Page 129 of Pretend You Love Me
“Have you lost weight?”
I nod. “Probably fifteen pounds. I’ve really struggled to keep food down.”
“You may want to consider an anti-nausea medication if it doesn’t start to lessen in the next week.”
“Okay.”
“Just try to eat what you can right now - it doesn't matter if it’s cookies.”
I laugh. “I bet that’s the only time I'll have a doctor tell me that.”
He smiles. “Are you taking prenatal vitamins?”
“Yes, I started when I realized I was pregnant.”
“That’s good. Keep that up. So, no spotting or cramping? Sharp pains?”
I shake my head.
“Well, everything else looks normal to me. Of course I don’t have an ultrasound machine or anything. You’ll get a full examination when you go next week, but I don’t see any reason for concern.”
“Thanks.” He gathers his things and heads toward the door. Before he leaves he says, “I’m going to send one of your siblings in with some toast and ginger ale. Try to eat a little. That will help with the dizziness too.”
“Ok. Thanks.”
As soon as he leaves the room, I close my eyes. My head is pounding, and my stomach is growling with hunger. Will slips into the room with a plate of toast and a ginger ale a few minutes later.
“Here.” He holds out the plate and sets the drink on the nightstand.
“Thanks.” I nibble on the toast.
“You okay?”
“I just stood up too fast.” I pick up the can and open it.
“Is that what the doctor said?”
I laugh. “Actually yes. It’s quite common for pregnant women to have low blood pressure. He said don’t stand up so fast.”
He looks relieved, and then he nods toward the door. “Kip is pacing outside.”
I stop chewing and stare at him. “Did you tell him?”
He shakes his head. “I told you I wouldn’t. He thinks you’re in here dying though. You should tell him.”
I resume chewing and then wash down the toast with a sip of the drink. Will just watches me for a moment, and then I roll my eyes. “Send him in.”
I set the plate and drink down on the nightstand and pull a blanket over my body. Kip walks in the room, shoulders tight and his face full of worry. He’s carrying a Christmas sweater.
“I got you this.” He holds out the sweater, and I take it.
“Thanks.”
“Can I sit?” He points to the chair.
“Sure.”
After he sits down, he runs his hand through his hair. “Are you alright? What did the doctor say?” There’s a deep line between his brows.
