Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
A nurse comes out, stares at the clipboard in her hand, and calls Noah’s name without even looking up. It’s easy to see she’s done this a time or two and could be tired of the redundancy. Or maybe I’m looking too deeply. For all I know, she’s having a bad day and wants to go back to the comfort of her home. Like me.
Noah groans. I squeeze his hand in a silent thank you. Men look at us. At him. They recognize Noah and my heart sinks. Someone will undoubtedly Tweet or X this and everyone will know we’re struggling. Except it’s me; Noah isn’t. His swimmers are strong and ready for the job. Today, we’ll find out if my eggs are willing to party with his sperm. It’s the best way I can describe it because like Elle, the scientific words annoy me.
If it wasn’t for the crash . . .
“Peyton?”
My sister’s voice pulls me from a memory I don’t want to look back on. I glance at her. “Yeah?”
“You good?”
I nod and offer her a kind smile. She was there when I had the surgery to repair some of the damage to my pelvic area. My sister held my hand throughout my recovery and never left my side. At times, I felt bad for Noah because he wanted to be my constant presence, but Elle was steadfast in her support. I see a side of Elle no one else does. Many think she’s selfish and only cares about herself. Those people are wrong. My sister will walk through fire for those she loves. She just has a hard time showing it to outsiders.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of us having babies at the same time, but it won’t happen. Sure, they’ll be close in age. Maybe weeks apart if we’re lucky.
If I’m lucky.
Elle’s process is going to be the same, yet we both suspect she won’t have an issue getting pregnant. Ben had his sperm harvested prior to his surgery and chemotherapy, which was smart of him to do. The doctors will extract her eggs much like they will with mine. We’ll both have implantation and then wait.
Still, aside from Noah, this isn’t how I pictured becoming a mother. Not sitting in a waiting room with strangers who casually look up from their phones and then at us. I don’t need to be a genius to know they’re searching the web to confirm their suspicions. Our dad is famous. It’s not like we stayed out of the spotlight. My husband is famous in the sports world.
It dawns on me as I look at Elle and Ben, that we could very well have a mix-up. My heart races as imaginary scenes play out in my mind. What if the clinic gives me her eggs or puts Ben’s sperm with my eggs?
Lord help me.
I look at the people across from us, and then the others along the walls. I take in the posters of pregnant mothers, with the expectant fathers, and partners, trying to get all the wrong thoughts out of my mind. The people here are professionals. It’s their job to pay attention to detail. Unfortunately, I catch the gazes of a few people and while everyone in here has the same goal, I feel like I’m being scrutinized.
Elle stands and goes to the counter. I push off the arms of the chair to follow, but Ben puts his hand on my arm and shakes his head slightly. I don’t question him. Elle’s protective of me and, by default, Ben is as well.
When my sister returns, she reaches for my hand. “Come on,” she says. I stand and allow her to tug me behind her, with Ben following. We’re shown into a room . . . the room!
“Um—” The walls are painted a muted pink or what could’ve been mauve when it was the fad of the late eighties and early nineties. The paint desperately needs to be refreshed. On the coffee table, stacks of magazines, some are open showing naked women, while the television displays a pornographic movie.
“It’s private,” Elle says. “We don’t have to watch porn.”
I can’t believe she’s cracking another joke.
“You were feeling a bit uneasy out there,” she says. I nod. “So, we’re going to wait here until our appointment.”
“I’m not sure I want to sit down,” I tell her. Ben steps around me and picks up a magazine off the table. I expect Elle to smack him, but she doesn’t. My eyes widen at her in a gesture that’s meant to ask her what the hell is he doing, yet she ignores me. I’m about to say something, even though he’s not my husband. Except when I open my mouth, words fail me. Ben’s not looking through the photos. He’s turning the magazines over so we don’t have to see the covers.