Page 88 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

“If he wants to keep crashing at my place rent free, he’s going to help when I need it.”

“You think he’s going to stay in Calloway Creek?”

“I do.”

“It’ll be nice to reconnect with him. If you think he’d still want to be friends after finding out I knocked you up.”

“I think Ryder will need all the friends he can get.”

“Good.” I nod. “That’s good.”

In spite of the fact that I had ulterior motives for becoming his friend way back when, I was always glad I did. We had a lot in common. We both liked sports and video games. We were interested in going to the same college. And we both got our degrees in business.

When he took up with Amy, I saw him less and less. When they moved in together our senior year, he became almost a stranger. They took off to her hometown after graduation, and other than his wedding soon thereafter, and the occasional phone call, I have no idea what he’s been doing.

There’s a knock on the door and Dr. Russo comes back into the room. She pulls over the rolling stool and looks from me to Regan. “Well then, let’s go over the usual things. Regan, as with any geriatric pregnancy, there are—”

“Excuse me,” I say, brows knit. “Geriatric?”

“Regan is over thirty-five. That places her at an advanced maternal age. It comes with elevated risks.”

I turn to Regan. “Did you know about this?”

“Relax, Lucas. Ijustturned thirty-five. It’s going to be fine.”

“Most likely, it will,” Dr. Russo says. “But I’ll still go over the risks. You have a higher chance of miscarriage, preeclampsia, gestational diabetes, premature birth, and chromosomal and other genetic disorders. And with your BMI being what it is, there are compounding risks. We’ll keep a close eye on your blood pressure as you’re at risk for gestational hypertension.”

“I’ll buy her one of those home machines,” I say.

The doctor nods. “Being proactive will definitely help.”

“What else can we do?”

Regan looks at me and smiles. Does she like how I said ‘we?’ Because I sure as hell do. But then her words from earlier echo through my head.‘Your job is done.’

“Make sure all of your preventative care is up to date,” the doc says. “Take a prenatal vitamin that includes folic acid. Exercise regularly, even if it’s just a brisk walk through the park. Don’t smoke or use alcohol. Reduce stress levels and get plenty of sleep. Eat a healthy diet with plenty of fruits, vegetables and whole grains. And with your BMI, I’d like you to keep your weight gain to less than twenty pounds.”

“Not a problem with as much as I’ve been vomiting,” Regan says.

“That may be true now, but your morning sickness will probably go away as you near the second trimester.”

They talk about her weight for a minute, but I’m still stuck on a few horrible words the doctor said. “Miscarriage… premature birth… genetic disorders. That’s a lot of scary shit, Doctor. Pardon my French.”

“I don’t mean to scare you. We’ll do blood testing around ten weeks to rule out chromosomal abnormalities. I’ll have you come in for early glucose screening. If you start experiencing frequent headaches, contact me.” She pats Regan’s hand. “Odds are you and the baby will be fine. Your chances of having a healthy baby are still much higher than miscarriage.” She stands. “I’ll see you back here once a month until the third trimester. Should any problems arise with blood pressure or whatnot, we will increase that frequency. You can meet with Janice out front to work out the billing.”

“I’m not going out front,” I say, locking eyes with Regan. “But I’ll be paying for all of it.” I pull a business card out of my pocket. “Can this Janice be discreet?”

“We’re all bound by HIPAA,” Dr. Russo says, taking my card. “I’ll have her bill you.”

I laugh. “HIPAA or not, we all know rumors spread like wildfire in this town.”

Dr. Russo nods. “I’ll do everything in my power to prevent that. But sooner or later…”

“We’re just hoping for later,” Regan says, sliding down from where she sat on the exam table. She takes my business card back from the doctor. “I’ll pay it myself.” She looks at me. “You can transfer me the funds after.”

“That might be wise,” the doctor says, confirming my fears. She motions to the door. “Shall I escort you out the back, Mr. Montana?”

Right. Regan is going out the front.Alone. I’ll quietly leave while she pays the bill and goes back to work. There will be no gushing over the ultrasound pictures. No talking about the excitement of hearing the heartbeat. No walking out of the doctor’s office hand-in-hand discussing what will happen when we find out the sex of the baby. Just the two of us going about our separate lives.

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