Page 52 of Sweet Escape
Ever since we came clean to our families about the pregnancy, he’s been surprisingly attentive. He texts me daily to ask how I’m feeling and drops by the diner whenever he’s downtown. It’s a lot to unpack, if I’m being quite honest, overwhelming and thoughtful in equal measure. Everything is overwhelming these days; my mind feels more scattered than it has in a long time, and I’m finding it hard to cope with all of the recent changes in my life. To put it simply, I’m utterly depleted.
“Thank you,” I whisper, genuinely moved by the kind gesture.
“Jess always favored peppermints over the ginger candies her doctor recommended.” His head hangs between his shoulders as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. Something sullen passes over his features, but it's gone before I can register its meaning.“Just don’t tell Storm I gave them to you,” he says, forcing a smile.
He doesn’t often talk about Jess, and I don’t want to insert myself where I’m not wanted, so I don’t ask. I can’t begin to understand what it’s like to lose someone you love, and I know he loved her—deeply. It’s evident in the way he looks at his daughter, like he’s seeingherthere.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
Today is my twelve-week appointment, and the first one Wilder is attending.
“Let me just take this to the back, and we can head out.”
When we arrive at Doctor Patel’s office, I make my way to the front desk to check in, then find an empty seat in the waiting area. There are a few other women here. One looks like she’s about ready to pop, another is being doted on by her husband while their toddler plays with a set of building blocks at their feet. Will I ever have that easy affection with someone?
Wilder sits beside me, his knee bumping into mine as he drapes an arm over the back of my chair. “How are you feeling?”
I smile, showing him the peppermint clenched between my two front teeth. “Better. These really do help with the nausea.”
“Olivia Sullivan?” A nurse in pink scrubs stands in the doorway a few feet away, a clipboard clutched to her chest.
“That’s me.”
“Come on back,” she says.
I glance back at Wilder, who wears a look of uncertainty.
“Your husband can come too,” the nurse says.
I don’t correct her, and, shockingly, neither does Wilder. He stands from his seat and intertwines our fingers.
She leads us down a narrow hallway with numbered doors, stopping in front of room three. “Right through here. I’ll just get your weight and your blood pressure first, then Doctor Patel will be in to see you shortly.”
I stare at the scale, its numbers taunting me. I didn’t consider this part when I invited Wilder to the appointment, and to say it feels awkward would be an understatement.Inhale, exhale.
I step onto the scale and the numbers begin to climb. I don’t dare look over my shoulder to see if Wilder is paying attention; I don’t want to know.
The nurse notes the final number and then takes my blood pressure. It’s slightly elevated, but I’m not convinced it doesn’t have something to do with my anxiety and Wilder’s proximity. She then sends me down the hall to give a urine sample.
When I return, she says, “Ok, Olivia. I’ll have you undress from the waist down, then hop onto the table, and you can cover yourself with the sheet. The doctor will be in shortly.”
The ‘sheet’ in question is something akin to two-ply toilet paper. This certainly isn’t how I wanted to be naked with Wilder again.
To his credit, he doesn’t watch as I undress. I fold my leggings and place them on the flimsy plastic chair, making sure to tuck my panties underneath where they won’t be seen. Acting as if my panties are somehow the most intimate thing my doctor will be seeing today is ridiculous, but I’m pretty sure it’s a universal thing all women do. It’s instinctual, like taking off your bra when you get home, going to the bathroom in pairs, and crossing the sidewalk when there’s a man coming toward you.
“Good afternoon, Olivia! How are we feeling—oh, hello.” She stops when she spots Wilder in the chair against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees.
He straightens when she greets him.
“This is Wilder,” I say. “He’s my—he’s the father.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Wilder,” she says. “Are you excited to see your little one today?”
He nods awkwardly, running his palms over his jeans.
Doctor Patel glances down at her clipboard, flipping through the pages. “Well, it looks like you’ve lost a few pounds since your last appointment,” she says. “We’ll need to keep an eye on that. How’s your morning sickness since we last saw you?”
“Not great. It’s more like all-day sickness.”
