,” I finally admit, crying harder. I did it. I said it. It’s officially real.
17
Mason
It may only be a cold or flu, but I can’t get my mind off of Samantha. I want to be there with her. I want to hold her. I want to make her feel better. I feel so helpless.
I have way too much to do today, I must try and stay focussed.
“Knock, knock,” my father says, letting himself in. So much for focus.
“Yes?” I ask, annoyed.
“We have a meeting in ten minutes. Just making sure you’re ready.”
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I heard through the grapevine that you’ve been playing Florence Nightingale for your girlfriend. I wanted to make sure you would be on top of your game today. These are some serious business associates of ours. I don’t need you fucking this up because you’ve gone soft on me.”
“Number one, I’ve been running this company just as good - possibly better than you ever have. Number two, I’m always on top of my game when I’m here. Number three, I never go soft - ask my girlfriend.”
Garrison chuckles, “touchy, touchy.”
“No. I just don’t need you second guessing everything I do. You have no problem leaving me in charge of everything when you don’t feel like being here. No need to change your mind when you actually decide to grace us with your presence.”
“Come on, Mase. I’m just messing with you. Let’s show these guys what Grant and Son is all about.”
I narrow my eyes and look at my father, “you’re a crazy old bastard. You know that, right?”
“Absolutely. Apples and trees son,” he says with a smirk as he walks toward the door.
That man is a piece of work. He is so hard to understand sometimes. In reality, he’s right, I wasn’t really prepared for this meeting. I’m glad he came in to rattle me because my head is where it should be now - at work - for now anyway.
I check my phone. Samantha hasn’t called me yet. I send her a text to see how she’s doing. I collect the presentation materials my assistant put together and check my phone quick before I leave. Samantha hasn’t answered yet. If she doesn’t call me back by lunch, I’m going to have to go and check on her.
18
Samantha
“Stop fidgeting, Sam. Try to relax,” my mother advises me in the waiting room.
“I can’t.”
The nurse enters the waiting room and announces my name. I stand up and walk toward the entrance. My mother follows behind me.
I didn’t plan on having her her - heck - I didn’t plan any of this. I’m glad I told her though. I need someone on my side. I need support. I need Mason - but I can’t tell him. I have to make sure that I really am pregnant before I can even begin to figure out what I’m going to tell him. Or if. Or when. Ugh.
The nurse takes my vital signs and hands me a cup. She gives me instructions and points me to the bathroom. Apparently, peeing into and onto things is becoming a hobby for me.
Mom waits in the room for me. When I return, she’s already talking to Dr. Ahrens. I’ve been coming here for as long as I can remember. I know I’m in good hands and trust whatever it is she’s going to tell me.
“Sam! Welcome back. So nice to see you again,” she greets me.
“Hi, Dr. Ahrens,” I feel like a child again in her presence.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” I reply nervously.
“We will know for sure in a couple of minutes. So, who’s the lucky man?”
I shift uncomfortably. Maybe I should have gone to a stranger. I don’t want to make small talk and I sure don’t want to talk about Mason. I don’t know how lucky he’s going to feel about all of this.
“He’s amazing,” mom chimes in for me, “he treats my Sammy like a princess. She is the lucky one.”
“Okay, mom. He’s just a guy - not a prince,” I add.
The nurse walks in and hands a folder to Dr. Ahrens. She looks it over and beams at me, “it’s true! You’re having a baby!” She embraces me in a warm hug and then hugs my mother, “Ginny, you're going to be a grandma!”
I see a few stray tears roll down my mother’s cheek. I start to cry again. It’s really happening. No doubt about it now.
“So, Sam, judging from when you had your last period, I would guess you’re around eight
weeks.”
“Already?” I ask, shocked.
“Yes. According to the math. Are your dates right?”
“I think so.”
“Great. Then you should make an appointment with your obstetrician so they can run some tests, get you on prenatal vitamins, and listen for a heartbeat,” she begins to list, “oh! This is so exciting.”
“Yeah,” I reply, much less enthusiastically than I should.
“I’ll get you started on some vitamins for now anyway. Make sure you listen to your body and rest when you need to. Have that prince take good care of you.”
I force a weak smile. We say our thank you’s and good byes and silently leave the office. I think my mother is in shock - as am I. Right now though, I’m more concerned with what comes next.
If I’m already eight weeks, I’m going to start showing in no time. I’m not going to have a choice much longer. I can’t give up the baby - that’s not an option. I’m old enough to have a child - even if it’s on my own. I can always find a new job if I need it and since I still live at home, my mother can help until I get on my feet. I don’t need Mason. I won’t hold him responsible for anything. I can’t do that to him.
My mother drives me back home. I scroll through my phone and see a few missed texts from Mason asking how I am. He called just a little while ago and left a message. I press ‘play’ and hold the phone to my ear:
‘Samantha. I’m worried about you. You’re not answering and I want to make sure you’re okay. I’m going to stop by to check on you. Just…call me back.’
Mason sounds pretty concerned. He’s usually calm and even tempered - unless his father is around. I feel bad. I didn’t want to answer him because I didn’t want to explain. Now, I have to. He’s not going to be happy if he goes to the apartment and I’m not there.