Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
The medic returns to the catering table, where we were propped up when we were rushed backstage. The guy sits in front of her, and asks, “How’s your arm?”
“It’s bruised. It’s definitely not broken. See?” She winces when she moves it, but she’s right. It doesn’t look broken, according to my uneducated opinion.
He takes her temperature, then checks her blood pressure. “All normal, which is good under the circumstances. Are you currently pregnant or might be without prior knowledge?” Cat hesitates, so he says, “It’s standard to ask. You can just say no if you’re not.”
“I’m thinking.” She’s thinking? What kind of answer is—oh shit.
“Are you pregnant, babe?”
Her eyes dart to mine as panic rises inside them. “I don’t know.”
What the fuck?
I take her hand in mine, fighting through the pain in my shoulder. Tears well in her eyes when she says, “I might be.”
Turning back to the medic, she says, “I’m a week late, but I was under a lot of stress recently, so I didn’t feel it was necessary to take a test just yet.”
“Would you like to take a test now?” he asks, keeping his voice down.
“I probably should.”
37
Cate
I’m pregnant.
As soon as we arrived at the hospital, I was sent one way, and Shane was rushed off in the other direction. If he had his shoulder taken care of years ago, I wouldn’t be standing in this unfamiliar city in a hospital I’ve never been in before all by myself dealing with this life-altering information. Damn.
I’m not leaving the hospital until he does, but worst-case scenario, how long could that be? Hours? Days? I press my hand gently over my stomach and walk down the hall toward the waiting room. Shane is in surgery. Luna’s in New York at a premiere. I’m stuck in Albuquerque. Alone.
Sort of . . . I shift my crossbody bag around to my back so I can wrap my arms around my belly. I know it’s too early, but I steal one moment to feel the blooming of love for the new little life in my tummy.
Shane’s not here to share the news. I wish I could tell my grandmother. She’d be thrilled. She once told me I would break my parents’ pattern and be a wonderful mother one day. It was like she could see what I’m struggling to process.
I’m going to be a mother.
I can’t wait to tell Shane.
Being single for so long, I didn’t dare let my heart hope for something this amazing. Kittens were easier to imagine than me meeting the man of my dreams and having a baby. But somehow that dream found me anyway, just like Shane.
Spying the nurses’ station ahead, I make my way over. “Hi, I’d like to check the status of a patient.”
Without looking up from the monitor, she asks, “Patient’s name?”
“Shane Faris. We arrived together, and he was taken into surgery.”
Her eyes slide to me. “Are you related? I can only release that information to relatives.” She’s not unkind and only following the rules, but the rules suck when it comes to wanting details about the man I love, and he’s being gatekept from me. And then it occurs to me . . .
I don’t have the energy or time to make up an elaborate story to trick her into looking the other way while I sneak into his room to wait. The truth should be enough in this case. “I’m his wife.”
Her eyes narrow in the slightest, but she turns to the computer and starts typing. “Name?”
“Cate, although he calls me Cat, which is cute and only something he does, but my real name is Catalina Far—”
“It’s right here on the approved list, Mrs. Faris.” She smiles at me like I’ve broken through her tough exterior. “Your husband listed you on the form before he went in. I see there’s a typo, though. Someone entered Farin instead of Faris. I’ll get it corrected.”
“One letter apart.” It’s funny how little things like the letters of our last name brought us together in homeroom junior year. All these years later, I’m having his baby while he’s getting his rotator cuff fixed.
“What?” she asks, looking at me again.
“Nothing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. The status shows prep. Your husband is still being prepped for surgery. The doctor doing the surgery hasn’t yet arrived. It will be a while before you’ll get the first update.” She uses her hand to guide me. “The waiting room is ahead, and although the cafeteria is closed, vending machines in the public lounge on the second floor have coffee and snacks. It’s just one elevator ride up.”
“Thank you again.”
I start down the hall under sterile light that’s not flattering on anyone while searching for any recognizable faces. I don’t find anyone else waiting on him after a quick sweep of the room we’ve all been relegated to, which feels sad to me. Alone again.