I’m Expecting, and I’m Doing it Alone: Part Two

Read Part One if you haven’t already.

I told immediate family next. And then my coworkers.

I had always been very open about my struggles and issues with my ovary and fertility and I never hid this from my coworkers. They knew of my marriage and how it broke. They knew for years I was unable to conceive with my husband and how devastated I was every month the pregnancy test showed a mere single line. The knew it how it felt for me to get that positive pregnancy test and to lose everything weeks later.

My coworkers are my second family. I’m very fortunate in not just my work, but them.

I walked into work the day after my vacation, the day after I told my mother she was going to be a grandmother, I marched right up to my women coworkers. I didn’t prepare how I was going to tell them. So when they asked how my vacation was, all bright and smiling, my reply was, “It was sunny. And I’m pregnant.”

They thought I was joking. Especially since on my last day, as I walked out of the building, I bitched to my boss because my period was late and I wanted to start taking my pills before I left for California.

Sitting at my computer, Boss Lady grins at me and wiggles her brows. “You could be pregnant.”

“That’s impossible,” I told her. Turns out I was a big fat liar and Boss Lady immediately brought up our last encounter when I told her. But both were thrilled for me. My guy coworkers overheard and were happy for me as well.

Like a family, they look out for me and the baby. They scold me often. And I love them ridiculously.

So They all knew of Mr. Philosopher and our relationship.

Can I call it that?

They all wondered how and when I was going to tell him and I had no easy answer. My only option was to be honest. It was a trait he appreciated in me. I don’t beat around the bush and if I’m thinking it, nine times out of ten, I’m saying it.

So a few more days pass by. Both of us were ridiculously busy with work and I was ridiculously sick. But finally I went to his place. As I walked through his front door he gathered me close by my hips and kissed me hello. He was warm and inviting and seemed happy to see me. He told me to sit down and tell him all about my vacation. And I did.

But then we moved to small talk which was something that wasn’t typical for us. Mr. Philosopher craved intellectual conversations. Or silly pillow talk. As we weren’t in bed, and our conversation was drifting to his cat, Lola’s, favorite pass time, it was safe to say our reunion was awkward. It was as if he knew I was holding back.

After watching Lola play with her toys for a few minutes, he finally asked if my doctor had finally called, knowing they had ignored me for quite some time. I told him that the cysts had corrected themselves and the pain that I was experiencing was inflexible scar tissue. In fact, I was ovulating as normal as any woman could be with one ovary and one tube.

“She told me something else about my lady parts,” I said, meeting his eyes.

“And what would that be?” But he knew. Of course he knew.

I told him I was pregnant and he was quiet for a few moments. He seemed speechless. He couldn’t even look at me. Unable to deal with awkward silences, I told him it was his and he told me he didn’t think otherwise. And then he admitted he had been worried when my period was late as I left for vacation, and then didn’t mention it the time I was gone or after.

I understood he was going to need sometime to think about it. He didn’t seem thrilled but he didn’t seem revolted either. He asked me how I felt, how I knew. Joked about my nausea. As we discussed my early pregnancy, we became more relaxed. He moved closer together on the couch. He played with my hair, stroked my shoulders.

I thought he was being soothing.

He leaned in and kissed me. Asked me if I wanted to go upstairs (his bedroom). I think I was so relieved I didn’t experience his anger–any man’s anger. I followed him to bed cautiously, but willingly. He even cracked a joke.

“It’s not like I can get you pregnant twice.”

Our sex was as it had always been. Satisfying with just a little bit of a flirt. But as we laid in his bed, he held me in silence. The time after our horizontal encounters, normally filled with debates or informative lessons on Plato, was dead quiet. I clutched my eyes shut, urging the tears back. I would not let another man see me cry; I wouldn’t allow another man to think he had the power to sway my emotions.

I swore after my marriage and that abuse I would forever be ice. I would not shatter again.

And as Mr. Philosopher continued his mute impersonation; the more he didn’t discuss the child we conceived, I realized I had probably been fooled once again. But I reminded myself to give him the benefit of the doubt. What I had just told him was life altering news. I wasn’t his wife or even his girlfriend. I was just the loud, big titted designer he was seeing casually for a couple of months.

He told me he would take me home and again, our movement and speech was awkward. We got in the car and he began to speed through a yellow light and seemed to think better of it. He slammed his foot on his breaks. He held his arm out, pushing me back into my seat. Then he reached for my hand in my lap, pulled it to his, and held tightly.

The ride was quiet but he held on. And when he dropped me off, I kissed him good night, hoping he could feel the apology in my lips. He informed me he would text me the next day.

Funny thing is he did text me the next morning. Asked me how I was feeling, asked me about work. He made me feel relieved. He made me think that a philosopher in his mid thirties would be able to handle life’s twist and turns better than the average joe.

He gave me hope.

But I was indeed fooled.


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