Reviving Haven (32 page)

“What brings you in today, Haven?” He pulls his chair in front of me, tapping his pen on a clipboard.

Really, you have to ask? I look like shit
. I smile weakly.

“Sick . . . I feel like crap. Pretty sure it
’s the flu.”

“Any vomiting, diarrhea, fever?” he asks, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

“I was warm. I mean, I felt hot. No throwing up per se, just liquid mostly, my body just aches and I’m really tired.” I tell him. Even answering his questions is draining my energy.

“How many days?” he questions.

“A few, I think.”

He pauses, looking over my chart.

“No fever. Let me check your throat, heart and lungs.”

He moves forward and makes me stick out my tongue. Even though I
’m wearing long sleeves, I applied a lot of cover up to my arms and neck before I came in for my appointment. I didn’t feel like playing twenty questions on anything else except my suspected flu bug. He checks my heart, and then makes me inhale deeply while he checks my lungs.

“Everything looks good. Let
’s take some blood and urine,” he says as he walks out the door.

I hope I
’ve applied enough cover up to my wrists. The nurse taking my blood might get suspicious if she sees the bruises. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes.

I must have dozed off for a few seconds, because a nurse wakes me to tell me she
’s here to take my blood. She then hands me a sealed plastic cup with my name on it. After she finishes siphoning two tubes of blood, I manage to drag myself to the bathroom. I’m so lethargic that trying to aim for the cup is almost futile. I finally manage to get some pee in the cup; hopefully it’s enough for them to do whatever tests they deem necessary. I haul myself back to the room and sit in a chair, covering myself with my jacket. I feel cold. Oh, Jesus, I’m dying.

After thirty minutes, I
’m pissed. I’m sick and I want to go home.
Crap, what is taking so damn long?
I’m convinced that they forgot they have a patient in this room. I tell myself I will wait another ten minutes, and then I’m out of here. If I’m going to die, I want my bed and Jerry Fucking Springer. Damn, I must be dying—I’m dropping f-bombs again. This sucks.

Dr. Jacobson walks back in with two other people. Oh, this can
’t be good. I am only joking about dying. I feel my body go limp and I’m light headed. I just start crying. A woman kneels down to me and pats me on my back.

“It
’s alright, honey.” Her voice is soft and pleasant, but it doesn’t do much to calm my frazzled nerves.

“Haven, this is Dr. Burke,” Dr. Jacobson says, introducing the other man. “And this is Amelia, a nurse practitioner.”

I start crying harder.

“Oh my God, I
’m really sick. I have cancer, right? I need to call my roommate and my parents . . .”
And the man who just broke my heart.
I realize I’m being melodramatic, but I am panicking because there are
three
health practitioners in the room with me.

Dr. Burke chuckles lightly. “Haven, you don
’t have cancer. It’s nothing quite so threatening, although I have had a few patients swear they were going to die.” His hand pats my arm soothingly.

Dr. Jacobson and the nurse sit down in empty chairs. I
’m positive I look like a deer caught in the headlights. My brain is a confused ball of mush.

“What is it?” I sob uncontrollably.

“I’m not sure how . . .” Dr. Jacobson replies, looking perplexed as he passes his hand over his chin. “Well, I’m positive how. I just don’t know
how
.”

I have no idea what
’s going on. I’m too sick to decipher what he’s talking about.

“In English, please,” I say, irritated with his rambling.

“You’re pregnant.” Dr. Jacobson smiles slightly and nods.

I must be hallucinating. This conversation is a byproduct of me having the flu. I
’m delirious. My heart is pounding. There’s a rushing in my ears and I feel dizzy. I try standing, but then I fall back into the chair. The nurse reaches for me and tries to calm me.

This isn
’t possible. I can’t have children, ever. I’m thirty-seven. I can’t have a baby.

“Ms. Wells, this is quite a conundrum, but it
’s an actuality. We ran your blood twice and your urine three times. According to your HGC test, we estimate that you are almost five weeks along,” Dr. Burke says and stares at me as though I’m a future science project.

“How is this even possible?” I ask, posing my question to Dr. Jacobson, who up to this point
hasn’t said much. “All the doctors, including you, told me years ago that I could never have kids because of the severity of my endometriosis and all the problems with my ovaries. I haven’t had a regular period since I was fifteen. For God’s sake, I get a few spots twice or three times a year! How could this happen?” My mind is reeling. I feel like I’m on some reality show.
Forget Springer . . . I will probably be the next guest on
The View
.

“I
’m not sure I can answer the ‘why,’ but I’m pretty sure we both know the ‘how.’” Dr. Jacobson smirks at his own cheesy comments. Unbelievable.

Dumbfounded, I simply glare at him.
Yeah, it’s all fun and games until someone ends up knocked up.

Dr. Burke stands as he says, “Regardless of the odds of this occurring, the fact that remains is that you are pregnant. I have to be honest—at your age, and with the ovarian issues you
’ve had, this isn’t going to be a cakewalk.”

Dr. Jacobson interrupts and takes my hand. “Haven, I
’ve know you for years. How you want to move forward is your decision. If you want to keep this child, then I will do everything possible to make sure that you carry this pregnancy to full term, along with Dr. Burke, who is one of the best obstetricians in LA,” he says, as he looks me directly in my eyes. “And if this is something that you don’t want, we can help you with that too. It’s still early enough—you’re under twelve weeks.”

I know he
’s talking about abortion. I swallow hard. I can’t think right now.

Dr. Jacobson stands up. “I
’m going to have Amelia talk to you and give you some information. I want you to have all the facts so you can make an informed decision.” His hand rests on my shoulder. “Just make a follow-up appointment in a week. If you decide to keep the baby, then I need to refer you to Dr. Burke. If you choose to terminate, then we should discuss it right away.”

Both men leave, but Amelia stays behind.

“I want you to take these booklets home and read them. The information is there to inform and educate you. I want you to be able to have access to all your options. This is your decision.” Her voice is calming and she seems generally concerned.

“Do you have kids?” I blurt out, my voice shaking. I have no idea why I
’m asking her.

“You bet, five.” She chuckles light-heartedly as she reaches to open her locket around her neck. She bends closer to show me the picture inside. My eyes grow wide. This young, tiny woman gave birth to five children.

“Five . . . you wanted five?” I ask in disbelief.

Amelia pauses. “To be honest, we
’d only planned on the three. The twins were a surprise.” She laughs. “Okay, more of a shock, but what’s two more?” She smiles and I nod, although I’m not sure why. “Haven, is there a father, someone you might want to call, someone who should be here with you?” Amelia must have read the sadness in my eyes. As soon as she asks the question, her face reflects regret.

“It
’s complicated . . . we’re not together anymore,” I reply, defeated and sullen.

Amelia puts her arms around me. “There are lots of single mothers out there, great ones in fact. Don
’t let that influence your decision. Your family and friends will always be your greatest source of support. Trust me; I have seen many women handle raising a child alone just fine. I have a feeling you’re stronger than you think.” Amelia speaks with sincerity.

I stand up and shove all the booklets in my purse. Amelia hugs me.

“Just make sure you schedule an appointment for next week on your way out. You will have to act quickly on either choice you make involving the pregnancy.”

I nod and walk towards the front desk. I make an appointment for the following week on Thursday.

When I get to my car, I just sit there, immobilized by the avalanche of emotion that barrels over me. I almost feel like I’m in a dream state. I place both palms against my belly as a tear falls from the corner of my eye. Latch and I have conceived a child— a miracle child. What we felt for each other was so strong that it created a life—a life that is growing inside
me
.

I choke back a sob. My life is truly and utterly in shambles.

“What is it? You
’re scaring the shit out of me!” Weezie’s inner turmoil is openly reflected on her face.

I
’m sitting in the recliner, attempting to watch Jerry Springer. I think I could be a guest on his show. I just want to forget what happened at the doctor’s office for now. Maybe if I ignore it, it will go away,
magically
. Weezie stomps over to the television and switches it off. Then she walks into the kitchen, uncaps a bottle of beer and sits down on the sofa.

“It
’s the middle of the afternoon, and you’re having a beer?” I glare at Weezie, frowning.

“It
’s fucking five o’clock somewhere in the world and you’re stressing me out, so fucking talk. What is going on?” Weezie demands to know.

I still feel like my body and my brain are out of sync. I
’m not sure if this is actual reality. I take a generous sip from my bottle of water, staring at Weezie with wide eyes.

“Jesus, Haven, just fucking tell me. I
’m freaking out here. Tell me what Jacobson said.”

Weezie looks panic-stricken. She
’s the strongest person I know. She’s the one who handles all the tough stuff, and she never falters. If I tell her, then it becomes real. I lean forward and take Weezie’s hand. Her eyes grow larger, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I see genuine fear on her face.

“Oh God, you
’re not
really
sick? Are you, like, I-might-lose-you sick?” Weezie appears to choke on her words. Her face goes stark white.

“I
’m pregnant.” The words just tumble out of my mouth.

Weezie just sits there, looking flabbergasted. I can
’t actually get a read on her emotions. She finally leans forward and sets her beer down.

“You . . . you can
’t have a baby. It’s not possible,” she spits out.

“And yet here I am, five weeks knocked up,” I reply dryly.

Weezie’s face becomes soft, calming. She looks blissful. Suddenly, I’m afraid.

Weezie dissolves into tears. With everything that she has gone through in her life, she has always maintained a stoic demeanor. It has now crumbled with two words. Weezie never shed a tear when her parents got killed, when her grandma passed, when we had to put her cat to sleep, and even when Joey Miles had told everyone she had herpes in college. Not once did she falter. She is always the unwavering strong one in this friendship. Now she
’s hysterically crying, as if she’s making up for the last tearless twenty years. I put my arms around Weezie, trying to console her. I’m slightly confused because I’m the one who’s pregnant, so shouldn’t she be consoling me?

“It
’s okay, Weeze.” I hand her a box of tissues.

She just stares at it as if it
’s some kind of foreign object that she’s never seen before. She sniffs, and then looks at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“But all the doctors, they told you . . . How can you be pregnant?” she asks as she blows her nose.

“Your guess will be as good as mine—freak of nature, miracle, or possibly the potent sperm of a twenty-five year-old,” I say, flopping back into the chair.

Weezie stops sniffling and cracks a grin.

“You’re keeping the baby, right?”

How can I make that decision? I haven
’t even read the pamphlets yet. Why am I even considering options? I’m thirty-seven. The kid will be in high school when I’m in my fifties. I internally groan. I also have concerns over the health of this child. What if all the drug use and drinking Latch did causes birth defects? I also drank a few times over the last two months and even inhaled the smoke from a joint. I’m too immature to raise a child; I’m not emotionally, or financially, prepared to do this.

Latch can never know no matter what my decision is. If I do decide to continue the pregnancy, he has the means and the power to take the baby. Maybe he wouldn
’t do it, but his mother certainly has the disposition. There are too many variables. Everything is too confusing. I don’t know what I should do. I don’t understand why this happened to me. I shouldn’t have to make this decision because it was never supposed to be able to happen. In my teens, I had come to terms with the knowledge that my life would be childless. And at thirty and loveless, I had accepted both destinies. I now have been with three men in my life and have two failed relationships under my belt, and on top of it, I might end up a single mother.

“I don
’t know,” I tell Weezie while untying my ponytail. “They gave me a ton of pamphlets to read. I have to go back in a week. Don’t you think I’m somewhat old to be having a kid, let alone raising one by myself? I’m not sure what I should do.” I sniff, biting back my emotions.

“You won
’t ever be alone, Haven. I’ll help you. We can raise the kid together. I’ll be the quasi-dad.” She laughs, and then her voice becomes serious. “You need to talk to your mom and dad.”

Telling my parents hadn
’t crossed my mind. I wonder how disappointed they’re going to be that their thirty-seven year-old daughter is having a child out of wedlock. If I choose to end this pregnancy, I won’t have to tell them. I love them so much, and they have always supported and respected every decision I made, good or bad. It pains me knowing what this will put them through.

“What about Latch?” Weezie asks with a questioning look on her face.

“No matter what I decide, he can never know, ever. Promise me,” I reply adamantly.

Weezie shakes her head. A disheartened look sweeps across her face.

“Haven, you can’t do that. He has a right to know—he’s the father.” Weezie stands up and walks into the kitchen to grab another beer. “I know you’re all hormonal and shit, but that’s not right. Yeah, he’s an asshole, and what he did is all kinds of fucked up. I know you’re pissed at him, with good reason, but this changes everything and you know it.” She twists off the cap and takes a healthy sip. She stands in the kitchen, leaning against the bar, waiting for my response.

“If I keep the baby, and I
’m not saying that I will, he can never know. He’s too young. He’s not prepared to raise a child. He has too many issues. He needs to devote his time to getting healthy and staying that way. He will never be ready for this and I would never force him into fatherhood. I don’t want to ruin his life. I love him enough to let him go, to let us go, for good.” I squeeze back my tears. I know I need to walk away from Latch for real.

“Well, I vote for us having a baby,” Weezie says, raising her hand.

“Weezie, if I keep this baby, I can’t stay here. You know that. Latch would find out for sure. You have to swear to me you’ll never tell him or Keenan, ever.”

Weezie inhales deeply, and then exhales with a frown of frustration.

“I’m not sure you have to worry about Keenan. He’s hot, but a little too conservative for me.” She takes another sip of her beer, and then sits back down on the sofa. “That man is a thorn in my ass, and he totally shell-shocked me the other night. He refused to give up the goods,” Weezie states, looking completely flummoxed.

I chuckle. It actually feels good to find something humorous to laugh at right now.

“The goods?” I ask, my eyes twinkling because I know “the goods” means sex.

Weezie just shakes her head and shrugs.

“He would not fuck me. He would not let me fuck him. Let me just state for the record, no one was fucked. And it sucked, and not in a sexual kind of way.” She frowns. “Somehow, he maneuvered me into a date. A date, what am I, fucking sixteen?” Weezie looks like her head might explode. “I have never been turned down—ever. This is humiliating. In order to get this guy in the sack, I actually have to go out to dinner with him.”

“Is he paying?” I ask giggling.

“Well, I would hope so,” Weezie replies, pouting.

“Did you ever stop to think Keenan is so smoking hot in the sack that you might require nourishment beforehand?” I try to look as serious as possible. Weezie
’s eyes look at me cynically. She knows I’m teasing her.

“No, I hadn
’t really thought of that. But I’m making him take me to Nobu, so the sex better be comparable to their prices.” she jokes.

I feel better emotionally. However, physically, I still want to throw up every five minutes. I feel like hell. I call Denise to tell her I still have the flu and I will be out for the rest of the week.

I open my purse and start reading the brochures. After browsing through two of them, I put them all back in my purse. There is only one choice. I want this child, regardless of how it happened. I may never have this chance again. Something I thought would never occur actually has. Maybe it’s a miracle or maybe it’s just a fluke. Either way, it’s a child, a blessing. If I don’t have Latch, then at least I will have a piece of us.

I decide to call my parents. I need my mom and dad. I always trusted their advice, and right now, I need it more than ever. Because no matter what, every decision I make from here on will be life changing. I decide to wait until tomorrow to call them. I opt not to tell anyone about the baby except for those who should know, but only on a need-to-know basis. I can
’t take the chance of Latch finding out. I’m not sure if he will truly stay away or attempt to contact me. I will still have the paparazzi to contend with also. Trying to keep all this a secret will take both Weezie and I to make it work. Staying home for the next three days will allow me to regroup, to decide what has to be done. Even though I have pretty much decided to keep the baby, I still need a plan of action. I head to bed to try to get some needed rest.

I wake up in the morning, still exhausted from the rough night, considering I was waking up several times, feeling sick. I decide it
’s time to call my parents. It’s ten o’clock here, so my parents should be home. Castle Rock, Colorado, is an hour ahead of California time, so it’s eleven over there. Nervousness encompasses my body. I try to collect my thoughts. I hadn’t even told them about Latch. They had no idea I’d even been seeing someone. I didn’t want to explain to them about the age difference, and I suppose I am worried that they might find out who he is from the media.

“Hi Dad,” I say into the phone.

“Haven, how’s my little girl?” I smile. Even at thirty-seven, I am still my dad’s little girl. I worry this news might change that.

“I
’m okay. Is Mom around?” I ask. I really want to talk to my mom first and gage her reaction. Hopefully, she can soften the blow when my dad hears the news.

My nerves are frayed. I had already put my parents through so much when Jared and I broke up. They never pried or questioned my decisions. They supported me when I decided to move and they were excited when I decided to open my bookstore. They have never nagged me about my love life or marriage. I have
supportive and wonderful parents. I am really lucky, considering the horror stories I heard in college from classmates about their family lives. I only hope my luck continues.

“How are you, honey? It
’s been a while.” My mom sounds delighted to hear my voice.

I scramble for the right words as silence hangs in the air. “Mom, I need to talk to you.” I suddenly choke up.

“Haven, honey, what’s wrong?” My mom’s voice fills with apprehension.

“Something
’s happened, Mom,” I say, biting back tears.

There
’s silence on the phone. I can hear only my mom’s breathing.

“Honey, what is it? Tell me.” My mom sounds clearly distressed now.

“Damn, I don’t want to cry,” I say, fighting a sob. “I’m having a baby.”

I hear the phone drop. My mom
’s saying something to my dad. I hear my dad get on the extension as my mom comes back on the line.

“I
’m not sure I understand . . . how can you be pregnant?” my mom questions.

“I thought I had the flu, but I didn
’t.”

“Are you sure?” I hear my father ask.

“Dr. Jacobson ran my blood and urine tests. He’s sure. He thinks about five weeks.” I’m shaking so badly and I feel like I’m hyperventilating.

“Oh my Lord, I
’m going to be a grandma,” my mom blurts out. I can hear her muffled sobs. My dad is a little sterner and gets straight to the point.

“Can we assume there
’s a father?” My dad asks in a sobering tone.

“He
’s not in the picture. Dad, please don’t ask me to give you the details. Our break- up is still fresh and it’s just too painful.” In addition, my dad would mostly kill him if he knew what happened at the gala.

“Richard, don
’t stress her. It’s not good for the baby,” my mom says as she reprimands him.

“It
’s okay, Mom. Dad’s just asking questions.” I feel a sense of relief.

We continue talking for another hour. They assure me that I
’m not too old to have a baby and the news is something to celebrate. I know that it had always caused them great sorrow that I would never know the joys of motherhood and they would never have the opportunity to spoil grandchildren. I make sure that they are aware that it’s a high-risk pregnancy with other probable complications. I have no intentions of going into the details about the possibility of birth defects due to drug and alcohol abuse. If I ever do talk to them about Latch, all they need to know that he was the love of my life.