Chapter 17

A fter leaping from the shower, I drop to my knees at the toilet and heave. There's nothing for my stomach to reject, but that doesn't stop it from trying. I bring my head under the tap and gulp water to give my stomach something. My body shakes as I pull toilet paper from the roll and wipe the spit from my mouth. It's time to see a doctor.

The last few days have been spent throwing up on and off while battling the worst exhaustion I've ever experienced. I feel awful. Is it burnout? Is it stress from the show? It's the first time I've had a role this big. Jeremy is mostly managing the budget, but I'm the producer on-site. Maybe I don't have the stamina for a role this big.

Fuck that, I want this. I can do it. This is simply growing pains.

I stand and rinse my mouth out, then brush my teeth for the second time today.

It's been a month since I interviewed Sully at the hotel, and after he rejected my kiss, it's been easier to maintain a professional distance. A line was crossed when he swept his thumb over my lips, but he's been respectful of my space since.

If only I could find my energy again and start feeling better. Sully has been warning me about this. Eat well, drink water, get sleep. I haven't been good about any of those things unless he's right in front of me with a plate of food or bottle of water, which has become a routine we've fallen into. He doesn't say a word, simply hands me a plate of food or my water bottle, and we go about the day. I admit, my work-life balance isn't healthy, but throwing myself into my job feels much safer than sitting alone with my thoughts. So sometimes I forget to eat, and lately, even when I do remember, I'm often too nauseous to have an appetite.

Once the shakes subside, I return to my shower to finish combing through the conditioner in my hair. After rinsing, I promptly turn off the water. My legs are tired, and it feels like somebody turned up the gravity. I'm exhausted, and my limbs are heavy.

My phone beeps with a notification. I glance at the screen as I dry myself off. You've forgotten to log your period.

I roll my eyes. Wait. When was my last period? I unlock the phone and open the app. Scrolling through the calendar for too long. I forgot to log the last one too. I haven't missed two periods, have I? Can't be. The stress of this show has me so distracted I don't even remember. These days I'm so lethargic I'm running on empty all the time. I'm constantly in a daze, just trying to get through the day, but how the fuck would this get by me? Why can't I remember?

I blot my hair and stare in the mirror at my reflection. I can't be pregnant; I had my tubes tied when I was nineteen. What if this is something more serious… like cancer or some uterine cyst. I shake my head. I'm getting ahead of myself.

With a towel still wrapped around me, I shuffle into the kitchen for a sleeve of crackers to bring back to bed. I've come to learn the nausea comes on strongest when I haven't eaten. Between being sick and everything else in my life, I need to see a doctor so I can get this under control, whatever it is, because it's starting to worry me. God, this is such a pain in the ass. I pull out my phone and call the doctor's office. They put me on hold. I drop the towel and crawl naked under the covers. I just need a couple minutes more of sleep before I get dressed.

Finally, someone answers and I'm able to make an appointment for this afternoon. I email Rachel and Pierce to let them know I won't be in today. Maybe I can get some work done from home. Thankfully, Sully is traveling with the team to some training facility this week and due to the nature of their training and clients, we weren't able to secure a film permit. Which means my mornings are a little slower until the Rogues come home. My boobs are sore, which means I will probably get my period any day now. Probably late because of whatever flu I'm fighting.

I shove another cracker into my mouth. I'm not pregnant.

That's impossible.

The nurse takes my vitals and asks for a urine sample before the doctor sees me. Why is peeing into a cup so difficult? I had to pee before I walked into this bathroom, but all of a sudden, my bladder forgot I had to piss so bad? I close my eyes and visualize waterfalls and dripping water. That finally works.

I set the cup in the pass-through door between the restroom and lab. After finishing and washing my hands, I return to the clinic room with butter-yellow walls and wait for the doctor. I lie on the table, taking advantage of my opportunity to rest. Not that I've been doing any strenuous activities, but the fluorescent lights above are too bright and my eyes feel heavy. It feels good to close them. This is nice…

I wake up to the doctor knocking.

"Yup!" I call, my voice sleepy. I sit up and pretend like I wasn't napping two seconds ago. That's gotta be a record for time it takes to fall asleep. How long was I asleep for?

She looks serious as she takes a seat. Fuck, it's cancer, isn't it? She doesn't turn on the computer, just sits in the chair directly across from me and waits.

"Hi Kendra. It's good to see you. I hear you've been experiencing some fatigue and nausea?"

" Experiencing is one way to put it." It's been very hands-on. An up-close-and-personal interaction.

Her expression is blank, and I can't get a read on her. It's causing my anxiety to spiral. "We ran your labs. Kendra, you're pregnant."

I laugh. "That's impossible. I had my tubes tied. It's in my chart. Just a few years ago."

She nods. "I know."

My face sobers. "So, test it again."

"We tested it twice."

I shake my head. No, no, no, no. "I have my tubes tied." I sound like a broken record, but I can't get pregnant. Why do they keep saying I'm pregnant?

"Tubal ligation is ninety-eight percent effective. It's a rare occurrence, but it happens. In general, it's an effective form of permanent birth control, however, the younger you are at the time of the surgery, the higher the likelihood of it being unsuccessful."

This isn't real. She's lying. I can't be pregnant. I made sure I could never get pregnant. I paid a lot of money to make sure I could never get pregnant.

"How come nobody told me there was a chance this could fail? This can't be happening!" I'm mad. She nods, letting me get my frustration out. My breaths come harder and faster.

"Take a slow breath, Kendra."

I nod, forming an O with my mouth, and try to take a deep breath. My hands wrinkle the paper underneath me.

"Can you estimate what the conception date was?"

Then everything comes full circle, and it slams into me. Tears spring from my eyes. I'm not just pregnant… I'm pregnant with Sully's baby .

Oh my God.

The doctor must see it on my face, so she quickly grabs a blue plastic emesis bag, and I heave up all the crackers and water from earlier. She calls a nurse outside the door to have them bring me a glass of water.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"No need to apologize. I understand this was not part of your plan… There are still options if you want to consider termination. Can you estimate—"

"Late June. The conception. Or maybe July. Shit, that means I'm, like, pregnant -pregnant."

The doctor nods, and a nurse arrives with a cup of water.

"Would you like some pamphlets on your options?"

I swish some of the water in my mouth and spit it into the emesis bag. My doctor hands me a tissue, and I wipe my mouth. She gives me a moment to pull my thoughts together.

"Um… yes, please. But I don't know yet. What do I do if I keep it?"

"We'll need to get an ultrasound appointment set up so we can get an idea of how far along you are and make sure the baby is growing safely. As far as the nausea and exhaustion, that's very common during the first trimester and can go into the second trimester."

Second trimester. Second trimester, good God.

"How is your diet?"

"I'm nauseous all the time."

She nods. "I can give you a prescription to help with the nausea. Unfortunately, the exhaustion is probably hanging around but should be improving based on where you are in the trimester."

There's that word again.

"Ginger also helps with nausea."

The only ginger thing I like are those little spice cakes from Sugar and Ice. Surprisingly, the idea of eating them isn't revolting.

She hands me a folder, and we go through too much information for my brain to take in. My head is swimming with a million thoughts. There's a baby… in my uterus. By the end of my visit, I've already got a to-do list a mile long. First thing is finding an OBGYN I like.

I'm focused on stopping by Sugar and Ice on the way home. Everything else is much too frightening to think about. Am I in shock? Whatever, all I want are those stupid spice cakes. I'm overwrought with my… condition .

I'm pleased to see a friendly face when I open the front door at Sugar and Ice. Micky's standing behind one of the bakery cases and sliding in some fresh petit fours. She glances up and smiles. This is my go-to place for out-of-the-office work meetings. I spent many mornings and afternoons here while developing my original dating show idea. Over time, I got to know the owner, Micky.

"Hey Kendra! I didn't know you were gonna visit me today!"

I smile. "Yeah, how many of those ginger spice cakes do you have?"

"A bunch, how many do you want?" she says, smiling. She doesn't understand.

I fan my palms on the counter. "How many do you have?"

"I think three or four dozen?"

"Great. I will take three or four dozen."

"Wow, you must be feeding a lot of people."

I scoff. "Just two!" I say, laughing much too hard. My grip on reality is slipping. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I brush it away.

Micky reaches across the counter and takes my hands. "Hey. You okay?"

"Nope. I'm pregnant." More tears, and I try to laugh through them. "Sorry, I just found out. There's a lot going on."

"So… not congratulations, then?"

I shake my head. "I wasn't trying. One-night stand with a lifetime souvenir."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Kendra."

I shrug. "I feel like I'm still a kid myself, you know?"

She comes around the counter and wraps me up in a hug, and I let her. I needed one. "So, I've got a friend who was in a similar situation. Raleigh? You've met a couple times, briefly."

I remember her.

"She had a child when she was your age, one-night stand. Do you want her number?"

Is that weird? I could use some advice, though. "Do you think she would mind?"

"No! Not at all. I'll check with her, but I'm sure she'd love to talk to you. She felt a lot like you do. She's a sweetheart, you'll like her."

I nod. That's actually a relief. The pamphlets and brochures I received at the office are adorned with beaming women with protruding stomachs. They look like those advertisements of women laughing into their salads. As if their organic arugula gave them back-to-back orgasms.

I am most certainly not laughing into my salad today.

"Thanks, Micky."

That afternoon, while stuffing my face with ginger cakes in bed, and coming to terms with a baby taking up residence in my uterus, my phone vibrates with a text message.

It's Raleigh .

I don't share much, but we plan to meet for brunch this weekend. I'm really looking forward to talking to her. It'll be refreshing to know there's someone who's been through this and survived.