"Get up now," I hissed at him.
He did so, but with a loud sigh. More like a groan.
We followed a nurse to the corridor behind the waiting room, where she asked me to step on the scale.
"With all my clothes on?" I asked. I make it a firm policy only to weigh myself naked and first thing in the morning. Or after a long sweat at the gym.
"Yes," the nurse said impatiently.
I slipped off my Tod's, handed my heavy silver cuff bracelet to Marcus, and instructed him to turn around. He did, but not before he rolled his eyes.
The nurse skillfully adjusted the scale with several quick sweeps of her fingertips until it finally steadied at 126 1/2..
"127," she said out loud.
I glared at her. Why did she think I'd wanted Marcus to turn around? "Looked like 126 1/2 to me," I said.
She ignored me, recording 127 on my chart.
Still, this was good news. I was 127, which meant 124 or 125 without clothes. No weight gain yet.
"How tall are you?" the nurse asked.
"Five nine and a half."
She recorded this on my chart and led us to a small, chilly examining room. "The doctor will be with you shortly."
I got up on the table, while Marcus glanced at another magazine rack. Upon discovering that his only offerings were Parents and American Baby, he chose to read nothing. Minutes later a young, petite blond woman who looked no older than twenty-five bounced into the room. She wore her thick blond hair in a short, pixie cut that showcased huge, brilliant-cut diamond studs. Black leather knee-high boots met the edge of her crisp white doctor's coat.
"Hi. I'm Jan Stein. Sorry I'm running a little behind today." She beamed, reminding me of Tammy Baxter, our head cheerleader in high school—who always got to top the pyramid while I was stuck steadying her heel.
"Darcy Rhone," I said, sitting up straighter, noticing that she had an unusually large chest for such a small frame. Surely a doctor wouldn't get a boob job, though. So they had to be natural. As a relatively flat-chested woman, that is the one combination that has always irked me. Fine, give a gal her big chest if it comes with a cellulite-covered ass. But Jan's assets just weren't fair. Maybe Marcus wouldn't notice, I thought, as I introduced him as "the father."
"It's nice to meet you both." She beamed at Marcus as I noted with satisfaction that she had a slight smear of crimson lipstick on her right front tooth.
Marcus smiled broadly back. I wanted to kick myself for requesting a female doctor.
"Should I take my clothes off?" I asked impatiently, before Jan could engage Marcus further.
"No, I think we'll just chat for a bit first. I want to go through your medical history and answer your questions. I'm sure you have plenty."
"Sounds good," I said, although I actually had none except whether it was okay to have an occasional cup of coffee or glass of wine.
Jan took a seat across from us, rolled her chair closer, and pressed my chart into an old-school wooden clipboard and said, "So. First off. Can you tell me the first date of your last menstrual period?"
"Yes. I can," I said, proud that I'd thought to check the date on my calendar that morning. "August eighth."
She made a note on her chart as I studied the enormous emerald-cut rock on her finger. She had to have been wearing at least a hundred thousand dollars' worth of diamonds. I bet she was engaged to an older, gray-haired surgeon. I had a sudden pang for my engagement ring, which I planned to sell, but reassured myself that it was hip to be at a prenatal appointment with your partner, rather than your husband. I was like a celebrity. Plenty of them skipped the marriage and went right to having babies.
"So when is the baby due?" I asked. I knew she was due around early May, but I was eager to hear an exact date.
Jan pulled out a paper wheel, spun it, and squinted as she checked the dates. "Okay. Your estimated date of delivery, or EDD as you may hear me refer to it, is May second."
The second of May would be Dexter's thirty-fifth birthday. I looked at Marcus, who was clueless as to the implications of the due date. It's amazing to me how few guys know their friends' birthdays. So I announced to Jan and Marcus, "I hope I'm late—or early—because that's my ex-fiance's birthday."
Marcus rolled his eyes and shook his head while Dr. Stein laughed and then reassured me that only about 10 percent of babies are born on their actual due date.
"Why's that?" I asked.
Jan looked stumped for a second—not a good sign if such an easy question threw her—and then said, "The due date is only a useful guide."
"Oh," I said, thinking that an older doctor would be able to come up with a better answer than that one. Or even a younger doctor who was less attractive. Ugly girls had more time to study in medical school. I bet Jan finished at the bottom of her class. I bet she wouldn't even be sitting here today but for her surgeon boyfriend. "I see."