Chapter 35

Becka

I stared at the positive pregnancy test in my hand. I couldn’t believe it. But, the longer I looked at it, the more I understood that it was true. The more I began to remember exactly how strange, how different, I had been feeling over the last few weeks. I touched my stomach, largely unable to believe that there was now a life there other than my own.

The bathroom suddenly seemed small, cramped, and I sat down on the toilet seat, staring at the stick in my hand.

“Are you okay?” Oliver knocked on the bathroom door. I jumped and dropped the test on the floor. It landed with a clatter on the tile, a noise far louder than I ever thought possible from a small piece of plastic. I quickly snatched it up and gripped it in my palm like a knife.

“I’m fine,” I called, too loudly. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

“Can I come in?” Oliver asked.

“No, honey, don’t come in, I’ll be out in a sec.” I hid the test under my shirt, which would have been useless if he’d actually walked in. I hadn’t locked the door, though, and I held my breath as I waited for him to turn the knob and walk in, regardless of what I’d said. There was a pause that felt like a year, and then he said,

“I’m going to make a cocktail; what would you like?”

My brain reeled. I squeezed the test in my hand. What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t drink, but I also couldn’t tell Oliver I was pregnant. Not now. If I said I wanted anything other than a cocktail, though, he would know something was wrong. I felt time passing and my opportunity to answer slipping away. I knew I had to say something.

“Um,” I started, hearing shaking in my own voice, “um, sure, yeah, I’ll have a martini,” I said. It was a drink we often had in the evenings, and the last thing I needed now was for anything to be out of our normal routine.

“Sounds good.” I could hear relief in Oliver’s voice, and I realized that I had, inadvertently, just passed a test. Had I answered differently, he would have known something was wrong. Relief washed over me, then dread.

How was I going to hide this from him? “I’ll get them started. Maybe we could watch a movie? I know it’s late, but we’ve had so much going on. A quiet date night at home feels like the perfect way to spend the night.” I could hear him talking to the crack in the bathroom door, and I shook my head.

“Honey, can I please just have a minute here?” I asked finally, hiding the desperation I was feeling as much as I could.

“Shit, yes, I’m so sorry, of course.” I heard him walk away from the door, and I sat down on the closed toilet seat, my head in my hands. I looked at the test again as if I expected the results to be different. Of course, the two lines remained and, if anything, had grown stronger, more vibrant.

I entertained my options. I could tell Oliver. Telling him would take the tenuous place we were already in and shake it further. We had never discussed pregnancy. Hell, we had never discussed even moving in together! The only reason I was staying with him now was because of everything that happened.

I wondered, if the press hadn’t gotten ahold of the Neurotova business, would we even still be dating? I thought so, but who knew? And, we definitely wouldn’t be living in the same house. No, I couldn’t tell him. He had never said anything about wanting children. I felt anxiety, in the form of a tiny seed, building my stomach. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror.

How could I have ever doubted that I was pregnant? Now that I knew, I could see it all over myself. The circles under my eyes, the softening of my curves, even the shine to my hair. I wrapped the test in toilet paper and put it deep in the trash, then thought the better of it. I took it out and slid it into the box of tampons I kept at Oliver’s house.

Not a chance he would look in that box, whereas he might very well go digging through the trash if he began to suspect something. I took a deep breath, and walked out to the living room.

Oliver sat on the couch with his cocktail, but he stood the moment I walked into the room. He walked over to me and kissed me. I felt his lips on mine and the seed of anxiety grew. I wanted nothing more than to tell him everything, but, before I could open my mouth, he reached over to the bar and handed me the martini he’d prepared for me.

“Cheers!” he said, smiling. “To the beginnings of a normal life, just the two of us.” He clinked my glass and took a sip of his drink.

I smiled, my lips tight, and brought my glass to my lips. I immediately felt nauseous, and I knew that, even if I had any intention of doing so, I would not have been able to take any part of the drink into my mouth. It was as though the baby growing inside of me was protecting itself.

Still, I pretended, and Oliver smiled, satisfied that everything was normal. I walked over to the couch with Oliver. We sat down and he put his arm around me. He brought up a movie we’d been talking about watching, and, for the first ten minutes, it was life as usual.

But, my cocktail remained untouched while he continued to drink his. He didn’t seem to notice, but the glass seemed to grow larger than life before my eyes, and soon it was all I could think about. I imagined him asking why I wasn’t drinking it, what was wrong, was I pregnant or something… I couldn’t concentrate on the movie. I felt the seed of anxiety pressing deeper into me. I tried to steady my breath, but I began to feel the urge to flee, strong and urgent.

I looked up at Oliver, whose breath was deep and regular. He had fallen asleep! I looked at him, and then I looked at the door. Without thinking, I slid out from under his arm, grabbed my purse, and I ran out the back door.

Luckily, most of the press had given up their vigil of Oliver’s home when we’d gone to France. There were still a few lingering, but at this time of night they were mostly locked up in their cars talking to their girlfriends and wives and, I imagined, trying hard to explain why they were staking out the home of a billionaire and his pregnant girlfriend.

I was able to sneak out without being noticed. I went to the garage to take one of Oliver’s cars. I assumed the garage would be empty, but, when I keyed in the code and opened the door, Raymond was standing near the open hood of Oliver’s Lexus.

“Becka! What a surprise! Can I help you with something?” Raymond looked and sounded completely confused, but I knew that he wouldn’t ask any questions that dug into why I was there.

“I need you to take me home,” I said. “Right now.”

“Certainly, Ma’am. Does…” he hesitated. “Does Oliver know that you’ve asked to be driven home?”

“I’d rather not discuss it, if that’s okay,” I said gently. I didn’t want to put Raymond in the middle of anything, and I definitely didn’t want to get him into trouble with Oliver.

I suddenly realized that Oliver may have given orders to Raymond to not drive me anywhere, and, for a moment, I looked around wondering wildly if I could run into town, or maybe, even, get a ride with a journalist in exchange for a story? Desperation built in my stomach and time seemed to stop as I waited for Raymond to respond, move, do something.

“Certainly, Ma’am,” he said finally, and he led me to the car next to the Lexus. It was sleek and black, and I had never heard of the brand. Relief flooded through me, and I got into the back of the car. The leather was soft and cool against my skin, and I realized I was sweating. We drove in silence the entire way to my apartment building. I watched the street lights get closer together and brighter as we got into the city. When Raymond turned the corner onto my block, he slowed the car and pulled over before he got to my building.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I sat up in the back seat and looked toward my building. “Oh, shit.” I saw why Raymond had stopped. The press had maybe given up on spotting Oliver and me at his place, but the same did not hold true for my building. Though it was nearly midnight, there were at least a dozen photographers positioned on the sidewalk.

“What would you like me to do, Ma’am?” Raymond asked. “The journalists won’t recognize this car, but they will, of course, recognize you once you get out.” He didn’t need to say what me getting out of a car with someone other than Oliver, even if that someone was Oliver’s driver and friend, would mean to the vultures looking for a story.

“I guess… um… just…” I hesitated, feeling my brain turning to mush. “Just take me to a hotel,” I finished. “I don’t care which one.” I heard trembling in my voice, and I leaned back and closed my eyes.

What I wanted to do was curl up in the fetal position on the back seat and forget that the world around me existed. I was exhausted, and I knew that the full weight of what was happening still hadn’t hit me yet.

I opened my eyes and looked up out the window, watching the street lights… then I closed my eyes again. When Raymond pulled into the circle driveway of a Holiday Inn near my apartment, I thanked him.

“I’ll call Oliver in the morning. If you see him, please tell him not to worry.” I felt bad using Raymond as a messenger, but I also knew that Oliver would be worried, and angry, when he woke up and I wasn’t there. My hope was that he would sleep on the couch all night. If he woke up, I was sure to hear about it.

If the hotel clerk thought it was strange that a young woman was checking into a hotel room so late at night alone, looking exhausted and probably scared, he didn’t let on. He did make me pay in advance, which, of course, I did. I took the elevator to my room.

I realized as I sat on the bed that I didn’t have so much as a tooth brush with me, never mind something to sleep in or clothes for the next day. I also realized I was starving, and I grabbed the room service menu from the nightstand drawer. I looked it over, but nothing looked even remotely appetizing.

I checked my phone for a message from Oliver, and, finding nothing, I called Lisa.

“Where are you?” she asked. “Are you still at Oliver’s?”

“I’m actually at a hotel,” I said. “You were right. About my illness.” I almost laughed at the word now. “I’m… I’m pregnant.” The word sounded heavy, far more dramatic than I’d intended.

“Holy shit, Becka, are you okay?” The concern in Lisa’s voice was immediate and evident. “What hotel are you at? I’m coming to get you.”

“You can’t,” I said. “There are reporters perched around the front steps. They’ll follow you wherever you go at this time of night; they know you’re my roommate and they’ll assume you’re coming to me.

If you do manage to get out unnoticed and I come back with you, with my luck, they’ll probably smell baby on me. The last thing we need is for the press to get wind that I’m…. God.” I shook my head. I’d already said it once; I couldn’t say it again.

“I’ll come stay with you, then,” she said quickly. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. What’s your room number?”

My first instinct was to protest again, but I thought about her words. She was right, and, at the very least, she could bring me some clothes. I gave her a list of the things I needed for that night and the next morning.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave right away and I’ll be there in no time,” Lisa promised.

I hung up the phone and I turned on the tv. I flipped through all of the channels and didn’t find anything that could hold my attention. After a while, I looked at my phone, frowning. Lisa should have been there already. I double checked my room key to make sure I’d given her the right room number, and then, after another ten minutes, I called her phone.

It went straight to voice mail. That was strange; Lisa always kept her phone on. I began to worry that something had happened to her on the way. I tried her number again. Voicemail. I texted her.

Where are u? Are u ok?

I paced around my room, the tv on but ignored. I looked at the room service menu once more, and, again, decided against any food though I knew that I needed it, especially with another mouth to feed. While I was thinking of what to do, there was a knock at the door.

“Finally!” I said, getting off the bed and walking to the door. “I hope you brought some food with you, because I’m starving,” I said as I opened the door.

I stared, my eyes wide, at Ethan.

“You!” I burst out. “What the hell are you doing here?”