Free Babyland by Holly Chamberlin Page A

the unfinished kitchen counter. One slid off to the floor. Ross picked it up and straightened the pile.
    â€œBecause I’ve got meetings all day Thursday,” he said. “Maybe Cocoa Cream instead of Seashell. See what you think. And remember the tile we chose. There’s a sample in my office.”
    I didn’t care about tile and paint color. Not right then. I cared about me.
    â€œCouldn’t you reschedule something?” I asked sweetly. “My appointment is at ten o’clock. I guess it should take about a half hour. We’ll be back in town by eleven. Eleven-fifteen.” And, I thought, most days you’re hardly in the office by ten. You’d never schedule a meeting before eleven. I know you, Ross.
    Ross put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed gently.
    â€œAnna, I’m sorry, I can’t. Why don’t you ask one of your girlfriends to go with you?” Ross dropped his hands and stepped away from me. “I mean, it is a woman thing, after all.”
    Nurturing another human being inside you for approximately thirty-six weeks? Ejecting that human being through your vaginal canal? Oh, yes. It was a woman thing.
    â€œDon’t you want to be involved in the pregnancy?” I asked. The books all said that today’s fathers were involved. Today’s fathers were supposed to be involved whether they liked it or not.
    â€œWell, sure,” Ross said amicably. But his eyes showed he was losing patience for the conversation. “Of course. But let’s face it, Anna. There are certain things you’ll have to do all on your own. I can only be there for you up to a certain point.”
    I realized I could forget about Ross’s being my labor coach.
    â€œOkay.” I smiled gamely. “I’ll be fine.”
    Ross planted a tiny kiss on my forehead. “I know you will. Call the office when the appointment is over and let me know how it went. Leave a message with Tad if I can’t be disturbed.”
    Poor Tad, I thought. I hope Ross pays him well. The young man officially worked for the company, but as far as I could tell, Ross used him pretty heavily as a personal assistant.
    I went back to my apartment soon after. It was only nine, but I was bone tired. I got into bed, eager for oblivion, but sleep didn’t come easily. I was getting used to lying awake and staring at the ceiling, my mind whirring busily with worries.
    I thought about the fact that I’d been on my own for a long time. I thought about the fact that I’d done pretty much everything on my own, from building a business to buying an apartment, from taking a vacation in Jamaica to going to the hospital for a cervical biopsy. I thought about the fact that I was good on my own, strong and competent.
    But as I watched the light of the street lamp outside my window flicker across the ceiling of my bedroom, none of those facts mattered. The truth was I did not want to go to that doctor’s appointment alone and I did not want to go with anyone but my fiancé.
    Sometimes we don’t get what we want. On Thursday morning I took Ross’s company’s car service out to the medical building in Chestnut Hill. Maybe, I thought, as I rode the elevator to the second floor, maybe after this I’ll ask the driver to take me to the mall; Bloomingdale’s might be having a sale, and I could use a new pair of navy pinstripe slacks.
    And then I remembered that I was pregnant and that any pair of pants I bought right then might never be worn. With a sigh I got off the elevator and walked to Suite 206.
    There were two obviously pregnant women in the waiting room. Both were with men I took to be the fathers. One man wore a UPS uniform; his arms proved the workout he got every day on the job. The other wore a sober dark suit; I guessed he was in finance or law. The women looked calm, relaxed. Uniforms inspire confidence.
    I smiled awkwardly at everyone—they smiled awkwardly