Page 104 of A Really Bad Idea

My family and I walk to the waiting room on the fourth floor and take our seats in the plush leather sofas.

We’ve been here before. Years ago, when I first started working for Park Avenue Cardiology, we sat in this same room as we waited for my mom to have her heart repaired. I was a ball of nerves then, understanding the science but never having been on the other side of the operating table. Today, I’m more aware of the commonality of heart procedures, and I have education on my side, so I try to focus on that. Although the lack of sleep is doing nothing for my anxiety.

I pace the cardiac wing a few times and decide it’s killing me, being on this floor and hearing every code red and call for a doctor. I take the stairs and walk down to the second floor. Maternity.

Down the hall is the nursery, once filled with babies fresh out of their mothers’ wombs. They don’t keep babies in here like they used to. The new protocol is for them to stay with their mothers, only leaving for tests and baths.

The rumbling of wheels on the linoleum floor has me looking toward a nurse wheeling a baby down the hall. The little one is swaddled in a white-and-blue-striped blanket and wearing a pink crocheted hat with a bow. I place a hand on my chest and inhale the scent of the newborn as they pass by.

I know there’s no way I’m pregnant right now because I’m just a few days into my new cycle. Christian knows that, too, which means what we experienced the other night was about more than trying for a baby.

At least, it was for me.

The stairwell door opens, and Brian steps into the hallway. His brows curl. “Wasn’t expecting to see you down here.”

“For a moment, I thought you’d followed me.”

He takes a step next to me and looks through the glass as the nurse unswaddles the baby to place her on a scale. “I needed to stretch my legs, but I don’t want to leave the building. Beth told me to come down here. She thinks I’ll get inspired. She wants another baby.”

“If you want to try, you can in about six days.”

He pivots toward me with a scowl. “Why do you know my wife’s ovulation schedule?”

“Don’t blame me. Our mother is insane.”

He doesn’t argue with that. Instead, he looks straight ahead and asks into the air, “What’s going on with you and Christian?”

I don’t answer immediately, mostly because I don’t know how to phrase it.

“Whatever you answer, don’t lie. I’m not an idiot.”

This is the first time in years my brother has instigated a conversation with me, and this is what he chooses. I twist my lips and answer honestly, “We’re closer than we were before.”

“Are you dating?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Are you a couple?”

“No.” That answer doesn’t come out as easy, and to be honest, my voice sounds a little despondent.

He lets out a loud, exasperated breath. I can almost feel his body tensing in his khakis. “So, you’re just sleeping together like it’s no big deal?”

“Oh, it’s a big deal.”

He turns his hip, leaning against the half-wall of the nursery, as he grumbles something under his breath. I’m not looking at him, but I can feel his frustration. I know that he’s trying to will himself not to lose his cool, as he can quickly turn into an arrogant ass. He doesn’t do it to be a dick. He just doesn’t understand why people don’t behave the way he does, which is with high virtue and straight and narrow.

“Does this mean you’re not freezing your eggs anymore?” he asks.

I fiddle with the wishbone around my neck.

Maybe it’s because I’m tapped emotionally right now, or it could be because he’s my brother. Mostly, I’m sure it’s because I have finally come to reality with the dream I’ve been pretending to live in.

I turn to Brian, look up into his curious gray eyes, and tell him, “Christian and I are having a baby together.”

His gaze darts to my stomach, as if expecting to see a watermelon growing beneath my shirt.

“We’re not pregnant yet. We’re trying. Instead of freezing my eggs, he agreed to have a child with me,” I explain.