Page 9 of The Game Plan
“I’m grateful for you, Grant Campbell. For your friendship. For your heart,” she says softly, her body back to her side. “But this… This isn’t your problem.”
I open my mouth to argue, to blurt out all the declarations I should’ve told her, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.
“I just… I wanted to come today to congratulate you and give you a gift. And I wanted to follow through on our promise.” Her lips curve, barely a smile. “Freshman year, remember?”
And just like that, she reaches for the door handle, slipping out into the early evening air before I can respond. I sit there long after her taillights have disappeared.
Sitting there, with the warmth of her touch lingering on my skin, I replay her words.
I believe her. I know she can do this on her own.
But I also know she’s spent her entire life doing things alone.
She doesn’t have to anymore.
Even if the baby isn’t mine and we don’t have a future together—which is bullshit because my feelings for Savannah Holycross have never wavered. I was waiting for the right time, like an idiot.
She’s not alone.
And I’ll make damn sure she never feels that way again.
Present
Asoft knock sounds on the door as a familiar face pops around the corner.
“Let’s see how the baby is doing,” Dr. Sinclair says in her warm voice as she walks over to the sink. She’s been with me since the beginning, when I showed up at my first appointment in tears. I was scared and still in denial about the two pink lines that kept appearing. And boy, did I make sure it wasn’t a fluke. In two days, I took twelve tests—a variety of styles and brands. Each one produced the same result:pregnant.
With her hands freshly washed, Dr. Sinclair comes to my side and gently places one on my forearm. Goosebumps erupt at her cool touch.
“Go ahead and lie back, Savannah.”
The paper sheet crinkles beneath me as I shift, and she helps me scoot lower on the bed. My belly is large and in charge, making even the smallest moments feel like a chore. Once I’m in the position Dr. Sinclair wants, I grit my teeth and press my hand to my side, feeling the tiny thump against my ribs.
I swallow hard. “I swear my baby thinks my ribs are a luxury suite, and they’re on an all-inclusive vacation.”
She chuckles softly as her hands press against my side. “Would you give your mama a break?”
The baby pauses, listening to the doctor as its tiny feet still. “I’m going to need you to do that at two in the morning when this jellybean decides my bladder is the dance floor of a rave and passes out in my ribcage.”
“That’s a good sign,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a retractable tape measure.
“What? That my baby’s going to grow up and party at raves?”
“No,” she says with a laugh. “That your baby is active. It means he’s healthy.”
I smile softly, ignoring the pronoun she uses. Since I still haven’t found out the sex of the baby, she warned me that she’d use different pronouns when talking about the baby. It doesn’t mean that it’s correct. I appreciate that, because calling my baby an “it” always feels weird. While she’s taken to saying “he,” I switch it up, but mostly refer to my little jellybean as “she.”
“I know. It’d be nice to get some sleep before I have a newborn keeping me up all night.”
As Dr. Sinclair goes through her routine of checking my vitals and measuring my stomach, I reflect on what she told me.
My baby is healthy.
Healthy. A small comfort spreads warmth through my chest. Pregnancy is a constant fear of the unknown. Every ache and pain immediately trigger the concern that something is wrong. I’ve spent hours lying in fear, worrying that something is going to happen that’s out of my control. One night, I made the late-night decision to internet search my symptoms. The search led me down a rabbit hole of the absolute worst-case scenarios. When I made an appointment the next day, concerned aboutwhat I was feeling, I was told it was gas. Talk about an embarrassing discovery.
The sound of the tape measure retracting snaps me back to reality.
“You’re measuring right on track,” Dr. Sinclair says, typing on her laptop. “Blood pressure looks good, weight gain has been steady—maybe a little more than I’d like to see in between appointments, but nothing to raise any alarm at this time. If you can, try to get outside for a little walking. I know it’s hot, but staying active will help with delivery.” I nod as she places her computer down and pushes her stool next to me. “How have you been feeling other than uncomfortable?”
