24. Marina

CHAPTER 24

MARINA

I wrap the scarf tightly around my head, pushing my sunglasses high up my nose. The other day, I went out and bought a new stroller because people were starting to recognize mine as familiar, then look at me and put the pieces together and come up to us because they wanted a look at Lila.

I've bought an entirely new wardrobe too, making sure not to wear any of the clothes I ever wore on the show. I hate being recognized. I hate that people think they're entitled to any of my time just because they saw me on TV.

Every time someone says my name in the same breath as Ellis's, I feel sick.

I feel like screaming at them all, yes, he is the asshole you think he is! It's all an act, a scheme to trick you into believing he was good so he could sell you stuff. He used me! You can't believe a word of it!

But they do, and I have to make up some lie to placate them. It's exhausting.

Still, I refuse to stop doing my daily activities just because Ellis is making it hard. I refuse to let him have that much power over me.

Even if it means I had to get a haircut and a new wardrobe.

So, here I am, taking Lila for her daily walk, keeping her life as constant as possible. We're walking, then I'll take her to the daycare, then I'll get her in the afternoon and we'll play and eat and go to bed, and everything will be okay.

I wonder if she knows enough to miss Ellis at all.

It's not like I strictly need to take her to daycare anymore, but it's nice for someone else to take her for a while, to give me a little bit of time to myself. Plus, she really needs to socialize. I don't want her to be shy as an adult.

I try to take her to the daycare two or three times a week. I want to be consistent with her, so we go to the same place at the same time, and I collect her exactly when it's time to.

This week, though, I've not been feeling well, so I've taken her a few more times than usual. I don't like making her stay longer, even if all the staff and other parents are really nice, but my stomach's been absolutely churning and I can't stop feeling like I'm about to throw up.

It's a gorgeous day, and Lila beams up at me, the summer sun warming us both. It's going to be a wrench to say goodbye to her, like it is every day. But we can't walk forever, so eventually I load her back into the car and head for the daycare.

"Hello, Lila," says Susan as she greets us. "Aren't you being cute today?"

Lila babbles up at her, and I grin. "She's just fine."

I hand her over, pausing to lean in and kiss her on the forehead before I go. She waves goodbye to me at the door, and I have to swallow my pang of guilt for leaving her.

I had been hoping that whatever the issue with my stomach is would resolve itself, but no amount of ignoring it or herbal tea or medication is stopping this horrible sickness. That's partly why I dropped Lila off at the daycare today, because I have an appointment with my doctor. Fortunately, having just come into a lot of money, my health insurance is now really, really good.

Another thing to begrudgingly thank Ellis for.

My stomach turns as I drive over, and I'm pretty sure I look awful when I show up. As I step inside, I realize this is the fanciest doctor's office I've ever set foot in.

I have no idea what my new physician is going to be like. She has good reviews, though, so I'm hopeful that Dr. Chenka will be one of those kind, supportive doctors instead of one of those ones who doesn't listen to you and thinks all your problems are made up. Fortunately, based on how queasy I am, I don't think anyone could deny that there's something wrong with me.

I wait, clutching my stomach and breathing slowly, trying to hold myself together. This had better be an easily resolved problem. I can't take much more of this.

My name gets called and I'm shown through into the appointment room. It's a light-blue room with tall ceilings, a huge window, and some generic pictures of people smiling on the wall. I wonder how much say Dr. Chenka has in decorating her own office. I wonder if any of this was anything she wanted.

It speaks of a friendly, kind woman, and that impression is matched by the smile she gives me as our eyes meet. "Marina?" she asks warmly, gesturing for me to take a seat.

"That's me," I say as I slump down into the chair.

"Welcome. My name is Dr. Chenka. How can I help?"

I sigh. "I've had this nausea for about a week now that just won't go away. I'm worried it's symptomatic of something a lot worse. I have a baby girl at home, and she really needs me to not be sick."

"I understand," says Dr. Chenka. She's an older woman with laughter lines and deep crow's feet, and the kind of smile that tells me she believes every word I'm saying. Already, I trust her completely.

Dr. Chenka takes my medical history, and when she asks me about my sexual activity, I blush. I'm sure she must recognize me, because everyone seems to, but she makes no comment on me being single. "There was a guy," I say, knowing my timeline is going to give me dead away. "About a month and a half ago now. But we used condoms every time."

Dr. Chenka nods, noting that down on her computer. "Are you on any other types of birth control?"

I shake my head. "No. I don't really get out much, and my period has never been bad, fortunately."

"Thank you," she says, making another note. She says nothing for a while, spending some time typing, her brow creasing as she completes her documentation.

My palms start to sweat. What can be taking her so long to write? This is starting to feel like all this is a setup for a really nasty joke, and I'm certain I'm going to be the punchline.

Without explaining, Dr. Chenka moves on. She takes a blood sample and asks me for a urine sample as well. I don't want to question her motives, because I'm sure she has way more medical knowledge than I do, but as I sit in the bathroom stall trying not to feel queasy again, the question of why I'm doing this hangs heavy over me.

By the time I leave the office, I'm more confused than ever. Dr. Chenka recommended some more remedies for me, but she didn't really give me anything conclusive. Instead, she booked me in for an appointment next week and told me to let her know if anything changes.

I head home with a sickening feeling of dread in my body, and almost as soon as I've taken my shoes off, my phone starts ringing.

Scrambling, I pick it up, not entirely surprised to see that it's the doctor's office. I answer it with shaking hands. "Hello?"

"Hello, Marina?"

"That's me. Everything okay?"

Dr. Chenka takes a deep breath down the phone. I wonder how many times she's had to deliver news to people before. I wonder if it ever gets any easier. "Yes, your results are very positive overall. You're looking very healthy."

I sigh in relief. "That's great, then."

"But," she says, and my blood runs cold. "There is one thing you should be aware of."

"Yeah, what?"

"Marina. You're pregnant."