Page 70 of Maybe in Another Life

“Good,” he says. “So I think Deanna is taking over for me in an hour or so. She’ll be in to check on you and see how you’re doing. I’ll tell Dr. Winters that it went well today. I bet they will have you headed for physical therapy in no time. Keep it up.”

I know that a nurse telling a patient to “keep it up” is normal. I know that. I think that is what bothers me about it.

Henry is by the door, heading out.

“Thanks,” I call to him.

“My pleasure,” he says. “See you tonight.” And then he seems to suddenly feel nervous. “I just mean... if you’re awake.”

“I know what you mean,” I say, smiling. I can’t help but feel as if he’s looking forward to seeing me. I suppose I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am. “See you tonight.”

He smiles at me, and then he’s gone.

I’m so jittery that I can’t sit still, and yet sitting still is all I’m capable of. So I turn on the TV. I sit and wait for something interesting to happen. It doesn’t.

Deanna comes in a few times to check on me. Other than that, nothing happens.

The hospital is a boring, boring, boring, quiet, sterile, boring place. I turn the TV off and turn onto my side as best I can. I try to fall asleep.

I don’t wake up until Gabby comes in around six thirty. She’s got a pizza in her arms and a stack of American magazines.

“You snore so loud,” Gabby says. “I swear I could hear you down the hall.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say. “The other night when you slept here, Henry compared you to a bulldozer.”

She looks at me and puts the pizza and magazines down on the table. “Who is Henry?”

“The night nurse guy,” I say. “Nobody.”

The fact that I call him nobody makes it seem as if he’s somebody. I realize that now. Gabby raises her eyebrow at me.

“Honestly,” I say, my voice even. “He really is just the night nurse.”

“OK...” she says.

And then I slump over and bury my red face in the palms of my hands. “Ugh,” I say, looking back up at her. “I have a massive, embarrassing, soul-crushing crush on my night nurse.”

Iam eleven weeks pregnant. The baby is healthy. Everything looks good. The doctor, Dr. Theresa Winthrop, assured me that I am not the only woman who has gotten almost out of her first trimester before figuring out she was pregnant. I feel a little bit better about that.

On the way back to the car, Gabby stops me. “How are you feeling about all of this? You know that if you don’t want to, you don’t have to do this. Eleven weeks is early.”

She’s not telling me anything I don’t know. I’ve been pro-choice my entire life. I believe, wholeheartedly, in the right to choose. And maybe, if I didn’t believe I could give a child a home or a good life, maybe I’d avail myself of my other options. I don’t know. We can’t say what we would do in other circumstances. We can only know what we will do with the ones we face.

“I know I don’t have to do this,” I tell her. “I am choosing this.”

She smiles. She can’t help herself. “I have some time before I have to go back to the office,” she says. “Can I buy you lunch?”

“That’s OK,” I tell her. “I want to get home before Charlemagne pees all over your house.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Mark didn’t say anything this morning about feeling itchy, by the way. I’m convinced it’s all in his head. I’m already planning to persuade him that we should keep both you and Charlemagne with us. We’re near his office, actually. Should we go surprise him for lunch and begin our campaign? Plus, I want to see the look on his face when you tell him where we’ve been this morning.”

“I’m honestly concerned that my dog is ruining your home.”

“What’s the point of owning your own place if you can’t get a little pee on it?” Gabby says.

“OK. But don’t come crying to me when she stains the hardwood.”

We get into the car and drive only a few blocks before Gabby pulls into an underground lot and parks. I’ve never seen Mark’s office before. It occurs to me that I also haven’t been to the dentist in a while.

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