Page 2 of Better Daddy
He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, and looks down. Immediately, he lets out a loud screech. “Is that a pregnancy test?”
“Shh,” I hiss, seriously contemplating picking up that shoe and lobbing it at him. “Could younottell the entire office what we’re doing in here?”
“We aren’t doing anything in here,” Julius says, backing away from the stick.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can you just tell me what you see?” I pluckthe stick off the marble counter and thrust it into his face. “Is that a plus sign?”
He stumbles back, almost falling on his ass this time. “Did you pee on that?”
Annoyance courses through my veins, bringing my body temperature up to molten levels. “It’s got the cover on it. Stop being so dramatic andread.”
I flick it with my wrist, and this time, he really does trip and fall. Now that he’s on the ground, I crouch and hold it close to his face. Can’t get away from me now. “So?”
He squeezes his lips shut and winces like he’s worried he’ll get splashed with pee. Men are so freaking dramatic.
I wait him out, knowing he’ll give in eventually. Like clockwork, thirty seconds later, he sighs and says, “Yes, it’s a plus sign.”
“Shit.” I shoot up and stride to the line of other tests. “Check these.”
“Mrs. Murphy,” he says, standing, “when I said I’d do anything for you, I meant in the capacity of an assistant. Notthis.”
“And I told you not to call me Mrs. Murphy. It’s Sloane. Mrs. Murphy is married to Mr. Murphy, and I amnot.”
He shrugs, backing toward the door. “Pretty sure Mr. Murphy’s going to be very surprised to learn that Mrs. Murphy is having his baby.”
I dart around him, arms out, feet planted wide, blocking him from exiting. “We don’t even know if that’s true. Get over here and look.”
Finally realizing he’s not getting out of here, he dusts off the lapels of his very fancy Tom Ford and shuffles over to the tests. “Positive, positive, positive. This one saysplus three weeks.” He glances back at me. “Did you buy out the pharmacy or what?”
I roll my eyes. “Uh, yeah. Law school 101: always be prepared.”
“If you really lived by that rule, I’m guessing you wouldn’t be pregnant.” He turns around, and when he locks eyes with me, he cringes, hands held up in defense. “Sorry. You’ve got me all out of sorts with your pee sticks.”
I shake my head. “I need to see a doctor.”
“Yes, I think you do.”
“Now.” Stepping aside, I throw out an arm, motioning to the door.
He points to his chest. “You want me to make an appointment for you?”
I don’t deign to respond. I only glare.
“Right, of course,” he mumbles, likely giving in so easily because it means he can leave the women’s room.
“And make sure they can see me this morning.”
He shakes his head. “You want me to come hold your hand too?”
For a single second, I feel relieved. The idea of doing this alone scares the shit out of me. The relief quickly evaporates when I take in his flat expression and realize he was being sarcastic. I don’t reply, instead turning toward the mirror and absentmindedly fixing my hair.
The second the door closes, the first tear falls. I really am on my own. I have no one to hold my hand. That’s the only thing I ever loved about these appointments. Having my husband at my side, his attention fixed on me. With his hand in mine, I felt like I could do anything.
Two hours later, as I sit in the exam room by myself, I feel lost, without the first clue what to do.
“You’re sure that’s not like a cancerous mass?”
The tech throws me a scowl. Yeah, I’m guessing most people wouldn’t prefer cancer over a baby.
