Page 21 of The Final Faceoff
I blink at her, processing the words like they’re in another language.
Pregnant.
I am pregnant.
Knocked up.
Baby on board.
Baking a human like I’m some sort of biological Easy-Bake Oven.
In conclusion, I’m fucked.
She says something else—something about confirming with bloodwork, scheduling follow-ups, next steps—but her voice fades into white noise, like one of those scenes in a movie where the protagonist gets devastating news and everything distorts around them.
Except this isn’t a movie.
This is my life.
A life that wasn’t supposed to go like this.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to stay present. I am fine. This is fine.
The doctor keeps talking, but I only catch fragments.
“Options . . . prenatal care . . . your partner . . .”
My brain trips over that last part. Support system.
She keeps going like I’m still actively participating in this conversation. “It’ll be nice if he joins you for your first sonogram.”
“My who?” I ask, because I’m barely grasping the first part of this conversation, and now she’s throwing new information at me like I’m supposed to be following along.
“Your partner should join you during the first sonogram,” she says patiently. “It helps to have them involved from the beginning.”
I blink. “Uh, there’s no partner.”
Wow. I have to tell the father, don’t I? That’s a thing people do.
My stomach flips.
How do I tell the father when I didn’t get his number? I don’t remember his name. It definitely started with an M, Mark—us? Michael . . . oh, fuck.
All I know is that he was on vacation. That he lives . . . somewhere in the Northeast. New England, maybe? Did he really? Well, he talked about it a lot. That narrows it down to only a few million people. Perfect. I’m good at researching, I can find him.
The doctor, unfazed, switches gears. “Well, you need your support system.”
And just like that, my brain flatlines again.
Support system.
I almost laugh.
My father is . . . well, our relationship mostly consists of birthday texts and the occasional phone call where he reminds me my life choices are disappointing at best.
Mom is gone.
My siblings . . . my sister is okay and my brother, like my father, is always MIA because his job is the most important thing in the world to him. They remember I exist when I’m in town, and even then, it’s hit or miss.
