Page 161 of Staying Selfless

“Call me Robert,” he reminds me. “How have you been? Feeling good? Any concerns?”

“Nope, I feel good. No concerns on my end.”

“Good. That’s good to hear.” He sits at the computer and begins to type. “I heard you already took your urine test, which is great, so let’s see if your results are in.”

I mindlessly pan the room as Dr. Lopez looks up my medical information. I’ve never noticed how strange the posters are in a doctor’s office. You’d think I would have these rooms memorized since I spent so much time in them with my mom. The cartoon diagram of a heart covers the wall space over the sink. There’s a poster with the body’s bone and muscle outline on the back of the door. My favorite? The scale of smiley faces referencing pain level. I’m pretty sure my face doesn’t contort that same way when my pain hits a level five.

“Here they are,” Dr. Lopez says, pulling my attention back to him. He fixes his glasses on his nose as he quickly looks over my test results. “Yeah, everything looks great. Your kidney is functioning exactly how we want it to.”

“Awesome.”

He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses on his nose one more time before he scoots his rolling stool away from his computer to face me.

“But I’ve got to ask. Do you know that you’re pregnant?”

Chapter 41

Logan

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My hands are shaking like a leaf as I grab onto the steering wheel of Eli’s truck, trying to steady them, but they won’t stop. I smack the wheel with both palms before sinking my forehead onto it, resting there.

Don’t cry. Not here in the middle of a parking lot, outside of the doctor’s office. People have cried over way worse things out here—death and sickness, for example. I’m not going to sit here and cry about new life. It doesn’t feel right. I’ve been on the other end of tears outside of a doctor’s office before, and it feels too selfish to cry here when people have lost their loved ones in that building.

I take a long drag of air through my nostrils, trying to calm myself down, before releasing the exhale, long and slow, through my mouth.

It doesn’t do shit. I’m freaking out.

How could I be so stupid? How could I be so irresponsible?

I didn’t hear much after ‘eight weeks.’ I pretty much blacked out from there.

Chicago.

Fucking Chicago. Of course, it happened the very first time we had unprotected sex. Yes, I was on birth control, but my mind was all over the place for the three weeks beforehand, when I was in California. I didn’t recognize when days were coming or going, when the sun was setting or rising. Missing a day or two of my pill wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibility. In fact, it’s highly probable.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Eli.

Oh my god, I have to tell Eli. How is he going to take it? How is he going to react? Is he going to be happy? Is he going to be upset? This is what he wanted. He wanted children. But now? We’re so young. And his career. Oh, fuck.

I grab my phone to call him, needing to hear his voice, needing him to steady me. I hover my thumb over Eli’s contact information, unable to press the dial button. It’s too fresh. I don’t think I can get the words out without my voice cracking, and this weekend’s game is too crucial for Eli to be distracted. I shouldn’t tell him over the phone. I can’t tell him over the phone. So instead, I toss my phone back on the passenger seat in Eli’s truck.

I miss my mom. I wish she were here. I want to tell her. I need to hear her voice. I need her to tell me that I’m going to be okay.

I sink my head back onto the driver’s seat headrest as all my fears begin to crash down onto me.

What if I can’t do it?

What if I’m not a good mom?

What if something happens to them or they get sick, and I can’t help?

What if something happens to me and I’m not there to raise them?

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