Pursued by the Playboy (18 page)

“He offered you the use of his car, didn’t he?” Emma said.  “And you know what they say when a man lets you drive his car…”

“It’s got to be love,” finished Isabelle.

Kate flushed, uncertain how to take their teasing.  Thankfully, their waiter arrived and the discussion turned to food.  They ended up ordering edamame and assorted sashimi appetizers, along with one Omakase or tasting menu, and a selection of hot seafood entrees to share. 

“I don’t think we’ll go home hungry,” Emma said.

Isabelle moaned over her first bite of toro tartare.  “You’ve got to try this.”

Kate gulped and paled at the pungent smell of fresh wasabi.  “I’ll pass, thanks.”

A seemingly endless stream of courses followed, each more elaborate than the last.  Kate excused herself between the broiled lobster and the
Kobe
beef with foie gras.  She barely made it to the restroom before emptying her stomach.  Between the anxiety of driving on her own for the first time in years, the unwittingly pointed commentary of Marc’s sisters, and the exotically spiced cuisine, Kate felt decidedly overwhelmed.  She rinsed her mouth and washed her face and hands in cool water. 

“You okay?” Emma asked when she rejoined them.

“Fine, thanks.”

Isabelle eyed her.  “You do look a little wan tonight.  My brother keeping you up nights?”

Emma kicked her under the table.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Em, loosen up,” Isabelle said.  “You know Marc is no eunuch and they’re shacking up together.  What do you think they spend their time doing, playing scrabble?”

Kate interrupted the byplay between the sisters.  “We’re not exactly living together.”

Isabelle speared a slice of sweet potato and topped it with a piece of scallion.  “You sleep there every night, you’ve got a key to the place, and you come and go without having to give advance notice, right?  Sounds like living together to me.”

Kate wondered if the comment was a not-so-subtle dig in retaliation for Isabelle’s own change of status in Marc’s household.  Did she resent the loss of freedom to breeze in and out at will?  Had Marc said something to provoke her after her unannounced visit last week?  

Emma turned the topic, and Kate welcomed the change with relief.  As far as she was concerned, the entire issue of her relationship with Marc was fraught with conversational land mines, and the less said, the better.  Time would clarify where things stood, and how Marc’s family dealt with the situation was really none of Kate’s business.  Much as she liked Marc’s sisters, she accepted that their first loyalty lay with him, and whatever friendship she might develop with them would not survive the end of Marc’s affair with her.  

Which was really too bad, she thought as the evening progressed.    Both women had a wicked sense of humor and an irreverent approach to life that soon had her relaxing and laughing right along with them. By the time the evening drew to a close, she decided that an afternoon in their company at the DiStefano family compound might not be so bad after all.

Chapter 18

Kate sat in the waiting room of her gynecologist’s office and tried not to stare.  All around her sat women in various stages of pregnancy.  The latest arrival looked to be in her final month, pushing a stroller with a screaming toddler inside.  She glanced apologetically around as she tried to calm the child. 

“He missed his nap,” she told the room at large, jiggling her keys in front of the child.   The boy’s decibel level increased with each unsuccessful bribe—toy car, animal crackers, sippy cup—before cutting off abruptly at the offer of the woman’s cell phone.  While her son punched buttons and waved a chubby fist in appreciation of the resulting ring tones, the woman signed in at the reception desk and sank
into the only unoccupied seat.

The sole adult male in the room, who had been watching the interplay from his seat beside a heavily pregnant woman on the couch, cast a panicky glance at his partner.  His expression captured Kate’s sentiments perfectly: 
get me out of here
, it seemed to say,
I don’t belong
. 

It was the middle of the day, when Kate would ordinarily have been in her lab.  But this had been a rescheduling of an appointment that had already been postponed twice, thanks to her ob/gyn being called away at the last minute to attend to medical emergencies. 
You never know what’s going to walk through the door
, Isabelle had told her when they first met, and now Kate understood exactly what she
meant
.
The original appointment was supposed to have been several weeks ago, first thing in the morning, when in her experience the doctor’s office was frequented by women like herself:  working professionals interested in getting in and out as quickly as possible for their annual pap and birth control prescription.  After the second cancellation, Kate had taken whatever time slot was available. Better to block out a few hours at work now than wonder when her grace period with Marc would run out. 

As it was, he had been surprisingly complaisant about the continued need for condom use, and had in fact become quite creative about stashing “just in case” foil packets in unexpected places.  But sometimes spontaneity outpaced preparedness, and both were left frustrated at having to interrupt or postpone lovemaking in order to ensure protection.

A nurse called Kate’s name and led her into the back office area.  “Let’s get your vitals first.  Then you can leave a urine sample.  Cups are in the restroom.”

“I’m just here for my yearly check-up.”

“That’s fine.  But you still need to leave a sample.  Step up on the scale, please.”  She made a quick notation in Kate’s chart.  “Looks like you’ve gained some weight since last time.”

“Maybe if I take off my shoes…?”

“No need.  Let’s get you in a room.”  The blood pressure cuff inflated
briefly.  A thermometer was popped into Kate’s mouth.  Another scribble in the chart.   “Restroom is through there.  Leave your sample in the little metal door in the wall.  Come back here when you’re done.  Take off everything, including your underwear.  Here’s a gown.  Opening to the back.  Dr. Nemtsov will be in shortly.”

Fifteen minutes later, a peremptory knock on the door announced the doctor’s arrival.  Short, middle-aged, she sported a blunt bob and half-moon glasses over which she glanced from chart to patient.  “How are you, Kate?  It’s been a while.”

“Yes.  I meant to come in last year, but things got kind of hectic.”

The doctor smiled.  “Hectic I can relate to.  So what are we doing today?”

“I was hoping to get back on the pill.”

Another glance at the chart.  “I don’t see that I’ve prescribed anything for you in the past.  What were you taking and when?”

“Ortho-cyclen, for a couple years at
Berkeley
.  I ran out after moving back here, and never bothered to refill the prescription.”

“I see.”  Dr. Nemtsov washed her hands.  “So why now?”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Ah.”  Her hands were cool and efficient on Kate’s skin as she started with a thyroid exam and proceeded down.  “Long-term, monogamous?”

Kate wondered how to answer.  The fact was she and Marc hadn’t known each other that long.  They’d never really discussed past relationships, nor had they addressed any issues regarding their future.  Even if they had, how reliable would any promises be, when it came right down to it?  How many women had sat on this very examining table, answering in full confidence that their relationship was long-term and monogamous, while their boyfriend or husband was sight unseen screwing his secretary or some flight attendant? 

“That wasn’t a trick question,” Dr. Nemtsov prompted.  “How long have you been together?”

“About six weeks.” 

“And what are you using now?”

“Condoms.”

“You should continue to use them until you’ve been together at least six months.”  She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached for a speculum.  “That’s about how long the window of opportunity is for a negative HIV test to become positive.  For syphilis it can be up to three months.  Gonorrhea and Chlamydia incubation periods are much shorter, so we can test for those off of your pap
today.  Another four-five months and you can return for definitive testing on the other STD’s.  Once you’re both clear, you can talk about discontinuing condoms.”

The mini-lecture on sexually transmitted diseases caught Kate by surprise.  She had taken Marc at his word that he was clean.  But that was a leap of faith, too, she now realized.  What if he’d been exposed to something with a previous partner and didn’t know about it?  Condoms cut down the risk of transmission, but they weren’t completely foolproof.  And what if Marc hadn’t been as vigilant about condom use in the past?  Did he do routine screening for STD’s as a matter of course?  Was that perhaps a requirement when you were a surgeon—along with maintenance of medical licensure and accumulation of continuing medical education credits?   Or maybe he did the testing on his own, for peace of mind, prompted by a more active than average social life?  She wished she had questioned him more closely when the topic had originally come up.

The doctor pressed on Kate’s belly with one hand while doing an internal exam with the other.  “When was your last period?”

Kate hesitated.  Last month?  Or was it the month before?  She tried to recall whether she had menstruated at all since meeting Marc.  “I’m not sure.  I’ve always been irregular.  The only time I knew when to expect a period was when I was on the pill.”

“Did you leave a urine sample?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.  We’ll do a pregnancy test, and then talk.  You can scoot back and sit up.”  She stripped off the gloves and pushed away the rolling tray containing the evidence of today’s visit:  used speculum, pap specimen, dollop of K-Y gel.  “I’ll meet you next door in my office after you’re dressed.”

By the time Kate knocked on the half-open office door, Dr. Nemtsov was already seated behind a cluttered desk.  “Close the door.  Sit down.”  She took off her reading glasses, leaving them to dangle on a chain around her neck.  “When did you say your last period was?”

Kate frowned.  A slow feeling of anxiety seeped through her at the older woman’s tone.  “I don’t remember.  A couple months, maybe?  I’m sure it’ll be regular again once I’m back on the pill.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your pregnancy test was positive.”

“You’re kidding.”  Kate sagged back in her chair.  “Maybe it was someone else’s?”

“You wrote your name on the cup, right?”

Kate nodded.

“Then it was yours.”  She studied Kate across the desk.  “You didn’t suspect you might be pregnant?”

Kate belatedly recalled the broken condom the first time Marc had spent the night at her place.  When had that been?  Five, almost six weeks ago?  He had mentioned the morning after pill, but she had never gotten around to taking it.  What had she been thinking?  Was it simply absentmindedness that had derailed her intention to follow through on the suggestion?  Or was it arrogance, a sense of invincibility, based on the apparently mistaken belief that her irregular periods translated into anovulatory cycles, meaning that an unplanned pregnancy could never happen to her? 

The signs had all been there, now that she thought about it.  Nausea, fatigue, the period that was absent for longer than she’d ever gone in the past without bleeding.   But somehow, having convinced herself that having a child was not something she was interested in, it hadn’t even occurred to her to associate her symptoms with the possibility of pregnancy.

Dr. Nemtsov broke the silence.  “Let’s do an ultrasound for dates today.  The nurse will set you up for it in the imaging suite across the hall.  Then we’ll do some blood work.  Here’s a prescription for prenatal vitamins.  You should start taking them, even if you need some time to think about your options.”  She pushed a hand-written prescription across the table.  When Kate didn’t move to pick it up, the doctor sighed.  “I take it this isn’t welcome news?”

Kate blinked, shook her head, and then shrugged.  At the moment, verbalizing any response seemed beyond her.  Like a sleepwalker, she followed the nurse numbly across the hall to a small room.  Her chart exchanged hands, and she again found herself on an examining table, in a fresh hospital gown and drape.

“We’ll need to do a transvaginal ultrasound,” the technician told her after a few minutes.  She drew a condom over the ultrasound transducer, and the irony of that action broke through Kate’s state of shock.  In the darkness of the room, she watched as the video screen coalesced into the image of a tiny peanut shape suspended from an inner wall of the surrounding sac.   The ultrasound tech pointed at a rapid fluttering movement inside the peanut.  “That’s the heart.”  She smiled and made several quick measurements with the rolling cursor.  “Once you see cardiac activity, the chances of miscarriage are pretty small.”

Another series of clicks, followed by the sound of something printing.   The ultrasound probe was withdrawn, and the screen went dark. 

“Go ahead and get dressed.  The nurse will come get you in a few minutes.”