he picked me up, hands me an apple.
He drives me to the nutritionist who asks me about my likes, dislikes, allergies, and eating habits. After an hour of asking me questions regarding my parents’ trips and all the exotic foods I ate while growing up, she promises to have a menu ready for me by tomorrow. She asks me to call her if there is something that doesn’t work for me and to also visit again after the baby is born to change my diet.
When I arrive at the imaging center, Nate is waiting outside the modern steel and glass building.
“Hey,” I greet him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, handing me a sandwich.
“You have to stop feeding me.”
“Have you eaten anything since Demetri gave you that apple?”
“How did you know?”
“I asked him to give you a snack because you forget to eat.”
I glare at him, “And what about the soup?”
“That was lunch,” he says, giving me a sly grin. “Did you eat anything else?”
“It’s hard to remember.”
“Which is why I’m trying to be here to remind you. You know what they say, you make a habit after twenty-one days.”
“You are spoiling me. The habit I’m building is having you looking after me—all the time,” I joke as I eat my sandwich, and he leads us to the twentieth floor where the imaging center is. “Are you going to keep doing this after it becomes a habit?”
“What did the doctor say?” he asks as we ride the elevator, avoiding the question.
“She can do the non-invasive paternity test and send it to the lab too. The nutritionist will send me a menu that I should follow religiously.”
He nods a couple of times, “Forward it to me since I am working on that bad habit of pampering you.”
“Which you should stop,” I insist.
“You secretly love it,” he argues and asks, “What’s happening at work? Do you like the place?”
“It was like the first day of school. There was nothing important and a lot of information that I have to assimilate,” I answer, wondering if we’re avoiding each other’s comments and we should just sit down and talk about what is happening between us.
Last night, he set up a baby monitor in my bedroom so he could hear me if I got sick—which I did. He was right by my side the moment he heard me rustle and run to the bathroom. After the fourth time, he just stayed with me in bed until I fell asleep. At least, I think that’s what happened. I have no idea when he left the room.
“How about you? Did you take over the world, or not yet?”
“No, but I have a couple of new ideas in the works. I have to figure out production and marketing while both products are in development.”
The elevator doors open to the lobby of the imaging place. The receptionist greets us.
“Hi, Nyx Brassard,” I announce. “I have an appointment at—”
“Yes, we have the room ready for you,” she answers.
“Do you need my insurance, credit card…ID?” I ask, a little put off by her prompt service. Maybe I’m used to crappy customer service and this is how it’s supposed to be.
“No,” she hands me a paper. “I need you to confirm that the information on there is correct.”
I look through the paper that has everything and frown. “Yes, it’s me, but how?”
Giving her back the paper, I also take out my credit card.
“It’s already paid for and your doctor sent all your information,” she explains. “You’re all checked in. Just follow Alicia. She’ll give you more instructions.”
I cross my arms, press my lips together, and narrow my gaze at Nate.
“They are waiting for us,” he says, giving me a slight squeeze and guiding me toward the back offices.
“You can’t just pay for everything I need,” I whisper shout.
Alicia hands me a paper sheet. “Strip from the waist down and cover yourself with this. The technician should be with you soon. She points to the big machine in front of me. “That’s the main screen. On the left is the second one, a bigger one to appreciate the ultrasound best.”
“I’ll give you a couple of minutes,” Nate announces.
I want to stop him and give him a piece of my mind because he can’t seriously think that this is all right. He paid for the nutritionist too. Since the insurance doesn’t cover the services, she requires a card before making an appointment, and Marcia just paid for it. Of course, he leaves too fast and