18. Noah

18

Today, we are meeting Peyton's obstetrician. I'd met the one she used in Portland, but because she's pregnant now, she needs one in Cali. While I'm over the moon that we're having a child, I'm nervous about fatherhood. I know I'm going to be a good dad because I have some strong male role models in my life, however I fear that with my career I won't always be around when my child needs me. Which makes me feel like I should retire sooner rather than later, and just kick this football career to the wayside.

I'm scared for Peyton, though.

I'm scared about the changes her body will go through and how that'll affect her. Will she be in pain? Will her hips hurt which means she'll have difficulty walking? I remember her recovery like it was yesterday. I saw the pain on her face each time she went to physical therapy, each time she stood to walk. Seeing her like that about killed me because there wasn't anything I could do, other than blame myself for her being in the situation to begin with.

We walk in and while Peyton goes to check in with her mountain of paperwork, I scan the room for two seats next to each other. There isn't one, and it's not like I'm going to ask an expectant mother to move.

As I look around, most of these mothers, with different sized bellies, are alone. This doesn't sit well with me. Yes, I know expectant fathers can't get the time off from work to go to the appointments, which just proves another issue with our healthcare system. I find a vacant seat near the window and in the corner and stand against the wall while I wait for my wife. When she walks over, her smile is wide.

"Sit here," I tell her.

"Or I could sit on your lap."

The offer is tempting. I shake my head. "Professionalism," I tell her, although there is no need. I know she's joking . . . at least I think she is. "Did everything go okay?"

She nods. "I have more paperwork to fill out."

My eyes roll hard. They sent her a packet of crap already, which took her an hour to fill out. Now, a clipboard rests on her lap.

"They want to know where you work and what you do?"

The question makes me laugh. It's as if my profession or any other spouse's profession make a difference in a woman's pregnancy. I suppose if I worked in the mines or something, it would.

"Professional gigolo," I tell her.

Peyton snorts. "You wish. I've seen you dance," she says quietly.

"It's not all about dancing. It's about how I move . . ." I trail off when she glares at me. The woman next to her stifles a giggle, which makes me smile.

I nudge Peyton with my knee. "You should put QB1."

"You're not in high school anymore, Noah."

"Good thing. Otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting in this waiting room." Many times over the years there have been instances where I wished I could say she was my high school or college sweetheart. There's something about the connection my parents have, or even Peyton's mom had with Mason. I remember watching Katelyn and Mason, always in sync with each other. It's funny to think about it now, though. I can't imagine Katelyn without Harrison. They're not high school or college anything, and yet you would never know it. Their relationship is so fluid, even in a room full of people, they gravitate toward each other.

Peyton kicks my foot with hers. A sign I should probably stop while I'm ahead or I'll end up paying for it later. The thought is tempting, but I'm not going to push my luck. Not today. She has enough on her plate.

She finishes the paperwork and takes it back to the reception desk. I stand there, making an error in judgment when I glance at the woman in the seat next to Peyton's. She smiles at me. It's not one of those nice kinds of smiles, the one where they're just being kind and whatnot. This smile shows interest, especially when her eyelashes flutter and she cocks her head.

Nope.

Besides the fact that I'm beyond happily married, and my wife is expecting our first child, something tells me this is not the place to pick up men. Maybe it's because I'm here and her partner isn't. For whatever the reason is, I don't like her flirting, and she's making me uncomfortable. Before I can pull my phone out of my pocket, Peyton returns. Her smile is the only one I want to see. It's the only one that does things to me.

"How long did they say?" I ask as she sits back down.

"Just a few minutes."

I nod and keep my eyes on my wife. Not that I mind looking at her. She's fucking beautiful and sexy, even sexier now that she's carrying my child. I reach for her hand, needing to touch her. It's weird. I have this fear she's going to slip away from me. I don't even know why, but it started when our journey to parenthood did. My thumb moves over the bracelet, the one the guru gave me. I have no idea if it's going to work, if it's going to protect her or not, but she wears it.

"Peyton Westbury."

As soon as her name's called, we make our way to the nurse. She's dressed in pink and blue scrubs with rubber duckies printed on them. They're cute. She holds the door for us and as soon as we pass by, she steps in front of us.

"I'm Stephanie, Dr. Ringman's nurse," she tells us as we follow her down the hall. "We're going to get you weighed." Stephanie motions for Peyton to step onto the scale and tells her this is her starting point, and they'll monitor her weight increase from this point forward. Being the good husband I am, I turn away. While I know how much my wife weighs, I don't need to look at the numbers and make her feel self-conscious about anything.

Stephanie directs Peyton to leave a urine sample in the bathroom, which leaves me standing in the hallway, like a weirdo. Maybe this is why the other partners don't come to the appointments. When Peyton comes out of the bathroom, the nurse brings us into a room, jotting down information on a piece of paper. Inside, she takes Peyton's blood pressure and checks her oxygen and her temperature, which I find odd.

"Do you have a fever?" I ask in a hushed tone.

Peyton shakes her head.

"The body produces more heat while pregnant," Stephanie tells me. "We like to track everything." She laughs.

"Everything?" I question.

"Everything," she reiterates. "Knowing how the body changes throughout the pregnancy helps."

"Interesting." I quiet down while Stephanie asks Peyton a series of questions, mostly the same ones Peyton answered on the pile of paperwork they sent to our house.

"Okay, I'm going to step out. Go ahead and strip down. Put this gown on, open in the front, and cover your lap with the sheets. Dr. Ringman will be in shortly."

"You have to get naked?" I ask as soon as the door closes.

Peyton shrugs. "This is my first time doing this."

"My bad. I wonder if one of our baby parenting books gives us some idea of what you should expect from each visit."

"Are you going to come to each visit with me?"

My eyes widen at her question. "Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugs and continues to undress. I watch her, reminding myself that this shouldn't be for my enjoyment. When she goes to sit on the table, I help her up.

"Why did you ask me if I'll come to your appointments?"

"Well, you didn't see any other spouses out there, and once we get into football season, you'll be busy."

"I don't care about other spouses or my job right now. I care about you and our child. Honestly, I don't want to miss any of this. If you decide we're one and done, I want to be able to say I was there every step of the way."

"One and done isn't just my decision."

I scoff. "It absolutely is, Peyton. I will not, in good conscience, ask you to put your body through anything you don't want. If you tell me this one is all we're having, so be it. I will not pressure you for another, let alone hint or ask for one."

She reaches for my hand. "How'd I get so lucky?"

Another scoff. "You have no idea how backwards you have things." I wink.

The door opens. A tall female wearing a skullcap walks in dressed in blue scrubs and a white coat. Stephanie comes in behind her and shuts the door.

"Hi, Peyton. I'm Dr. Ringman." She shakes Peyton's hand and then mine.

"Noah," I tell her.

"It's nice to meet you." She sits on the rollie chair and looks at the computer screen. "I went through the notes from the fertility clinic. It looks like things went smoothly. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"It says they implanted two embryos?"

"Yes," Peyton says. "They were the only two viable."

The words hurt, but I fight to remain composure. We'd hoped for more. Well, Peyton had. I had a tough time coming to terms with having viable embryos we may not use.

"Hoping for multiples?"

"I'm a twin, so if we have twins, we'll be good," Peyton says.

Dr. Ringman nods. "Okay, let's get started. Do you want Dad to stay in the room?"

Dad . . . I'm not sure I'll ever get used to someone referring to me as Dad. Peyton looks at me. I smile softly. "Whatever you want, babe."

"I want him to stay." She doesn't take her eyes off mine. Right then, I wonder what Dr. Ringman thinks. Does she wonder if I'm forcing Peyton to answer this way? Does she think Peyton's in some abusive relationship? Now, I'm uneasy, thinking the worst. I swallow hard and step forward, clutching Peyton's hand.

Once Peyton's settled, she's back to staring at me and not paying attention to what the doctor's doing to the lower part of her body. When Peyton winces, I want to demand the doctor stop but know this is necessary.

"All done." Ringman moves away from Peyton and covers her lower half. "Are your breasts sensitive?"

"Yes. Some days are worse than others."

Ringman moves Peyton's arm, checks her breasts—which I think should be my job—and then covers her up before coming to my side. I step away but am back at her side as soon as Ringman's done. She moves back to the computer, sitting on the stool I desperately want to sit and zoom around the room on. I help Peyton sit up.

"Everything looks good, Peyton. Your due date is going to be around January tenth."

"Well, would you look at that?" I say so only she can hear. "I'm a cliché."

Peyton laughs. "Everyone on social media will blame me, saying I should've planned this better to have a spring or summer baby."

"Who cares what everyone thinks. We're having a baby. If he or she comes on game day, oh well."

"Peyton, I've copied your OB in Portland, per your request. Is your next appointment going to be here?" Dr. Ringman asks.

"Yes," Peyton says. "I'm here until August and can come back for the monthly appointments. It's the two-week ones that I'm concerned with."

Dr. Ringman nods. "Okay, the only concern I have right now is bed rest and premature delivery in the third trimester. As soon as you hit your second trimester, we're going to have you come in every two weeks to be on the safe side."

Peyton glances at me briefly, and then at the doctor. "Maybe I should just keep all my appointments here?"

"That might be an undue financial burden."

"My dad has a plane. It's okay." Peyton covers her face, shaking her head. "It's not a problem," she says.

I wait for Dr. Ringman to ask her to explain. She doesn't, which is probably a relief to Peyton. Truth is, we'll use the crap out of the private jet.

"Where do you plan to deliver?"

"Oh, um, I guess Portland."

Dr. Ringman nods and types. "We don't normally suggest the back and forth. I'm happy to see you until you return to Portland and then transfer your care over to your OB there."

Peyton nods.

"I'll see you back here in four weeks. Please don't hesitate to call if you have questions." She shakes our hands and leaves, along with Stephanie. As soon as the door closes, I help Peyton off the table and wait while she dresses.

"We had questions, and I forgot to ask."

"We can look at the books when we get home," she says. "I'm sure appointment expectations are in there somewhere."

Peyton stops at the check-out, gets her appointment for next month and then we're on our way. "What's on the agenda?"

"I want to go shopping."

I think the groan I let out can be heard all the way back to Beaumont.

"For baby stuff," Peyton says. "At least I want to look at furniture. Get an idea of what's out there and what we might like."

"As long as I don't have to try anything on, and some dude doesn't ask me which way I hang. I hate that."

Peyton laughs as I help her into the SUV. "That's always a favorite question of mine."

"Of course it is." I shut the door and run around to the other side. As soon as I'm behind the driver's seat, I say, "Okay, mama, where are we going?"

"Beverly Hills."

Another groan, but I keep this one in check and let my ass pucker all the way to the store.