Ren

The storm has passed, and a bright and sunny, cool morning fills our bedroom. I check the clock. It's 7:40 am. Usually, I'm able to sleep in on the weekend, but I've been lying awake for thirty minutes. It's probably because while I was lying in the hospital after the crash, I reassessed my life (as you sometimes do after a close call with death) and decided—it's time. 

Last night I wrote up my resignation letter giving my two-week notice and emailed it to Cheryl before I chickened out. Gio said he already knows of two people who need a graphic designer, and my dad is excited to have my computer skills for a job he picked up this month. I just have to buy Adobe Creative Suite and start marketing myself. We have savings...It'll be okay, right?

Gio is still sound asleep on his stomach, one arm is half off the bed, and the other is spread over the bed, hand on my hip. A smile nudges up the corners of my mouth. He's so cute, even if he is drooling a little on his pillow. I'll let him keep dreaming. He could use the extra sleep.

As I slide out from under him, his hand drops heavily on the mattress. Normally, he might wake, but he appears to be in a deep sleep, and he is undisturbed as I trace my finger over the bird inked on his bicep and then pull the covers up higher.

Padding into the cheerful, sun-drenched bathroom, I sit down to pee. Rolling my stiff neck, I then check out my hands, which are still a bit bruised, but otherwise, I feel fine. After washing my hands, I make my way into the kitchen, grab the carafe immediately to make coffee, and then decide to make some eggs and toast for breakfast. I get out the bread and toaster, cut a slice in half, and pop them in.

The skillet clangs on the grate as I turn the burner to medium with my other hand and pour in a dollop of olive oil. Suddenly, my head goes light. Weird. I shake it off, then crack two large eggs into the pan. The strong smell immediately turns my stomach over. They certainly don't smell like normal eggs—they must be bad. I turn the stove off and leave them there, feeling extremely nauseous now. Abandoning the toast, I beeline to the sofa and lie down. 

I hope this passes shortly, but it doesn't. Slowly, a slight headache tightens around my forehead instead. What's going on? I close my eyes and try to rest.

The sound of Gio flushing the toilet rouses me again, and I see him breeze into the kitchen from my position on the sofa. At first, he doesn't notice me, instead surveying the mess I left on the stove—the unfinished eggs still in the pan. Alerted, he quickly scans the room till he finally spots me and rushes over.

"Bella, are you okay?" His eyes full of concern.

"I don't know, I feel strange."

"What? How do you feel?!"

"Um, I was making breakfast, and I got lightheaded. Now I just feel nauseous with a slight headache, and it won't go away."

"Are you dehydrated?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Let me get you some water." He rushes to the kitchen to fill a glass.

Maybe that's it. I didn't drink enough water yesterday. 

He brings it back to me, and I down the whole thing. "Do you feel any better?"

"I don't know. Can I have the toast I made? Maybe if I eat something, I'll feel better."

"Sure thing," he says, jumping up like a rocket to go get it. "Bella, it's cold. I don't think the butter will melt on it. You want me to make you a new slice?"

The thought of melting butter churns my stomach again. "No, just bring it plain."

He passes the plate to me, and I force myself to eat it to give my body something. Gio sits on the sofa next to me and rubs my back. At first, it's wonderful, and I love how attentive he is, but soon, the stimulation, the heat from his hand, the heat from his body next to me, is all too much. It's making me feel worse—much worse.

"Stop touching me!" 

"Oh, okay," he says, quickly removing his hand. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No," I say curtly. 

I don't mean to be short with him right now, but my body heat is surging, and it's all I can even do to utter these words. It's mounting. My internal oven is turned up on high—too high. It's too much.

"I'm going to throw up!" I gag, peeling off the sofa and rushing to the toilet. I open my throat and let the badness come out.

"Bella!" Gio exclaims, rushing after me into the bathroom to hold my hair. Bella, oh no, what's wrong?" his voice dripping with worry.

Of course, I can't answer him. After I finish, I feel much better. He cleans me up and helps me back to the sofa.

"Bella, what's wrong? You didn't drink that much last night. Is it food poisoning?"

"No, it can't be. We ate the same thing."

"When did you first feel it?

"I felt fine this morning. Then it just hit me. First, I was a little dizzy, then nauseous, then I got a headache."

"Could it be a concussion? Something from the accident?"

"I don't think so. That was two days ago. I felt fine yesterday... well, maybe a little off, but not like this." Talking is making me feel hot and nauseous all over again. Fuck.

"They say it can be delayed. It might—"

"I feel sick again!" I blurt out and rush off to the bathroom for the second time.

"I'm taking you to the ER!" Gio calls after me.

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I can't believe we are back in the ER again. It's afternoon now. Gio waited until I felt somewhat car-ready to take me, but even though I felt it wasn't necessary, he wouldn't take no for an answer.

After explaining my symptoms to the triage nurse and nearly two hours of Gio pacing in the waiting room, we got taken in. I was given a urine test to do, which was extremely difficult since I was now very dehydrated from throwing up all morning. I think I produced about ten drops, but they said it was enough.

We are now waiting for the nurse to return and let us know if we can get a CT scan done today to rule out certain possibilities. It's the same little ER room I was in on Friday, and we're watching some junky TBS movie on the TV. When the doctor who saw me last time finally opens the door, Gio sits bolt upright, and I straighten up a little in the bed.

"Well, I know we discussed getting the CT scan done today, and it is available, but we did find something in the urine test that might prove to be the culprit."

"What?" Gio and I say in unison.

"Lauren, the test results indicate... you're pregnant."

"No! Not possible!" I exclaim, lurching forward. I flash my eyes to Gio, who looks pale and frozen, like he just got hit with a stun gun.

"It can definitely happen," she says with a look. "New studies are showing about one in five women actually go on to get pregnant naturally after failed IVF."

WHAT! Suddenly, fury rushes into my veins.

"I can't be! They... they." I'm so angry, almost beyond finding words, but then they come pouring out. "They made it seem like that was it! I'd have to try IVF again if I ever wanted to get pregnant. My doctor told me I was infertile!"

"That's a term often used by the medical community, but it doesn't mean you absolutely can't get pregnant."

"But—" 

But no more words come. I don't know what to think. I'm dumbfounded. Why wasn't I told this? Why did everyone before make it seem like it was so definite? IVF or nothing?

Gio finally finds his tongue. "But she couldn't get pregnant even with IVF treatment!" 

"Sometimes IVF can be stressful, and stress can be a factor. Sometimes, it just doesn't take. There are lots of reasons, and at the end of the day, no one really knows. But you are definitely pregnant now. With certain precautions, we can still do the CT scan, but we have to go through the risks with you and have you sign off. But honestly, the symptoms you are describing are early pregnancy symptoms."

"We need a second test!" Gio insists, but I hardly hear him.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, the idea that I'm pregnant starts to sink in. What I'd been waiting for for so long has somehow finally happened. I can be a mom. I'm not broken. I work. My body works! My soul spins with the carefree wind of joy.

"I'm pregnant," I say to Gio, my eyes welling up, sparking with emotion.

But when our eyes meet, I see nothing. He's tense and guarded. His eyes, like mirrors, produce a hollow reflection of my own face back. He nods awkwardly, jaw flexing, then looks away, and my face goes slack. Fuck.

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We don't talk for most of the car ride home. I chew the inside of my mouth, fear leaking slowly into my bloodstream like an IV the longer this goes on. I finally break the ever-increasing tension building like uncomfortable humidity in the car.

"Aren't you going to say something?" My voice is tight.

"About what?" he mumbles, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

"About what? Gio, don't play dumb. About the fact that I'm pregnant. That I'm going to have our baby. You haven't said a thing!" I half yell.

"I need a minute," he grits back.

"A minute for what? You've had forty!"

His voice erupts in the car. "To process it, Ren! Fuck! You promised me you couldn't get pregnant!" 

Anger zips through me like a burning cord. " I didn't try to trick you! I didn't think I could! You know that!"

We pull up in our driveway, and he thrusts the car into the park.

"I know... I'm just—UGH!" He bangs his palms on the steering wheel, then whips his head to face me. "I don't want to have kids, Ren! You know that, too!"

We stare into each other's eyes, and it's clear where we both stand. His intense sincerity is written all over his face—it's just too much. My vision blurs and my stomach drops out. 

This space, it's too tight. I have to get out of the car.

Slamming the door on his Corvette, I storm toward the house, but his door flies open, and he chases me down, stopping in front of me and gripping my shoulders—holding me in the orange light of sunset.

"Bella, Bella! I know. I know how much you want this. But... but I just can't." He swallows hard; his pained eyes plead with mine. "With me being bipolar—what if I mess up our life? What if I'm a terrible father."

"You won't be," I utter, my voice flat and tight.

"You don't know that!"

"I DO!" I cry. Tears pour out of my eyes, and I push his hands off me, but I can't seem to move from where I'm standing.

"Bella, our kid could be bipolar!" his voice straining, eyes welling up.

"I'll love them regardless!" I bawl, clenching my eyes and stomach tight. I can already feel how much I love this baby.

"I put my mom through so much!" He's losing control, too, tears now quickly escaping his eyes.

"She loved you, though!"

His face screws up. I haven't seen that face since our breakup that morning in high school. Chills run down my arms and back. I see one-thousand emotions swirling behind his bloodshot eyes, and his breathing is rough and ragged. Then his tears dry up as he draws his next defensive arrow and shoots it out angrily.

"I went through hell till I figured my shit out!" he roars. "You want to bring another kid into this world to have to go through that!" 

"Who better to be their father then? To help them through it!" I thunder back.

That shut him up.

With the strange new power of a mother flowing within me, I hold his eyes powerfully. I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life.

"I'm having. This baby. Giovanni." My words low and dripping with intention. "With... or without you."

The mic has been dropped. Nothing more can be said, and we both know it.

I am only half aware that I've rendered him absolutely speechless. Our eyes are locked, and static crackles around us. He stands tense and motionless like a statue, barely breathing, yet his emotional energy radiates off him like visible vapor. His eyes are icy daggers that sear and tear apart my heart, but even with my heart bleeding for him, I just can't shake this feeling of resolution in my core. 

Then suddenly, without a word, he spins. He staggers over to his Corvette, slamming the door closed upon him, and I can no longer see his face beyond the tinted windows. His tires dig in harshly into the gravel driveway as he spins the front end of the car around, then furiously speeds off like a black bat out of hell—disappearing in a flash down the road as if he could somehow out-race the speed of emotion.

As I listen to the engine's roar getting fainter, it hits me—like a crashing tide of pain.

Here I am. All. Over. Again. At the beginning of yet another fall. Standing in front of another perfect little house, in front of another perfect life, left all alone because of a baby.

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https://youtu.be/hlc2qwDiGJk