Page 28 of Doctor Mile High
I have to do this.
Dr. Leighton approved it only because I was just below the cut-off for travel, which surprised me, but she warned me that I needed to be careful.
Guilt twists into my stomach. Hanson was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so proud. Maybe I should have asked him for five thousand dollars instead. I could be home right now enjoying the nursery he put together for me and watching bad TV with my best friend.
“Are you safe to travel? I don’t mean to insert myself in your business.”
Right.
“But you seem very close to your due date and?—”
“I appreciate your concern, but I got approval from my doctor. I have it right here.” I lift it into the air with my passport. “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, though. I’m wonderingif maybe I should have stayed home. My feet are killing me.” I chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood and concern written on this guy’s face.
He’s still skeptical, given the way his brows are furrowed together. “If you’re sure. If you need anything, let me know.”
I give him a small, appreciative smile then turn around when the line finally begins to move. I hook the strap of my tote up my shoulder, taking a few more steps until the airline employee can scan my boarding pass.
“My goodness. You seem close to your due date.” She grins with so much excitement, her cheeks turn a bit rosy.
I pat my stomach with a long, tired exhale. “I still have another month. Can you believe that?”
“Oh gosh, it will be here before you know it!” Her tone is joyful, and for the first time in a few days, a genuine smile crosses my face. “Have a great flight. If you need anything, dear, just ask a flight attendant and they’ll help you.”
“Thank you so much.” I begin walking down the jetway—well, waddling is a more appropriate word.
“Ughhh,” I groan, pressing my hand against my lower back to give me a little support. “I’m so quitting after this. I’ll figure it out,” I say to no one other than myself.
Ever since my fight with Hanson, I’ve had too many realizations about myself that I need to change. I have such a supportive family, which a lot of people don’t have. They’ve voiced their excitement and are always sending gifts, always offering me help, and yet I never accept it. I have it in my head that I have to do this alone.
A lot of self-reflection happened after Hanson and I fought the other night. I’m so damn proud—and not in a good way. I’ve been so set on raising this child alone because this baby is my responsibility. That I would never shy away from. A message from my mom made me stop and think about the kind of future I want, not only for myself but for my child.
It takes more than one person to raise a baby. I’m not talking about a partner, which yes, partners are amazing. I love your father, and he was the best dad and still is to you and your brother. And even with him by my side, working together as a team, we still needed help, Dove. We always leaned on your grandparents, friends, the daycare, and not that I like to admit it, but a stranger would watch you if we were in public and I needed to use the restroom. Doing this alone will only leave you bitter, exhausted, and lonely. You don’t deserve that, sweetie. Please, you don’t have to do this alone. Stop pushing everyone away or you will find yourself alone, then question how you got there.
“Miss?”
The flight attendant snaps me out of my thoughts and a fresh wave of embarrassment rolls over me. “I am so sorry. I got caught up in my thoughts.” I step onto the plane, just waiting for it to tilt in my direction since I look and feel so huge.
I can’t be the only pregnant woman who has those kinds of thoughts, right? It’s ridiculous considering the weight capacity of an airplane. My intrusive daydreams have really gotten worse since I’ve been pregnant. The embarrassment would be catastrophic if something like that were to happen.
Keeping my head tilted to my chest, I walk down the slender aisle to find my seat, passing the first-class members. My bossisn’t on this flight. I made sure of that, or I’d never get any rest. I wanted a peaceful flight without him bothering me every two minutes.
The airplane is cooler than the airport, which allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. The seats are dark blue with nice head cushions and there seems to be ample space for me to stretch my legs. Glancing down at my boarding pass, I double-check the seat number.
Row 18B.
A middle seat.
Why would I do that to myself?
My tote hits an older woman in the shoulder, and she sharply turns to me, frowning her wrinkled face.
“I’m so sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” I mouth to her as I keep walking.
I finally reach my seat. There’s a man sitting in the aisle seat and another by the window. Of course, they are tall, a bit older, but in decent shape. Their frames span into the middle seat which gives me no room.
“Hi,” I softly greet them. “That’s me.” I point the middle seat and the older gentleman in the aisle seat unbuckles his seat belt and stands.
He twists his gray handlebar mustache, stretching both his arms to illuminate the entryway for me. “Welcome to the best row on the plane, little lady,” he says with a thick southern accent.
