Second Time Around (27 page)

“Mm-hmm.” The tech nodded. “It definitely looks like a boy. Didn’t they take a guess at your nuchal translucency screening?”

“I don’t think I had that.”

“Oh, well, they’ll know for sure at your twenty-week ultrasound. I wouldn’t paint the nursery blue just yet, but I’m hardly ever wrong.”

Anna squinted at the blurry black-and-white blobs. “You can get all that from this? It looks like … well, a bug.”

“I told you so.” Trish turned back to the tech. “So what’s wrong? Why am I bleeding?”

“The OB will have to make the diagnosis,” the tech said.

“Yeah, but hearing a heartbeat is good, right? Breathing is good. Thumb sucking’s good.”

“The doctor will be here shortly.” The tech gathered up her notes and slipped out the door.

Trish let her head drop back down. “I’m starting to freak out.”

“Don’t freak out.” Anna squeezed her hand. “I’m sure you’ll both be fine.”

“If everything were fine, she wouldn’t be passing the buck and escaping as fast as she could.”

“Don’t think like that. We have to stay positive. Positive thoughts will yield positive results.” Anna realized that she’d spoken these exact words to Jonas after every round of IVF, after every compulsory bout of preovulation sex, and look how that had turned out. But
this
time (and she always added that part, too) would be different.

“Ugh.” Trish stuck out her tongue. “Don’t you dare go Kumbaya on me now. I liked you better when you were ruthlessly sabotaging me.”

“In that case,” Anna said, “at least we know you’re having a boy. Now you won’t be able to steal my baby name.”

“This whole thing is crazy.” Trish rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t exactly plan to get pregnant. When I saw those two
blue lines on the test, I sat down on the bathroom floor and cried. I went to the drugstore and bought like eight different kinds of tests, hoping there’d been a mistake, but they all came back positive. Blue line, blue line, blue line—bam, bam, bam. Total sucker punch. I wasn’t ready to be somebody’s mom. I’m
still
not. There’s a reason Mother Nature made pregnancy last nine months. That’s how long I thought I’d need to come to grips with the reality of the situation. But if the Bug and I can make it through tonight, we can make it through anything.” She glanced at Anna, then lowered her gaze. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t say any of this to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because of your, you know, situation.”

“Infertility?” Anna half smiled. “You can say it out loud; the truth doesn’t offend me. How did you hear about that, anyway?”

“I didn’t. But I knew something was up when Kris Doyle asked you to do the baby shower cake. The look on your face said it all.”

“Well, you’re right. My husband and I have been trying for years, and nothing.” Anna settled back in her seat and fiddled with the buttons on her jacket. “The doctors can’t find anything wrong with us. ‘Unexplained infertility.’ We don’t get to know why we can’t conceive; we just have to accept it.”

“That sucks.”

“Big-time.”

“Yeah, but if you did get pregnant, you wouldn’t curl up in the bathtub and cry.” Trish started to shred the paper towel she’d used to wipe off the ultrasound gel. “Normal women don’t cry when they find out they’re pregnant.”

“I’ve never been accused of being a normal woman,” Anna said.

“You know what I mean. You’d be all misty-eyed and glowing. And your husband would probably tag along to every single doctor’s appointment and both of you would team up to decorate the perfect nursery with organic everything from Pottery Barn Kids.”

Anna raised one eyebrow. “You have some interesting ideas about my life.”

“Well, you have the designer label education and the yuppie car, so I figured Pottery Barn is your natural habitat.” Trish sounded more wistful than snide. “But I shouldn’t rush to judgment; maybe you’re more into Crate and Barrel?”

The door opened and a physician in blue scrubs walked in. She looked athletic and startlingly young, although the stethoscope around her neck added to her air of capability.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Lafosse.” She offered her hand to Trish. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you feeling?”

Trish managed a weak smile. “I’ve been better.”

The doctor scanned the medical chart. “Your baby looks good. Strong vitals, no sign of distress.” She washed her hands at the sink, pulled on latex gloves, and settled herself on the stool at the foot of the bed. “May I?”

Anna flipped through a dog-eared celebrity tabloid while Dr. Lafosse performed a brief internal examination on Trish. After several long, silent minutes, the OB wheeled back the stool and jotted down some notes.

“Well, the bleeding seems to have subsided, which is an encouraging sign. Have you noticed any spotting over the last few days, or did this come on suddenly?”

“No spotting at all,” Trish replied. “Everything was fine until an hour ago.”

“Any abdominal pain? Back pain?”

“My back has been a little achy, but I chalked it up to dragging baking equipment around.”

The doctor nodded and kept writing. “Any contractions?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ve never been pregnant before, so I don’t really know what they feel like.”

“With any luck, you’re going to find out in just a few more months.”

The exam table shifted as Trish’s body relaxed. “So I’m really going to be okay? And the baby, too?”

“I’m optimistic.” The doctor nodded. “As far as I can tell, we’re dealing with a Class One partial placental abruption. What that means, basically, is that a small section of the placenta separated from the uterus, you started bleeding and, in your case, a clot formed and stopped the bleeding. Although.” Dr. Lafosse frowned down at the chart. “We don’t usually see it this early in a pregnancy. How sure are you of your due date?”

“Not very. This baby is kind of a surprise.”

“Well, don’t worry; we’ll figure it out.” More rapid-fire note taking. “We’re going to do some blood work and double-check the fetal measurements on the ultrasound.”

“What made the placenta start to tear away?” Trish asked.

“I wish I had an answer for that, but honestly, most of the time there’s no obvious cause,” the doctor said. “There are a few factors that can elevate your risk: smoking, drug use, episodes of high blood pressure. But in the majority of cases, it’s just a fluke.”

“None of that applies to me,” Trish said.

Anna held up her palm. “Wait. High blood pressure?”

“Yes.” The doctor pushed back a section of hair that had started to come loose from her ponytail. “But we don’t need to worry about that. Your friend shows no signs of preeclampsia—”

“She was kind of worked up right before she started bleeding. We were having an argument.” Heat rushed into Anna’s face. “This is my fault.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Trish said. “I wasn’t that worked up.”

“You were yelling at me. You were ready to kick my ass.”

“I can do that without breaking a sweat.”

“Your placenta is messed up—you could have lost your baby—because I conned you into putting a typo on a cake.” Anna buried her face in her hands. “I’m going to hell.”

“If you’re going to hell, then I’ll see you there in the baking supply aisle. Jeez, Legacy, don’t be so melodramatic. This had nothing to with anything that happened in the kitchen tonight.”

But Anna knew the truth. “I’m bad baby karma.”

“The Bug’s still kicking,” Trish pointed out. “You’re good baby karma.”

The doctor clicked her pen and reclaimed control of the conversation. “We’re going to keep you here for a few more hours for observation and then you can go home,” she told Trish. “But you’re going to have to stay on bed rest.”

Trish’s forehead creased. “For how long?”

“Until you deliver the baby,” Dr. Lafosse announced, then glanced down at her pager and rushed for the door.

“There’s no way!” Trish cried. “I don’t
do
bed rest! I can’t lounge around eating bonbons and watching TV for the next four months. I have bills to pay. I have events I’m already contracted to cater.”

“I’ll do them,” Anna volunteered.

“
No
.” Trish looked murderous. “No way, no how.”

“It seems to me you don’t have much of a choice.”

“I’ll figure out a way to bake in bed,” Trish said. “We are not friends, and I’m not your charity case. Besides, I have my own special recipes and techniques for everything that I make.”

Anna smiled sweetly. “Then you’re going to have to give me very detailed instructions.”

“Aha! See? You just want to steal my secrets!”

“And you say
I’m
melodramatic?”

Trish swiveled the upper half of her body until all Anna could see was the thick auburn waves at the back of her head. “I work alone and I like it that way.”

“Well, you know what they say: A baby changes everything.”

“
Security!
”

They both started laughing.

After a moment, Anna said, “If it makes you feel any better, I will admit that I do love going to Williams-Sonoma.”

“Actually, it does.” Trish released her death grip on the hospital sheet. “And if it makes you feel any better, I was lying when I said I had nothing to do with the missing mixer attachment. I totally took it to mess with you. I had it tucked inside my coat, and I put it back the next morning when I opened the drawer.”

Anna leaned back and exhaled. “That’s such a relief.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, I was starting to worry I really was going insane.”

“I didn’t used to be like this,” Trish said softly. “I used to be tough and confident and fearless.”

Anna rested her palm on her flat stomach. “Me, too.”

“And now look at us.”

“Disgraceful,” Anna agreed.

“So how do we stop acting this way?”

“I think we just did.” Anna cleared her throat. “By the way, don’t worry about the typo cake. I’ll smooth things over with the college president.”

“How?”

“I’m Legacy, remember? I have connections.”

“Tell you what. I’ll teach you how to make a proper brioche.” Trish grinned. “Check it out. The Bug’s bringing people together already.”

“He’s destined for greatness,” Anna said. “If he can accomplish all this in utero, imagine what he’ll be capable of in thirty years.”

“My boy’s gonna broker peace in the Middle East.” Trish froze and sucked in her breath. “Oh. Except I should probably warn you, I did one more tiny little thing to screw you over. Sorry in advance.”

Anna rubbed her temples. “Oh Lord, what now?”

“I may have taken a few artistic liberties with that china cake topper you had in the kitchen.”

Anna’s breath caught. “What kind of artistic liberties?”

“Let’s just hope the bride’s a Groucho Marx fan.”

T
he florist dropped off yet another delivery for you.” Anna peered through the half-open door to Cait’s bedroom. “Lots of lilies this time. Really gorgeous.”

Cait glanced up from the stack of pages in front of her, wrinkled her nose, and quoted, “‘Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.’”

“Now, now. Let’s not drag the Bard into this.”

Cait popped a red grape into her mouth from the snack bowl next to her keyboard and chewed contemplatively before announcing, “One good thing about being single: It frees up a lot of time to write.”

Anna leaned against the doorframe. “You’re not even going to
talk
to him?”

“I have talked to him. I’ve begged and pleaded and nagged and cajoled, and he still won’t tell me the truth about anything.” Cait devoured the last remaining grape. “So fine. We’re done.”

“But he’s calling you and texting you and sending you flowers. Surely that means something?”

“Yeah, it means he wants to keep having kinky sex in unusual places.”

Anna shot forward and closed the door behind her. “Like how kinky are we talking here?”

“Let’s just say I didn’t know I had it in me.”

“Good for you. You’re maturing, you’re embracing your sexuality, you’re—okay, I have to ask, have you brought in third parties and/or livestock?”

“Anna!”

“What about whips and chains?”

“No.” Cait mulled this over for a moment. “Although I’m intrigued by the accessory possibilities there. A dominatrix outfit would be the perfect excuse to buy black leather thigh-high stiletto boots.”

“They’d go perfectly with your down parka.”

“Exactly.” She sighed. “But for now, it’s back to my usual wellies and Uggs.”

“That’s such a shame. I’ve never seen this side of you: the brainiac bad girl. And you seemed, I don’t know. Happy? Hopeful?”

“I may be hopeful, but I’m not delusional.” Cait recounted Charles’s latest shenanigans. “And I’ve known Charles for years. I loved him, or thought I did. But I’m starting to realize that I didn’t know him at all. I spent an hour on the phone this
morning with the dean discussing how he’s the Bernie Madoff of Shayland College. So, with Gavin, who flat-out
admits
that he’s hiding things, I’m going to do myself a favor and not get emotionally involved.”
Or, at least, not any more than I already am
.