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“No, your doctor was right, and so were her tests.”
I looked from her to Zo and back. “But how?”
She gave me an amused look. “I would think you, of all people, would know.”
“I mean…Cass, I tried for years with Robert. We didn’t even use any form of birth control for the last eight years of our marriage. I have a hormonal imbalance. My periods are so short, I didn’t even realize I’d missed one. And I’m old as hell. I mean, how?”
She shrugged. “I guess that imbalance is gone.”
“My blood pressure—”
“Is fine,” she interrupted. “But we’ll keep a close watch on it.”
“I’ve been off the meds for a couple of months, so that’s good.”
“It is,” she agreed.
“I can’t believe I was having headaches because I’m pregnant. It sounded so crazy to me when Dr. Hall said she thought that was what it was. I mean, I know some women tend to get headaches early in their pregnancies because of the surge in hormones, but it just never occurred to me that was what was going on with me.”
“And don’t forget part of your problem is you’re dehydrated. You’ve got to do better with drinking water, Renee.”
“Don’t worry. I’m buying a case of water on the way home,” Lorenzo said.
I sat there for a moment with so many thoughts occupying my mind. “Cass, I’m almost thirty-seven. Am I too old? Wait, I have patients who’ve delivered at older ages than that. Hell, Janet Jackson was fifty when she had her baby. Oh! I drank some wine a couple of weeks ago. Just one glass. Do you think it’ll hurt the baby?” I rambled.
“Renee, come on. You do this for a living. You know that one glass of wine is not going to hurt the baby.”
“Baby…” I said, turning to Lorenzo, who sat right next to me in Cass’ office. “Zo, we’re going to have a baby.”
He nodded and smiled. “I know, Doc.”
“How do you feel about it now that we know for sure?”
“I didn’t wanna get my hopes up at first, but now? I feel like I have a second chance to get this right. I feel like the luckiest man in the world. And baby, I didn’t think it was possible, but I love you more now that I know you’re carrying my child.”
As he pulled me into a hug, I leaned into him and whispered, “I love you, too.”
“You know what else?”
“What?”
“I’m glad I got you another car. My child is not riding around in a damn Honda.”
I rolled my eyes.
On the ride home, while Lorenzo went on and on about us getting married right away and me cutting back at work—neither of which I planned to protest—I thought about the fact that I was six weeks pregnant. Me. I already knew miracles could happen, I just didn’t know they could happen to me.
Six or seven months earlier, I’d snuck Lorenzo into Genesis to do STD testing on both of us, because we were having so much sex, I thought I was developing a latex allergy (It bothered me so bad I even started using vinyl gloves at work, just in case) and wanted to make sure we were both disease-free before we stopped using condoms. And after that, we went all willy-nilly with our sex because I didn’t think birth control was necessary. Now I was pregnant, and if this baby wasn’t a miracle, I didn’t know what was.
I let my tears flow as we pulled up to the gate of our house, the house our little boy or girl would grow up in. I thought about my past, my pain, and the love Lorenzo gave me that cancelled all of that hurt out. My worst day with Lorenzo was better than my best day with Robert.
“Baby, why are you crying?” he asked, as he pulled to a stop in front of the house.
“Because I’m happy, Zo. I’m so, so happy.”
As he leaned over and brushed my lips with his, he said, “So am I, Doc. So am I.”
