We check in, and I can’t help but scan all the patients in the waiting area, my eyes locking onto a young mother, her stomach protruding, clearly about to burst any moment. Her partner sits beside her, the two of them holding hands.
Other couples sit together, too, their arms touching and voices hushed as they speak. A small pang of jealousy pricks my heart at the sight. I won’t get those moments. The moments of being together, comfort filling every word.
But that’s okay. Lots of women do this alone. I won’t be the first or the last.
Owen and I sit down on the hard plastic chairs, his long legs hanging into the walkway despite how hard he tries to pull them in. I laugh and he glares at me, only making it all the more hilarious.
“Ms. Knight.” My name is called out after twenty minutes, and we are ushered into a waiting room. It’s stark white and sanitized, smelling of antiseptic wipes. Not too different from parts of the pharmacy, so oddly, I feel at home here. Owen too seems surprisingly comfortable, but then I remember he’s done this before. With his mum.
The door opens and a petite woman sticks her head in. Her deep brown hair sits just upon her shoulders while her coat seems to swallow her. I’d assume she’s in her late forties, maybe early fifties. A huge diamond sparkler sits on her ring finger, glaring at me when the sun hits it.
“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Estelle Montgomery,” she introduces herself, and I’m quick to do the same. Having seen enough movies that I know she will assume Owen is the father, I beat her to the punch by telling her he is a friend.
She doesn’t waste any time, moving around the sterile room, her steps barely audible as she brings over a machine twice her size. “Now, it says here we’re thinking we’re pregnant?”
I nod. “I took a test and it came back positive. I’ve had all the symptoms, so I just wanted to get it confirmed. I’m also a pharmacist, so I used all the tells I know to self-diagnose. I get that’s probably the wrong way to do that, but I’m also assuming I’m around ten weeks along.”
She looks at me for a moment, taken aback, before schooling her features. “And when did you suspect?”
“A little over a week ago.”
“Okay, well, usually we would do a blood test to confirm, but since you’re assuming you’re at least two months along, we might as well use the ultrasound machine. Let’s lift up your top a little. Now be aware, this will be cold, but nothing painful.”
I nod, little pinpricks of anxiety crawling up my spine as the reality of my situation begins to set in.
With shaking hands, I pull up my white T-shirt. Owen moves closer to me, my gaze quickly darting to his.
“Ugh, now might be a good time to hold my fucking hand,” I whisper to him, realizing I’m not as tough as I thought in this moment.
He doesn’t joke with me, knowing now probably isn’t the time. Instead he grabs a stool and plops down, then pulls his body forward till he’s next to me. His large tan hand comes out and laces our fingers together as Dr. Montgomery begins to move the wand around.
Suddenly the silence of the room is filled with a soft thump.
Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom.
“Holy fucking shit,” I say, not caring if my sailor’s mouth offends the doctor. Those are about all the words I can manage, emotion clogging my throat while water seeps into my eyes.
“Well, you were correct, Lottie. Looks like your little one is around ten weeks old, making your due date end of March, the twenty-eighth.”
She pauses, giving me a minute to collect myself with all this news.
“Can she find out what she’s having yet?” Owen asks, his voice slightly different from usual.
“Science has come a long way in the last few years, so now we can do a blood test at nine weeks to determine. That is, if you want?”
I nod quickly, suddenly desperate to know if it’s a little girl or boy.
“Okay then, let’s finish up here, and then we can get to work on drawing blood.” She talks to me a little longer, going over basic prenatal care and what to do and not do. I try to take it all in but know I must be missing a few things. Luckily, Owen’s taking notes on his iPhone. I don’t let myself think about how most dads don’t even do that. The girls were not lying to me when they said Owen was special.
“It will take a few days for me to get back to you with the results, so after the nurse has finished with you two, you’re free to go.”
We say our goodbyes before she’s off checking on another patient. I’m still speechless, trying to comprehend the gravity of everything finally sinking in.
This is real. I’m going to be a mother.
And for the first time, the fear of that concept doesn’t send me into total panic.
We’re in the office for another twenty minutes before everything has finally wrapped up, Owen and I free to go. It’s as we’re exiting the room that I realize Owen has been holding my hand the entire time.
He pulls away from me to open the door, and I take the opportunity to rub my hands down my sides. Owen catches me and smiles. I, of course, roll my eyes.
As we get back into the car, Owen in the driver’s seat, I realize the entire dynamic between the two of us has shifted. Despite the little time we’ve known one another, there is a closeness and comfortability that time just can’t buy. And for that, I’m thankful.
Three days later, I’m on my way to Saint Street to meet everyone before the guys’ show, thankful it’s only a five-minute walk from work. The best part about living in Notting Hill is that everything you need is here. But Lord knows that doesn’t stop me from running off to Oxford Street for a shopping spree or to Shoreditch for a night on the town. Well, I guess the latter is no longer an option for now.
It’s been days of anxiously waiting for the call to find out what I’m having. God, even saying it all aloud sounds so surreal. I haven’t seen Owen since the doctor’s office—we’ve spoken on the phone once, but both of our jobs have kept us busy.
Plus, he had to practice with Ali and Reeve for their performance tonight. I’ve only managed to see them play together a few times, but shit, they’re good. Em says they could have made it big time, and I believe her, but none of them wanted that. Said it would make it all feel too much like a job, when the reason they do it is to decompress.
I’m outside of Saint Street when I spot Stana out front.
“Hey, stranger!” I call out. Her deep brown hair blows in the wind as she turns around, her signature smile in place.
A man walks in front of me, his side brushing my bag as I attempt to get to my cousin.
“Watch it!” he yells before muttering under his breath, “Women.”
“Hey!” I shout back. “Why don’t you watch it, asshole!”
Stana’s eyes are wide as she watches the man retreat around the corner. She’s never been one to really raise her voice or retaliate at strangers. Me, on the other hand… Well, it might have to be something I work at once I’m a mum. Hmm, or maybe not.
“Lottie!” she calls out as she meets me halfway in a hug. “That man could have been crazy or violent,” she chastises, but I hear a slight laugh in her voice.
“He was a dickhead,” I reply, pulling her in tighter. “Stana, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. Work takes up all my time.”