When Girlfriends Step Up (9 page)

“And why are you calling me? You want money for this problem? Fine. I’ll send you the money you need for an abortion.”

“I’m not having an abortion, Brandon!” The words stung as I spoke them, and my lunch churned even more violently. “I’m calling because…because…because I figured you should know. It’s your baby, too, and you have a ri—”

“It may be mine, but I didn’t plan on having a baby at this point in my life, Robin. Not this way. Not with you. To be honest, I don’t care what you do with it. Have it, give it up for adoption, go at it alone. I don’t want to be involved.”

“But—”

“Look,” he continued. “You want help with this…situation—I’m helping you. I’ll take responsibility, and your word, that it’s mine, and I’ll cough up whatever it costs for you to get rid of it.”

“I’m not ‘getting rid of it,’ Brandon. How can you be so insensitive?”

“
I’m
not choosing to keep it, so you’ll have to deal with the expenses on your own. You’ll have to raise it on your own—”

“I fully intend on raising my baby on my own if that’s how it’s going to be. I don’t want you involved if you want nothing to do with it. Sophie and I thou—”

“Sophie? She knows? Well, I’m glad you two made up.” Despite the hurtful tone and words of the conversation up until that point, I knew that Brandon hadn’t wanted our one-night stand to come between the friendship that Sophie and I had. He’d made it clear to me on several occasions, and, according to Sophie, it was one of the last things he told her before they said goodbye. Although at this moment in particular I’m sure he was elated Sophie and I were best friends again. That way I’d have someone to help me with the baby, since God knows he didn’t want anything to do with it.

“Sophie and I are just as good as friends as ever. Better, even,” I said proudly.

“Glad to hear it.”

“That’s not the discussion, though, Brandon. All I’m asking is that you please do your part and help where you can. If you don’t want to play the dad role, then fine. But man up a bit. I know you’re not penniless. Can you find it in your heart to want to help
feed
our child?
Clothe
it?”

“Look, Robin, congratulations, or whatever you want to hear. I’ve got to go. I’m swamped with work. Let me know how much the abortion costs and I’ll send you the money. Until you have that information don’t call me again.”

“Bra—”

Click.

“What the hell?” I shouted, tossing my cell phone to the floor of the passenger seat.
 

That was
not
how things were supposed to go!

Brandon was allowed to be angry, that was fine. But he was supposed to understand—should understand—that the decision to keep the baby was my decision; and he had a duty, a
legal
duty, to uphold his end of the bargain. He was just as responsible and, hell, I wasn’t even asking for him to man up and take full responsibility. All I asked for was a little cash to help me out, like Sophie and Lara and all the girls had said wouldn’t be unreasonable.

I broke down into tears, gripping my steering wheel with all the strength I could summon, and let out a loud cry. It hurt so much. It hurt to be rejected. To be run over. It hurt that Brandon couldn’t even have a shred of decency to help the mother of
his
baby. To help his own child.

“Why does this have to happen to me?” I cried out pitifully. “Why like this? Unlucky in love, knocked up, no care. I’m just a one-night stand after all.” I wiped at my tears from under my foggy glasses, then gripped the wheel tightly again. “Why?” I glanced down at my cell phone. “Why?”

I was repeating the question over and over to myself when a bright blue car pulled up next to mine, and a young woman stepped out. I grabbed a tissue from my glove compartment and tried to clean up my tear-stained face. I watched the woman walk around to the back passenger door of her car and retrieve a small child from a car seat. The child couldn’t have been more than a year old. A small thing, wearing a soft blue hat, and the cutest set of blue jean overalls with what looked like a duck embroidered on the chest. I managed to crack a smile through my tears as I watched the young mom gently bounce her baby on her hip, making him squeal with delight.

I rested a hand on my stomach, where my own baby was, and let wash over me the peace of knowing that I
could
manage this without any help from Brandon if I wanted to. The girls were right: I didn’t need Brandon’s help, his money, or anything. Though I was entitled to support from him, we all agreed that the worst case was that I went at it alone. And, like the girls said, I wouldn’t even really be alone. Lara promised to go to my ultrasound appointment with me. Sophie said she wouldn’t miss the birth for anything in the world. Claire and Jackie both swore they’d make sure I had the most smashing baby shower. Emily…I hadn’t heard back from her since I’d sent the email letting her know of the baby…but she would undoubtedly give her word that she’d show this baby all the love in the world. And all of my girlfriends said they’d be there for me—from baby’s first photo to high school diploma time. “And then of course he’ll go to our alma mater, U Dub,” Jackie had said proudly. “And get the finest sorority or fraternity house tips from Aunt Jackie.”

As the mom and baby next to my car made their way to the park, their small dog now joining them, I proceeded back to my office. If that was how Brandon wanted to react, that was his business. I, however, had to get back to work. There was no more time for tears or self-pity today. The projects were piling up and I was determined to deserve, and receive, the raise. If I wasn’t going to be getting any help from Brandon then this single mom needed to do what was right by her child. And I didn’t need to waste my energy or let my mood turn sour because of some prick who wasn’t worth a second thought. It was all about what was best for the baby. And Brandon was not going to play one single role in my child’s life if he truly didn’t want my baby. If he didn’t want to love it as I did. He’d made his decision, and so had I.
 

Chapter Six

I was nervous, enthusiastic, and curious all at the same time. Lara and I were on our way to the doctor’s office for my first appointment and ultrasound. With the okay from my boss to arrive late to work, and with Lara by my side, I was ready for the big day. Lara was a doll, because she let me stay yet another night over at her place; it made perfect sense since we’d be carpooling today with the appointment first thing in the morning. She even insisted I pack an extra change of clothes in case I felt like crashing her place that night too.

The drama with Brandon yesterday was already old news. At least that’s what I was telling myself. I spent a good portion last night telling the dreadful story to Lara, and then to Sophie and Claire who shared “oohs” and “ahs” and “ughs” together over the speaker phone, and then once more to Jackie, but in a quick-as-it-gets manner as she had to hop off to work. I was proud that she was holding down her gig as a hostess, even if her drive to show up for work on time and do her best was fueled by the hope of landing herself a man.

“Thanks again for going with me,” I told Lara as we drove along I-5 towards the medical centers over in First Hill.

“Oh my gosh, don’t think anything of it, Robin.”
 

“I’m really glad we get to share this moment together.”

“Me too. I hope I’ll be the best company I can be. I’m not Mr. Dreamboat or Mr. Right.”

I shrugged. “Well, of course it would be nice to be sharing this with my Mr. Right, but—”

“It’ll happen some day, girl.” She made a cautious lane change before exiting the highway. “Don’t fret your pretty little head. It’ll happen. And look who’s talking. I’m still a woman on the manhunt.” She flashed me a smile.

“You’re right. I’m just really excited that I’m not going at this alone. Even if the asshole wants nothing to do with all of this. It’s great to have you with me, Lara.”

“Looks like this is it,” Lara said once we neared the medical center, signs filled with acronyms pointing in all different directions. “Yup, here we are. Dr. Jane Buschardi, OB-GYN. You ready?”

I nodded. I was as ready as I’d ever be. Nerves were in high gear, expectations non-existent, and curiosity and excitement rolled up together into one big ball. “Let’s do this!”

Even though I absolutely knew that I was pregnant, standard procedure at Dr. Buschardi’s office was to do a quick pee-on-the-stick test. (I was at a pro at this now.) No big surprises from those results. Now I was sitting in the cool, air-conditioned examination and ultrasound room, wearing nothing but my socks and a skimpy apron loosely tied at the neck. Though I was of average height at five-foot-five, my feet couldn’t touch the floor from my position on the examination table. I oddly felt like a child about to get her back-to-school checkup, with a nasty little immunization about to prick the arm.

“How long do you think we have to wait?” I asked Lara. I was starting to get cold; no thanks to my less-than-stellar wardrobe. You’d think after decades of women delivering babies in hospitals, with all of the modern conveniences and pain-reducing medicines and what have you, they’d be able to supply you with a more appropriate dressing gown. The fluffy little sheep that spotted mine didn’t make me feel any more comfortable (if that was their goal)—my butt barely covered and my breasts looking as unsupported as, well, they were.

“Hello,” rang out a cheerful voice. In walked a tall, svelte woman in a stark white lab coat, a stethoscope hanging around her neck. “How are we today Ms.…” She breezed over her files. “…Sinclair? I’m Dr. Jane Buschardi. How are you?”
 

I shook her hand and told her I was doing well.

“Pleasure to meet you. And you must be…” Dr. Buschardi looked at Lara, who was seated off to the right of my table.

“I’m Lara.”

“Well, Robin and Lara, it’s great to have you here today.” Her words were cheerful and sweet, and a big, ruby red lipsticked smile was plastered across her face. “So Lara, you’re…Robin’s life partner?”

I tried my best to suppress the laughter. Lara, however, couldn’t contain herself.

“Oh no,” Lara said, still giggling. “We’re not lovers. We’re best friends.”

Seattle was proudly a very welcoming gay and lesbian community; not too surprising, apparently, that Dr. Buschardi may have assisted in a handful of same-sex couple pregnancies.

“Well isn’t that neat? To have your best friend here to show her support. Let’s get started then, shall we?” The doctor wanted to get down to business, asking me lots of questions about when I thought (ah-hem,
knew
) I’d conceived, if and what I’d been reading about pregnancy, nutrition, vitamin supplements, and the like. Finally, after Lara was handed a million and one pamphlets that apparently held the information about what I could and could not do, and should and should not do, throughout my pregnancy, it was time for the ultrasound.

“Oh, wow,” I said. “I didn’t expect this gel to be warm.” Dr. Buschardi started to spread the warm gel around my stomach with the ultrasound scanning instrument.
 

“Such a simple thing so many doctors neglect to consider,” Dr. Buschardi said. “We’ve come quite a long way in the obstetrics field. Why some doctors still can’t figure out that a woman doesn’t want to be squirted with ice cold gel still gets me.”
 

Could the medical world possibly take another step forward and get proper dressing gowns while they’re at it?

“All right,” the doctor said. She tapped a few keys on the keyboard below the monitor, then made some clicks with the mouse, the pointer set at grey voids on the screen that told me nothing.

A few more turns of the instrument and she said, “You’re definitely at the end of your first trimester…your calculations are spot on with your date of conception…”
 

No advanced medical breakthroughs needed to find out that one.
 

“…You’re definitely at about your twelve-week mark, Robin, so I’ll calculate your due date in a sec…” She squinted behind her small, rimless glasses, tapping a few more keys.

I looked over at Lara, who was also squinting at the screen behind her reading glasses. “See anything?” I asked both of them. Lara gave me a big smile, then went back to squinting at the black and white screen.

A few more clicks and taps, then, “Okay, it looks like there’s only one baby in there.”

“Well good!”

Dr. Buschardi let out a small laugh. “We always want to make sure.”

God, twins? I don’t think I could have handled that kind of news.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Lara blurted out.

“Oh, we won’t be able to tell that for another ten weeks or so. Okay…the size of the baby is right on schedule. Looking healthy, too.” Dr. Buschardi looked over at me and gave a nod of “all things look great,” then said, “Ready for the heartbeat?”

“Oh yeah!” Lara and I said in unison. And within seconds I heard the strong thumping of my baby’s heartbeat interwoven with my own.

“Wow,” Lara breathed out.

“Wow. That’s my baby?”

“That sure is,” Dr. Buschardi said. She moved the instrument around my belly. “Can you see the head here?” She tapped another key and pointed at a white, oval figure. “And in a couple of months we can do another ultrasound…” A few more keys. “…And then we can find out the sex of the baby if you want. Do you think you want to know?” Some more taps and clicks, then she pulled back the instrument.

“Oh, definitely! I couldn’t imagine the suspense. I definitely want to know.”

Dr. Buschardi told me to make an appointment with reception about nine or ten weeks from now, as she was sure she’d be able to do a gender test then.

“And you don’t want to forget these,” she said, tearing out the print she’d made with the machine. “Baby’s first pictures.”

I stared, mouth wide open, at the roll of three black and white photos of my baby. I’d never in my life felt how I did at that very moment. It was more special and unique than the feeling I’d had when I first learned that I was pregnant, and stronger than when I actually realized that my life was going to change in drastic ways because a baby was, no doubt, going to come into my life. Right then and there—with the faint remnants of gel cooling my stomach, my butt probably hanging out on the examination table, still looking somewhat like a child with a scant apron on and white socks scrunched around my ankles, my best friend to my right, and across from me the doctor who would help me bring my baby into this world—I felt like nothing else in the universe mattered but my baby and its health. All I could think about was how I would make sure my baby was given everything and anything it needed to grow into a healthy newborn. I wanted to give him or her the world. I was absolutely enamored of the small life that I was growing. That I had helped create.