Page 36 of The Celtic Resolution
“I don’t want to.” Cutting her off feels harsh but the less I know about this baby, the better. I’m not built to be a mother, certainly not one to a strange man I know nothing about. My fingers tighten around my bunched-up shirt, and I swallowaround the lump forming in my throat. “I just wanted to make sure things were… I don’t know. Normal.”
“Things are very normal, dear,” replies the kindly doctor. The monitor beside me beeps and clicks a few times and then she retracts the wand and gently wipes over my belly with some tissue to remove the gel. “Is that what you were so concerned about?”
As soon as the gel is gone, I pull my shirt down but when I sit up there’s a sudden rush of warm pressure behind my eyes. I blink and suddenly, I’m crying. “Oh, my God!”
“Saoirse!” My doctor moves closer to the bed and quickly presses some tissues into my hands. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry!” I sob, clutching the tissues and trying to stem the flow of tears that suddenly pour down my cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying! I’m not a crier!”
Her face is flooded with sympathy as she perches on the bed next to me and her lips pull into an upside-down sympathetic smile. “It’s okay, let it out.”
“No!” I gasp, sniffling quickly and blinking rapidly to try and chase the tears away. “I don’t have anything to let out. I’m not sad, I’m not! I don’t understand!”
Sob after sob tears its way out of my throat as quickly as the rolls of morning nausea until I’m gasping for air and the tissues are rapidly soaked in my tears. It gets worse when the doctor places her hand lightly on my shoulder. Pressure swells in my chest and the tears pour like fountains. I feel like I’m drowning.
“Saoirse, have you been talking to anyone about the baby? Do you have a support network around you? It’s very important for first time mothers to have someone in their corner because this can be a very scary experience.”
“No,” I wail loudly, hiccupping. “I can’t tell anyone, I don’t even want to. I don’t want to be pregnant and I don’t even knowwho the father is. It’s just this thing inside me and I don’t know what to do!”
She pats my shoulder gently. “Honey, there are options. If you don’t want this baby then there are plenty of things you can do, from abortion to adoption.”
“I don’t know!”
“You have a strong family around you, can’t you tell them?”
“No,” I sob. “Not until I know who the dad is. And it’s complicated because— because I don’t want them to look at me differently!”
The tears become overwhelming and for twenty minutes I sob my heart out while the doctor cuddles me. Eventually, the tears dry and I’m left feeling incredibly embarrassed at falling apart. Last time I cried like that was Brenden’s funeral and even then I did it quietly. Shaking my head, I dab at my raw eyes with even more tissues and then sag back against the bed.
“I can’t tell you what to do, dear. Or take those steps for you. But I advise you to reach out to someone. A sibling or a friend. It’s important that you have someone to help you deal with the emotional toil of this, regardless of what you decide.”
She’s right, but the idea of admitting this to anyone is incredibly daunting. No one has ever given me a reason to think they would react negatively but I have too much on my plate right now to worry about fielding baby questions from my siblings. After reassuring the doctor that I’m fine and will take her advice, I hurry from the hospital and don’t stop speed-walking until I’m outside and the hot June sun is baking my bare arms to a crisp.
“Cian?” He answers on the third ring.
“Saoirse!” His voice immediately calms me but just as I would know with him, he can instantly tell something is wrong. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.”
“Trust me,” I say, breathing deeply with only faint sniffles. “Listen, I’m calling about the masquerade.”
“Ah, your search for a certain mask right?”
“Exactly. Have you come up with anything else?”
“Y’know, I’d ask why you aren’t looking into this yourself given how important it seems to be to you,” he replies with an audible smirk. “But then I have always been the better twin at getting info.”
Rolling my eyes, I walk slowly down the street toward the bus stop. “Now who’s bullshitting.”
“Fair. I have nothing new I’m afraid. I’ve matched every mask to every patron,” Cian sighs. “But I’m on to staff now.”
“Staff?” I stop in my tracks. “I don’t remember the staff wearing masks.”
“Not all of them were but there were quite a few who took part. Particularly those serving certain entrees or meals. It was supposed to add to the theme I think.”
An employee? Could that have been who it was? The man certainly didn’t give off the same vibe as every other guest and his suit definitely wasn’t as pristinely fitted as even Cian’s. Have I been looking in the wrong pool of guests?
