Without answering the call, I dropped the phone on the couch and pressed my palms against my forehead. “Stop it.”
I knew there was nothing I could do about any of this. It had already happened. Lurching to my feet, I went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I passed the fridge and stumbled to a halt.
Held up with the corny heart-shaped magnet was the sonogram. For a moment I was simply stuck right there, not moving, barely breathing as I stared at the picture. If the doctor hadn’t pointed out the baby, I wouldn’t have been able to find it. The baby had been so incredibly small, the size of a raspberry.
Was this some kind of punishment since I . . . since I hadn’t wanted to be pregnant? Like some kind of cosmic karma since it hadn’t been planned, and I had freaked out so much in the beginning? Worrying about not being able to travel the world and stupid, pointless shit like that?
Pressure returned to my chest, and I snapped forward, yanking the photo off the fridge.
I wanted this to be over with.
I hurried back to the bedroom, ignoring the cramping in my stomach as I stepped into my closet, shoving the picture between two shoe boxes. I walked back to the living room and picked up my phone.
Mom answered on the third ring. “Hey honey.”
“Hi.” My fingers curled around the phone. “Are you busy?”
“Of course not,” she replied with a little laugh. “Aren’t you at work?”
I started pacing. “No. I have today and Friday off, because I’m not feeling very well.”
“Oh no.” There was a pause and I could hear Loki barking in the background. Mom shushed the dog. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”
Is it the baby?
Squeezing my eyes shut, I drew in a shallow breath. “Um, I . . .” The words were unbelievably hard to say. “I had a really weird pain last night in my stomach, but it went away. I thought it was something I ate, so I went to bed.”
“Oh,” Mom whispered into the phone, and I thought . . . I thought she already knew. “Oh, honey.”
I pressed my hand on my stomach, just below the navel. “I went back to sleep. I probably shouldn’t have done that. I just didn’t think that something was wrong, but I woke up a couple of hours later, and it was . . . I was cramping and stuff. I went to the hospital.” I opened my eyes and started pacing again. “The doctor said that the ba— That it probably stopped developing. That could’ve happened weeks ago, I guess. I don’t know.”
“Honey,” Mom choked out. “I’m so, so sorry. Are you—?”
“I’m fine,” I cut in, wrapping one arm over my waist. “I’m actually okay.”
“Honey—”
“I’m fine. I’m just going to take today and tomorrow off, then use the weekend to relax, but I’m okay. I told work I had the flu. I guess it was a good thing that I hadn’t told them before. I mean, this was probably a blessing in disguise, right?” I was rambling at this point but I couldn’t stop myself. “Something was wrong and this . . . these things happen.”
There was a pause, and then Mom said, “I’m going to come up there. I’m going to pack Loki in the carrier and we’re going to come up there and—”
“That’s not necessary. I’m okay and there’s nothing that anyone can do,” I told her. “I just need to spend the next couple of days relaxing.”
“But—”
“Mom, I’m okay. I promise. You don’t need to come up here. Okay? I’ll see you at Christmas.”
She didn’t reply immediately. “If you change your mind, I’m just a phone call away, okay?”
“Okay,” I murmured.
“How is Nick handling it?” she asked.
My chest squeezed as I forced out the words. “I haven’t told him yet.”
Silence.
“I . . . it just happened, and he was at work, so I drove myself to the hospital last night.”
“Stephanie,” she sighed wearily.
My knuckles ached. “I’m going to get off here, okay? I’ll call you later.”
I all but hung up on her, and I felt crappy for rushing off the phone, but I didn’t want to say anything that would propel her to ignore my request for her not to come, and I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, because I knew I was going to have to talk about it again.
Glancing at the clock, I knew I had time to talk to Nick before he went to work. Part of me wanted to chicken out and call him, because seeing him face-to-face wasn’t something I was sure I could do.
But this wasn’t the kind of conversation you had on the phone.
I texted him, asking if he could stop by. After a couple of texts back and forth—Nick wondering why I was home, and me making being vague an art form—he said he was on his way. Sitting in the chair by the small table, I waited as knots built in my stomach. The cramping wasn’t so bad now, but every so often it felt like someone shoved a knife into my midsection. Part of me welcomed that pain, because I could focus on it.