Page 57 of The First Love Myth

“You can look now.”

And I do. On the screen is the tiniest of miracles. Emotions overcome me, and the tears are instantaneous. Warmth surges through me. My baby. Love fills me. I blink back tears and stare at the screen, a smile forming. My perfect little blob with two little feet.

The doctor turns a few knobs, and the sound of a rapid heartbeat fills the room. My new favorite sound. Nothing can ever top that perfect pitter-patter.

“And there we are.” Dr. Manning smiles, her eyes focused on the screen.

I reach for Zoey’s hand. A weight lifts from my heart, and a completely different one takes its place. One I know will never leave me from now until forever. The weight of motherhood.

“I’m going to do some measurements to get your due date, but the baby looks to be about nine weeks,” Dr. Manning says. “And if you want, Liz, you can do your blood work today forprenatal testing. It’ll tell you the gender, if you don’t want to wait.”

I nod, all words escaping me. I’m having a baby. I’m going to be a mother. Finally. Will the baby look like me? Will he or she have Julian’s eyes? His smile? Fresh tears fall.Julian. I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted it with him. And we’re further apart than we’ve ever been.

“According to The Bump, the baby is the size of a cherry,” Zoey says.

A cherry. That’s better than a blob. I take the strip of blurry photos from the doctor. I memorize the information on it. Nine weeks and two days. I run my finger across the cherry. “Hi, peanut.”

My first thought after leaving the doctor’s office is to drive across town to see Julian. It’s Thursday, and he generally works from home on Thursdays. Separated or not, this is his baby. And I want to tell him in person. I need to see his reaction. His real first reaction. But now that I’m here, it seems like a bad idea. Our house looks the same from the outside. The lawn is carefully maintained by people we pay. So even with one of the house’s key occupants gone, it looks no worse for wear.

This isn’t the neutral ground I thought it would be. And a lifetime of Julian bubbles closer to the surface the longer I sit in the driveway. Some of the memories are real, and some are from his movies. How did our lives get so entangled with fiction?

“Do you want me to come in?” Zoey asks, her voice tight. She’s been fidgeting in her seat ever since I said I wanted to stop here. Her trepidation is palpable, even though she’s not the one with news to share. But I guess I wouldn’t want to witnessthis encounter either. Whatever happens, she’ll know something about us for the rest of time.

“You can stay in the car,” I say, fishing my keys out of my purse. “It doesn’t look like he’s home anyway.”

There’s always the possibility that Julian pulled his car into the garage, but the chances are slim. He hates backing out and complains about it all the time. Plus, this is prep season for him at work. Without me enticing him to stay home, there’s a good chance he went into the office.

The keys are heavy in my hand. I know the exact feel of my house key, where it sits on the ring relative to the cards and fobs and everything else. I find it without having to look. My feet move automatically around the crack in our walkway without having to see it. This is home, and I’ve never felt more like an intruder.

Inside, the house is quiet. And not the quiet of someone at work but the quiet of someone missing. The air is stale and warm. Too warm. Julian keeps the house frigid during the summer. Half the time, I walk around in a sweater. I eye the thermostat. It’s set to away. Worry needles its way into me, followed by disappointment.Where is he?Is he withher?Did he get tired of waiting for his wayward wife and seek comfort elsewhere? It is, I suppose, his right. I slept with Spencer, maybe even started to fall for him a little bit. But no. Abso-fucking-lutely not. Anger blinds me. There’s no living room, no house, only white-hot fury. He doesn’t get to sleep with Sheila.

I count to ten and open my eyes. The world’s a little less red. He could be in Cape May. Or at Jane’s. Or traveling for work. The anger resurfaces at the last possibility. Work means Sheila, and Sheila means everything is a lie.Shit.

I swipe at my eyes. Sheila or not, betrayal or not, he still needs to know. This is his child, and he deserves to know that. I sit down on the couch. My head throbs. This was an awful idea.

I pull out my phone and dial his number. The picture of him I have saved is familiar and foreign. It’s been a weirdly long time since I’ve seen a photo of my husband. I’ve avoided him on Facebook, though now I’m wondering if he has a second account. We’re still married on social media, irrevocably tied to each other. None of my life this summer has gone online except for Zoey. Spencer is saved only on my phone and in my memory.

The first tear hits my cheek. And it’s for Spencer, of all things. Julian’s voicemail picks up.

“Hi, Jules. It’s me... Liz.”God, this is awkward. I take a breath that will be audible on the recording. My mind filters through the million options of what to say. They all suck. “I need to talk to you about something. Can you please call me back when you have a chance?”

My hands tremble against the phone, and I finally let the tears fall. If he calls back or texts right away, that means something. But what if he doesn’t? What if he delays or doesn’t call back at all? I finger the spot where my wedding ring used to be. He’ll call. He always calls. I cradle my head in my hands.But what if this time he doesn’t?

Chapter 44

Liz

Ido another lap of the store. My feet tread the same spots, and I pass the same shelves, not stopping to peruse. I’ve been here for a half hour already. First, I ordered a coffee—half-decaf—and then a cookie. My stack of books is four high, includingWhat to Expect When You’re Expecting. But that was all in the first fifteen minutes. The cashier eyes me as I stop near the doors again. I survey the parking lot but don’t expect to see anything. He would come through the mall anyway. Not that Spencer is coming. Apparently.

There are a few options left to me—save face and let my ghosting of him stand without explanation, show up at his place of employment across the street and demand he speak with me, or text him one last time before reverting back to option one. I pull out my phone.If you don’t come to me, I’m coming to you,I type before I can overthink it. Not exactly mature, but desperate times.

Fine.His text comes through almost immediately.Give me five.

The victory is hollow, but at least it’s a victory. I plop my stack of books down in front of the cashier, my membership card already sitting on top. Five minutes barely gives me time to find a seat in the café, and I can’t exactly be toting a pregnancy book around when he arrives.

Ten minutes later, Spencer sits down across from me, looking none too pleased. He crosses his arms, and he gazes at the promotional rack behind me with his jaw set. He doesn’t want to be here. I get it. Ten days of silence will do that. Especially if you’ve just had sex for the first time.

“Thanks for coming.”Dammit.I swore not to say something so inane, and yet it’s the first thing to tumble out of my mouth.

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