All the way down to the garage and into my car. As I catch my breath I realized just how cold it is outside and how I forgot a coat. I speed down each street, not taking the time to look at the decorations slowly being covered in a light coat of snow. The first snow of the winter. Usually, memorizing but already being late, it is just getting in my way. I finally pull up and as soon as I step out of the car the wind slaps me in the face. The second both feet are through the door of the doctors office I am immediately escorted into a room. Although it is filled with equipment it feels empty, dead. Maybe it is the anticipation I am feeling, or maybe the overwhelming thoughts, dancing in my brain. The wind creeps through the window and sends a chill up my leg. Sitting on the cushioned table, I smell the disinfectant cleaning spray, making me nauseous. I am alone. I try hard to gulp down the lump that is rising in my throat. After explaining my symptoms, the doctor comes back into the room with a small plastic cup, and reminds me that it is just procedure, calming my nerves. My hands start to clam. I am on edge.
Shortly after making my way back from the bathroom and back into the room, Dr. Stevens tells me she will just be a minute. The second she walks in, I can see her thin, stiff lips. She forces a smile. She looks down at me, sympathy and pity sprawled across her face. It’s almost as if the silence of the room makes the suspense more unbearable.
“We can talk about the possible options you have.” she says, calmly. Those words said it all. My heart beats as if it is going to leap out of my chest. I feel dizzy, trapped, as if in an alternate reality. I walk out the doors of the doctors office and into my car. Tears stream down my face as I think about how Brain only moved in with me a month ago. I think about the fight we had when I said I didn’t want kids and he did. The snow has picked up and I see kids playing and laughing. Pure happiness and joy is spread across each of their smiles. The whole way home I think about the future and try come up with every possible scenario to prepare myself. I think about how he doesn’t really know me, well at least the real me, but I know him. I know about his whole family, and childhood. I start to question our relationship. Has Brian figured out that I have been keeping my past from him? Does he think our relationship is one-sided? Does Brain’s want for kids triumph his want for me? Is he going to leave? Was my mother right? Am I not enough?
As I walk through the doors to my apartment, I slowly set down my purse. I try to calm my nerves, as well as my breathing. My throat, excessively dry, closes while I hear the door of our apartment opening. Immediately, Brian approaches me,
“We need to talk,” he says in a soft voice. The tone that tells me it was serious, the tone that tells me it is necessary. He has this way about him, he can say something in a comforting voice, but can still have me on edge.
“So do I, but you go first,” I say in almost a whisper.
“I thought about what you said last night. You were right, I was mad, I wasn’t thinking straight. I thought about it today. Everything you said, going back and forth between what I want, and what you want, I decided you were right. I don’t want to have kids. In fact, I don’t even see myself as a father. I feel like I know you inside and out and you mean everything to me. I have you and that’s all I want.” He pauses, avoiding eye contact. “Your turn” I try to refrain from crying, from showing my emotions, from telling him the truth. I can’t stop it, the pregnancy, the argument, the tears fall down my cheeks, and hit my chin right before he wipes them with his fingers. “Shhh, it’ll all be okay” he whispers, “we’re in this together.” and before I know it I’m surrounded in the scent of our laundry detergent mixed in with his cologne. He squeezes me tighter, comforting me, and we just sit there in silence. I am scared of having a child at nineteen. I am scared that he will leave because he doesn’t want kids. I am scared to become my mother. I don’t tell him about the pregnancy, I don’t listen to the voice in my head saying, “just tell him, he’ll stick around.” instead I lie,
“I went to the doctors, turns out it’s just a virus. It’ll pass soon.”
