Page 125 of Good as Gold
“Yeah, honey.”
He comes into focus. I’m basically lying on him as he braces me in his arms. “Hi. I’m so happy to see you.”
Zara snorts.
But Matteo’s eyes are worried. “Tell me what’s wrong. Are you sick?”
“I feel…” It’s so hard to describe. “Woozy. It’s hard to be vertical.”
“Okay,” he says gently, his hand rubbing my round belly. “We’re going to the ER. They’ll sort you out.”
Matteo will fix this. The relief I feel at that idea makes my eyelids feel heavy again. But I fight it, because I’m too busy sneaking looks at Matteo’s scruffy, handsome face. In his flannel shirt, he looks like a western hipster.
Honestly, I wish I’d taken a little more care with my appearance today. But I really like his hand on my belly. “Why are you here?” I demand.
“Because he’s back!” Zara says as she cuts someone off in traffic. “We were trying to surprise you.”
“I’m surprised,” I murmur, and Matteo flashes me a cautious smile. In the back of my mind, I know I’m causing everyone to worry. But I’m too dizzy to care.
“Stay with me.” Matteo pats my cheek. “I have a present for you. If you can stay awake until we get to the hospital, I’ll give it to you.”
“Another present?” I ask sleepily. “For the baby?”
“No, this one’s for you.”
“I’m just so glad you’re here,” I say sloppily. “How long can you stay?”
“As long as you need me,” he says softly. “How long do you think that will be?”
“Uh…” It’s hard to answer questions when you’re woozy. “I miss you so much, but I’m not supposed to answer that.”
His face breaks into a smile. “How come?”
“It’s breaking the rules.” I sigh against his flannel shirt. “You can’t ask your sperm donor to be your man. Everyone knows that.”
“Do they, now?” He strokes my hair. “We’ll just see about that.”
* * *
By the time we arrive at the hospital, I feel less dizzy and more lucid. Zara pulls up near the door to the ER and sprints inside to get a wheelchair.
Matteo sets me into it with a comical, exaggerated grunt of effort.
I’m so happy to see him that I don’t even mind this little joke at my expense.
Then he pushes me inside, buttonholes a nurse, and says, “This one fainted, and she needs to be seen immediately.”
The woman blinks at him for a long moment, as if distracted by how handsome he is.Girl, I know the feeling. Eventually she shifts her gaze to me. Specifically, my belly. “How many weeks?”
“Thirty-seven,” Matteo and I say at exactly the same time.
I didn’t even know he knew that.
The nurse gives me a clipboard full of forms to fill out, and Matteo takes it and begins the work for me. If that’s not love, I’m not sure what is.
They call my name fairly quickly. It’s hard to say whether that’s due to my pregnant belly, my pale face, or the fact that Matteo keeps approaching the triage desk, insisting that I need attention.
In the exam room, the doctor says I’m not in labor. “Those contractions you’re having aren’t serious,” she says. “But I don’t like your blood pressure.”
