Baby & Bump (The This & That Series) Page 2

“Dr. Smith has no respect for privacy laws.” She pulled a bottle out of her diaper bag and popped it into the baby’s mouth. “You’ll like Dr. Haybee much better.”

  “Privacy shmivacy.” I started to pull my pants down. “Hey, look away for a minute.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have any parts I haven’t seen. We used to bathe together, remember?”

  A memory of fighting with Candace over a rubber duck in my grandmother’s bathtub while both of our mothers took pictures fleeted through my mind. I scrunched up my face. “That was twenty five years ago.”

  “Oh, come on, Bump. Don’t be so grumpy.” Candace turned and faced the wall, then immediately whirled back around. “Oh, wait—”

  “Hey!” I moved to cover my naked bits.

  “Yeesh. Sorry.” She faced the wall again. “What I was going to say was, isn’t it funny that we call you Bump, and pretty soon you’re going to have a big bump?”

  Candace laughed at her epiphany, and I looked down at my still flat stomach despondently. My stomach would undoubtedly betray me soon and pop out like a volleyball. Or a beachball. Or worse.

  Sadly, she had a point. Having the last name of Baump had cursed me for thirty years. When I was made fun of for wearing coke bottle glasses in grade school, the kids called me The Four Eyed Bump. When I was a flat chested sixteen-year-old, they’d asked me, Where’s your bumps, Bump? And in college, when spotted across the courtyard by a friend, I was often summoned by an ear-piercing cry of BUUUUMP.

  I never liked my nickname. The irony that I would shortly be sporting a bump was just enough to make me loathe it.

  “Are you decent?” Candace asked.

  Settling myself onto the examination table, and ignoring the metal stirrups on either side, I did my best to cover my lap with the paper. “Yeah. All covered. Sort of. This thing leaves little to the imagination.”

  “Don’t fret. Your OB will be so familiar with your girl bits after a few months that you’ll be dropping your pants every time he walks in.” Candace adjusted Aubrey on her lap, and offered me a wicked grin. “Of course, it helps that the doctor is hot.”

  My head snapped in her direction. “He’s what?”

  “Fletcher is hot.” She shook her head. “Er, Dr. Haybee. Yeah, he’s edible.”

  “You mean the man who is going to look at my unmentionables in a few minutes is hot?” I wanted to head for the hills and not come back. I could do it alone, couldn’t I? Pioneer women had babies in the plains without prenatal care. Of course, those women weren’t addicted to microwave popcorn and dependent on their DVRs, either, but I would manage.

  “That doesn’t freak you out, does it?” Candace giggled.

  “No.” I shifted underneath my paper. “Well, yeah. A little. Or maybe a lot. Okay, a lot.”

  “Oh come on. You’ve seen plenty of gynos in your lifetime.” Aubrey popped the bottle out of her mouth and sat up on her mother’s lap, appearing refreshed. “It shouldn’t bother you that the doctor is young, cute, and single.”

  “He’s single, too?” I cringed. “All the other doctors have been women, or much older than me, or married.”

  “Now’s not the time to get shy, Lexie,” Candace teased. “Being shy certainly didn’t get you into this situation.”

  “You sound like my mother.” I gritted my teeth.

  “Sorry.” Candace frowned at me. “I just wish you’d tell me who the dad is. That’s all. I won’t tell anyone. Not even Brian. And especially not Marisol. She’ll go crazy with information like that—”

  “It was immaculate conception,” I said flatly.

  Candace narrowed her cerulean eyes at me. I’d always envied those eyes. She’d inherited them from our mothers, who’d once been referred to in high school as the “blue eyed twinsies.” She’d also gotten their blonde hair, another reason why I’d snarled with jealousy on more than one occasion as a child. I was blessed with my father’s feathery, flyaway hair that was the same color as a new penny, and had his brown eyes, too. I’d eventually learned to control my Muppet hair by keeping it cut short and edgy, rather than trying to grow it long and luxurious the way Candace and Marisol did. So what if they looked like a couple of glamour-pusses, and I was their geeky, red headed tag-along. I told myself I didn’t mind. Anymore.

  “What are you doing noticing Dr. Haybee’s hotness, anyway?” I scolded her before she could press the subject further. “I’m going to tell Brian.”

  She didn’t react, and I hadn’t expected her too. Candace and Brian met in an economics class at Eastern Washington University fourteen years ago, and hadn’t left each other’s side since. They’d been married by Pastor Irm in the Presbyterian Church twelve days after their college graduation, and when he went to medical school in South Dakota, she’d worked at a diner in Sioux Falls to pay for their tiny apartment. They finished each other’s sentences, picked out each other’s clothes and had found the perfect balance between friends and lovers.

  It was sickening, really.

  “Go ahead, tell him. He knows already. Fletcher comes to our house for Monday night football every few weeks.” She sighed and straightened her sleek blonde ponytail.

  I watched as she turned the pages of the cardboard book patiently with her daughter and felt a tug in my chest. My hand instinctively went to my belly, and warmth spread under my palm.

  There was a quick knock at the door, and when it opened, most of the—well, all of the—air in my lungs released in one long whoosh.

  I’d been expecting someone handsome. After all, Candace and Brian were an extremely handsome couple. He was half Asian, so with his almond shaped eyes and chiseled cheekbones, and she with the golden hair and perky boobs, they had the whole modern American couple thing happening. Most of their friends were doctors and nurses, professionals and suit wearing types. Lots of wayfarer glasses, and monochromatic shirt and tie sets.

  But Dr. Haybee went past handsome. In fact, he went so far past handsome he was down the road and around the bend.

  His doctor’s coat was hanging open to reveal what appeared to be a worn denim shirt and a pair of cargo khakis. He was tan. Not overly tan, like one of those Jersey Beach freaks, or whatever that show was called—not that I ever watched it—but perfectly sun-kissed like he’d spent the weekend outside. Doing yard work. With his shirt off.

  His hair was blond streaked with platinum, probably the result of a summer spent on a beach somewhere, and it was tousled into a disheveled “I need a haircut, but I’m too busy wakeboarding and mountain biking to care” look. When he raised his eyes off the manila folder full of my medical facts—height, last menstrual cycle—and, gulp—weight—I noticed that his eyes were the most crystal aquamarine blue I’d ever seen. They were the exact same color of a Tiffany jewelry box. And, as if I weren’t ready to howl like a dog in heat already, when he opened his mouth to greet me, his deep voice positively oozed charm with its Southern accent.

  “You must be Lexie. Hi, I’m Fletcher Haybee. How are you?”

  “I… I… uh…”

  My brain had shut off. I was sitting there, naked from the waist down, covered in a glorified quicker picker upper, staring at the best-looking man I’d ever seen.

  “She’s fine.” Candace snickered.

  The lovely doctor’s eyes brightened. “Candace? What’s up? Is this your sister?”

  “Cousin. She just found out she’s pregnant.” Candace nudged me. “Say hello, Lex.”

  “Hello, Lex. Er, Dr. Haybee.” I blinked a few times and focused on the tee shirt underneath his worn denim button down.

  Holy hell, it was a vintage Aerosmith tee shirt! If there had been water in the examination room, he could have walked on it.

  “Call me Fletcher.” His accent made my toes, clad only in blue and white striped socks with dancing hippos on the heels (what was I thinking?) curl deliciously. “Any cousin of Candace and Brian’s is a friend of mine.”

  I ignored Candace’s knowing grin as I tried to put
on my game face. Well, as much of a game face as I could have without any pants on. “You… you don’t look like a doctor.”

  “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.” He grinned and the corners of his eyes crinkled. I swear to God a ray of sunshine busted through the roof, illuminating him.

  “He’s the best OB in town.” Candace announced proudly. “Remember when I had preeclampsia with Ellie’s pregnancy and had bed rest?”

  I peeled my eyes away from Fletcher. “Uh huh.”

  “Fletcher did all of the appointments in my last trimester at our house.” She beamed. “How many doctors do house calls these days?”

  Glancing back at Fletcher, who was nodding humbly, I replied, “Not many.”

  He laughed, and the deep, rumbling sound made the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. “That’s just one of the perks of being friends with your obstetrician.”

  I was staring at him. I couldn’t help it. How did I miss this guy through all three of Candace’s pregnancies? Why hadn’t she dragged me to this office sooner?

  Say when I wasn’t pregnant and my face wasn’t the same shade of grey as a gas station bathroom?

  Fletcher put down my file and approached me. “Well, Lexie, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” We shook hands, and I bit the insides of my cheeks.

  “My nurse tested the urine sample you left in the restroom, and as you know, you’re pregnant. Congratulations.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Otherwise, your white cell count looked good, and there wasn’t too much protein in your urine, so that’s great. Was this a planned pregnancy?”

  I swallowed and ignored Candace’s eyes probing the side of my face. “No.”

  His expression softened. “Do you want to discuss options? Are you planning to parent the child?”

  “Yes. Of course.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I always hoped to have children. Just didn’t plan on doing it alone.”

  Fletcher appeared surprised. “Oh, you’ll be a single mom?”

  “Yes. Unless you’d like to marry me.” I mumbled that last part.

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  “Nothing!” I squeaked.

  I fought the urge to slap myself on the forehead, and looked away from his bright eyes. There was something really wrong with me if I was this attracted to my obstetrician. I mean, within a matter of minutes, he was going to be looking at my crotch, for Pete’s sake. And not in a Fifty Shades of Grey way, either. Argh.

  “I’ll have my receptionist give you some information about some local single mother support groups. That might be a great outlet for you.” Fletcher made a note on my chart, then gestured to the papered examination table behind me. “Why don’t you lay back, and I can do the examination.”

  “Oh, um, okay.” I looked at Candace dumbly, who gestured for me to lie down. A wave of self-consciousness rolled over me.

  The last time I’d been partially unclothed in front of a man, I’d been drinking overpriced merlot and watching made-for-TV movies. My buzz had made me feel invincible. I most certainly did not feel invincible on Fletcher’s examination table. I felt unbearably naked, and suddenly aware of every single ounce of cellulite and every single freckle I had on my ultra-white skin. I wish I’d had the good sense to get a decent spray tan before coming to the obstetrician’s office.

  “It says in the medical records you had transferred that you had your breast examination just four months ago. So I won’t need to do that today.” Fletchers voice was soothing and calm, and would have made a normal woman feel relaxed as they lay there with their knees clamped together.

  Unfortunately, I’m not a normal woman.

  A plethora of off color jokes involving breast examinations came to mind as I lay there, his warm hands touching my calves. I’d always been the person that laughed inappropriately at funerals. During Speech 103 in college, when Professor Lidgerwood used the work “rectify” four times in one sentence, I’d been the one to make cheesy jokes. When my mother passed gas during Easter services at church two years ago, I’d been the one with tears rolling down my face. The idea of Dr. Haybee giving me a breast examination was almost too much to handle.

  “If you could just put your feet into the stirrups, that would be great.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut as he carefully guided my feet into the metal frames.

  Candace leaned close to my face to whisper, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” My voice came out tight since I was holding my breath.

  “Are you uncomfortable?” she whispered.

  “You could say that.” I nodded, trying hard not to move any muscles from the waist down. The last thing I needed was to fart in Dr. Hottie’s face.

  Fletcher’s head popped up between my knees, sending the paper towel fluttering. I scrambled to catch it and put it back down over my bits as he tilted his head to the side. “You okay, Lexie? Are my hands cold?”

  I giggled maniacally, then snorted. “No. You’re fine.”

  When his blonde head sank back out of sight, I turned my face to Candace and dropped my voice as low as it would go. “A little bit of warning would have been nice!”

  She came even closer, bringing Aubrey with her. “Warning about what?”

  I dramatically rolled my eyes from her face, to the area where Fletcher was gathering his speculum—and other such torture devices—and then back up again. “Him.”

  Candace’s nostrils flared. “Sorry,” she hissed. “I didn’t think it would freak you out this bad.”

  “It’s not freaking me out, I’m just—”

  “You know, if you two keep whispering over there, I’m gonna start to feel self-conscious.” Fletcher grinned at us from under my leg. “Now, Lexie, if you could just relax your knees a bit, that would be great.”

  Drawing a deep breath, I let my knees fall apart approximately three inches.

  “That’s great. Now a little more…” He drew out the word little, and patted my foot affectionately.

  I looked up at the ceiling, and let my knees separate another two inches. Lord, how long had it been since I’d gotten a bikini wax?

  “Seriously, Lex. Loosen up.” Candace stifled a laugh. “You need to let the man do his thing.”

  “Could you put it differently, please?” I hissed.

  Fletcher’s warm hands went to my knees, which he gently pushed them apart, before settling down in my, er, bits and pieces quietly. Grimacing, I stared up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the humiliation creeping up on me. This was the least seductive moment of my life, making the day I had to help my mother shave her legs because she’d broken her wrist seem like a moonlit walk on the beach.

  Candace snorted softly. “Sorry.”

  Once I was finally splayed like a turkey ready to be stuffed, Fletcher pressed on my lower abdomen. “Okay, now. Just relax. That’s right. Now, I’m going to insert the speculum. Hold tight. It might be chilly.”

  The moment it hit my body, I yelped and scooted away from Fletcher’s face. “Wow. Did you soak it in ice?”

  “Just for you,” he joked. His voice was muffled, which made it even more mortifying.

  “Nobody likes an OB with a sense of humor.” I caught myself clenching my legs together, then reluctantly let them drift apart again.

  “No humor. Got it.” His hands touched the backs of my knees carefully. “If you could scoot forward, that would be awesome.”

  “Right-o.” I obeyed, dragging the tissue paper underneath me, resulting in a loud tear. As soon as the room went quiet again, my stomach growled noisily. It sounded like a caged animal.

  Candace covered her mouth and looked away as she giggled.

  Good grief, this is humiliating…

  “Good job. You’ll feel a tiny scrape now.” He laughed politely when I jumped a second time. “You’re doing fine, Lexie. Now I’m just going to check the shape of your uterus.” I started counting ceiling tiles, and got to eighteen before h
e stood up from his rolling stool and pulled his latex gloves off with a snap. “Your uterus is just slightly tilted. That may make delivery complicated, but I don’t anticipate anything serious.”

  I nodded and slapped my knees back together. Just because the good doctor’s face had just been down there, didn’t mean I needed to keep it out there for pictures and tours. “I remember my old gynecologist mentioning that once.”

  He made a note on my chart, then rolled a portable sonogram machine out from behind the examination table. “Why don’t we take a look and do some measurements?”

  I took my feet out of the stirrups and crossed my legs at the knees, and then the ankles for good measure. “You can do that?”

  Candace chuckled. “Of course he can. That machine is for ultrasounds.”

  “No, I know that. But you can do an ultrasound on it already? Isn’t it the size of a pea?” I watched as Fletcher plucked a bottle of blue jelly out of a warmer and approached me.

  “It depends on how far along you are. It could be the size of a pea, or maybe even a grape. We’ll take a look and see how many weeks pregnant you are, and then I’ll show you a picture.”

  Pressing my lips together tightly, I didn’t mention that I already knew exactly how pregnant I was, right down to the hour, what was playing on the television in the background, and what bra I was wearing. It was just classified information that I didn’t want to discuss. Scratch that, couldn’t discuss.

  Fletcher rolled up the hem of my tee shirt, lowered the paper towel on my abdomen, and squirted a hefty dose of the jelly onto my skin. The moment the wand-like instrument touched my skin, the sound of static and a soft whoosh whoosh filled the room. Next to me, baby Aubrey hushed and Candace released a tiny gasp, before looking at me with tear filled eyes.

  “It’s real.” She breathed. “This is really happening, Lex. You’re pregnant.”

  “You didn’t believe it?” I asked.

  She laughed. “This just makes it all so real.”

  The whooshing sound filled my ears. “What is that sound?”

  “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.” Fletcher moved the wand, and the sound intensified. “Very strong. About one hundred sixty beats a minute.” He turned the monitor screen around so that I could see what he was looking at. Fletched pointed at a dark shadow on the snowy screen that was the exact shape of a kidney bean, with a tiny flashing burst of white in its center. “You see here? That’s the fetus, and that flash is the heart beating. You look to be about ten weeks and two days along.”