by Tiana Cole
With a chuckle and a wink, he told me, “that’s pregnancy, Ms. Willard.”
“So I've heard.”
He ran the ultrasound wand over my stomach with small murmurs and computer click.
“What? Is everything okay?” I asked with a hint of concern. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
Derek still didn't know. We actually hadn't spoken since the article ran in the Tribune the Thursday before. That was… not ideal… but not talking at all was better than Derek rejecting me outright. At least for the time being, the question of us still hung suspended in the air. Regardless of where we went as a couple, I would have to tell him about the little nugget sooner or later.
Dr. Jacobson chuckled again. “Well, it’s too early to tell if it’s a boy or a girl, of course. Another ten, maybe twelve weeks for that.”
“What?” I gasped. My head fell back on the table. “Why so long?”
“Well, your baby hasn’t developed enough yet, but he or she will, don’t you worry. Your baby looks completely healthy. Strong heartbeat, developed heart chambers, everything’s as it should be.”
Relief flooded me and appeared in the form of tears. With all that had occurred in the past week, I needed some release.
“I’m sorry,” I sniffed. “It’s been a really hard ten days or so.”
“I saw,” he commented in a mild voice as he helped me sit up. “You’re the Tribune writer that exposed her editor’s wrongdoings, aren’t you?”
I nodded and took a Kleenex from the small table.
“Do you still have a job?”
“Well, that’s blunt of you to ask,” I retorted before blowing my nose. “It’s the right question to ask, though.” I paused for a second before answering, “I don’t know. I’m suspended until further notice. The CEO and board are meeting this week to discuss my fate. Skip—my editor—claims I was in on it with him, which I wasn‘t.”
“I see,” he said, making a note on my chart. “And does this baby have a father?”
“Of course,” I snapped again, which had no effect on Dr. Jacobsen’s calm demeanor. “And now that I know the baby’s healthy, I'll tell him.”
He eyed me then, and the sternness showed in the look. “Will you?” In his hand were the printouts from the ultrasound. I snatched them from his hand and immediately took a picture of the best one with my cell phone.
“Really?” he asked, his eyebrows raised incredulously. “A text?”
“This is the digital age,” I replied as I tapped a message out to Derek with as many obnoxious emoticons as I could manage.
I think you left something behind.
It was, as Dr. Jacobson tried to point out, highly irregular. But really, with all that had gone in Derek’s and my life the past couple of weeks, a regular phone call and coffee date just would not suffice.
Derek
In the midst of everything that had happened, my cells survived until the next stage and the first experiment was basically complete. All that remained was for the healthy cells to remain healthy, with no reoccurrence of cancer. We would keep diligent watch on them.
Denise had blown the Tribune scandal wide open and had been suspended for her efforts. Was it wrong that I just wanted her back? The question consumed me for days after the article was published. I gave her space, knowing that her professional life was in turmoil, but I found myself wondering how long the statute of limitations should be.
I was distracted. The experiments, which had taken up all of the available space in my life for years, were no longer interesting while the question of Denise went unanswered. And because I had a small social circle, and none of them knew Denise, I didn't know who to talk to. I took to muttering.
And then Denise texted me, and my life immediately changed.
I insisted we meet at a nice restaurant. It was a celebratory occasion, after all, and I wanted to take her out to dinner. When I asked, though, she answered in a text:
I can barely eat and I’m really tired. Is that okay? Please just come over and let me stay in my pajamas. Maybe bring soup.
Soup? The weekend on the shore came back to me—her exhaustion, her nausea—it all made sense. This would be our life for a while, and it thrilled me.
Promptly at six, I knocked on Denise’s apartment door. It whisked open and we stared at each other, wordless for once. After a moment, Denise burst into tears and I rushed towards her, pulling her into my arms and kicking the door shut behind me.
“Hey… why are you crying?”
She hung limply in my arms, her voice muffled in my shirt front. “Why am I not crying? I told on my boss. I compromised my ethics. I've probably lost my job. You’re here and I look like a mess! I am a mess! And I’m hungry and nauseous at the same time.”
That last part seemed the worst, because as soon as the words were uttered they were followed by a fresh burst of tears. Gently, I pushed Denise away and held her at arm’s length. She was dressed in a pair of gray leggings and a University of Illinois t-shirt. Her skin was admittedly a bit pale, but she’d probably retained very little nutrition the past month. Her curls stood at full height.
“Stop looking at me!” she wailed. “I’m a mess!”
With a sharp tug I pulled her back into my arms. “You’re beautiful and I love you.” I cradled her head against me.
The wailing stopped and she sniffed. “You do?”
“I do,” I confirmed with a smile. “Your boss deserved it, your ethics are sound, you’ll find another job because you’re the best journalist in Chicago, and I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.”
She was quiet for a moment, then replied, “Okay.”
I led her to the couch where we sat with arms and legs entangled. We turned on the evening news, ordered Chinese takeout, and began the first day of the rest of our lives together.
I pinched her chin between my thumb and finger. “Don’t worry,” I assured her with a smirk. “I told him if our pictures end up in the paper, I’ll sue.”
THE END
m
Also from Raven Rivers:
The Hitman’s Secret Son
The CEO Makes a Play
The Billionaire's Unexpected Bride
Fake Date With the Billionaire
To Texas With Love
Also from Tiana Cole:
The Billionaire's Carnival Baby
Marrying Her Greek Billionaire
The Billionaire's Super Nanny
Coded Love
The Accidental Bride
Billionaire by Design
The Doctor's Fake Nanny
Love Games
About the Author
Tiana's a young writer who only recently began having her stories published. At only 30-years-old, Tiana plans to continue her writing for many years to come and seems to have a never ending stream of unique story ideas.
Tiana was raised in New York City and currently resides in a small apartment house in Philadelphia with her two adorable cats. She's yet to meet Mr. Right, but in the meantime enjoys depicting him in her various interracial stories!
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