"So," Jan said briskly. "I'd like to run through your medical history, ask you some questions."
"Sure," I said, catching Marcus examining Jan's toned left thigh.
I glared at him as Jan launched into her Q&A. She asked me my age (I was glad to say twenty-nine and not thirty), all about my medical history, what medications I was taking, and a bunch of questions about my lifestyle: how often I drank, exercised, whether I smoked, all about my diet, etc. After she had my life story fully recorded, she looked up, a smile plastered on her heavily made-up face.
"So, how have you been feeling?" Jan asked. "Any symptoms? Nausea?"
"My breasts are a little sore," I said.
Marcus looked embarrassed, so I added a gratuitous, "When he touches them."
Jan nodded earnestly. Marcus cringed.
I kept going. "And they're a little bigger, fuller… And the areolae are darker… But other than that, I feel exactly the same. And my weight is the same," I said proudly.
"Well, you're only about five and a half weeks pregnant, so it would be a little early for weight gain," Jan said. "Although you might notice an increase in your appetite if you haven't already."
"Nope," I said proudly. "And I don't plan on being one of those chowhound pregnant women. I'm sure you see plenty of those."
Jan nodded again, making a note on my chart. Then she announced that we were ready for the physical examination.
"Should I go?" Marcus asked.
"You're fine to stay," Jan said.
"Told ya," I said to him. And then to Jan, "He feels all awkward."
"Well, he shouldn't. It's great that he's so involved."
"Yeah—we're not married yet," I said. "But he's still very into it."
Jan smiled and told me to change into the gown on the table, she'd be right back. As soon as she left, I asked Marcus if he thought our doctor was pretty.
"She's all right," he said. "Cute, I guess."
"How old would you say she is?"
"Twenty-eight?" he asked.
"Am I prettier?"
"Yes, Darce. You're prettier."
"Will I still be prettier when I'm twenty pounds heavier?"
"Yes," he said, but without much conviction.
Tan returned right as I was getting settled on the table. She took my blood pressure and then examined my heart, breasts, and lungs. "Now I'm going to examine your cervix."
"Does that confirm the pregnancy?"
"Well, we're going to give you a blood and urine test for that, but yes, this will give us further information about the approximate age of the pregnancy, as well as help us assess the size and shape of your pelvis."
I nodded.
"Now, just relax," Jan said.
I let my knees fall apart. "No problem," I said, looking past her at Marcus, who was clearly pretending that he was somewhere else.
After the physical examination was complete, I dressed, went to the bathroom, and peed into a cup, got my blood drawn in a small lab, and returned to the exam room, where Jan told me she'd be in touch with the results of my blood work.
"In the meantime, Darcy, I'm going to give you a prescription for prenatal vitamins. They contain folic acid. It is extremely important for your baby's spinal cord development. You're going to want to take them on a full stomach." She wrote out the prescription in uncharacteristically neat handwriting for a doctor (another bad sign—real doctors should be messy) and handed it to me. "So congratulations to both of you. We'll see you in another four weeks for your first ultrasound."
Marcus and I shook Jan's hand and then headed off to Duane Reade to fill my prescription. For some reason, I remember that five-block walk well. It was a brilliant fall day—brisk but sunny, the sky bright blue and filled with cotton-candy clouds. I remember cinching my blue suede trench coat around my still tiny waist and skipping a few steps, feeling little-girl happy. As we waited at a crosswalk, Marcus took my hand without being prompted and smiled at me. That smile of his is frozen in my mind. It was warm and generous and sincere. It was the kind of smile a man gives you when he's happy to be with you, happy to be marrying you, happy that you are pregnant with his child.
* * *
eleven
My apartment's contents hadn't been too depleted when Dex moved out, but he had taken our kitchen table, two lamps, and a dresser. I was thrilled to see them all go, especially the rustic pine table that looked as if it belonged in an Amish home. I planned on going for a sleeker, more contemporary look that would complement the slick high-rise apartment with a view that Marcus and I would purchase together. Good riddance to Dexter's traditional taste, his insistence on prewar buildings long on charm and short on closet space.