Royal Wedding - Meg Cabot Page 0,96
there’d been an earthquake, or a train passing beneath me.
“Dr. Delgado, that is impossible, because I am on the pill, and I never miss one. I take them very responsibly.”
“She does,” Michael said somberly. “At the same time, every night, right before she puts in her mouth guard.”
“That’s very interesting,” Dr. Delgado said, closing my file. “And you’re telling me you’re experiencing no pregnancy symptoms whatsoever? No morning sickness?”
“Of course not,” I scoffed.
“No fatigue?”
“Well, I mean, I’m tired all the time, sure, but who wouldn’t be with my schedule? It’s inhuman.”
“No changes in appetite or unusual food cravings?”
“Well, yes, I’m starving all the time, but that’s normal, given all the stress I’ve been under lately. I love salty things like cheese popcorn, and who doesn’t love Butterfingers? Those are very, very delicious. And wasabi peas . . . and chocolate cake frosting.”
I noticed both the doctor and Michael looking at me oddly.
“No nipple tenderness?” the doctor asked. “Bloating?”
“Well, yes, but—” I clamped my mouth shut, beginning to realize why they were looking at me so strangely. “That’s completely normal. It’s probably just that time of the month.”
“Of course,” the doctor said gently. “Speaking of which, when did you have your last period?”
“Well, that’s easy. It was . . . um.” Panic began to sweep over me. “Being a busy career woman, I don’t have time to mess with things like cramps, so I’m on that extended cycle pill, the one where you get your period only every four months, so it’s been a while, and with everything going on, I can’t remember off the top of my head, but I know it’s been . . .”
“You haven’t had it since Christmas,” Michael said firmly. “You should be having it now. But you’re not.”
“Well, that’s not true,” I said. “How would you even know?”
“Believe me,” he said. “I know.”
“Well, you’re mistaken. Let me see, I started my last pill pack on . . .”
And then I realized I had no idea.
Which is the worst, most embarrassing thing for a hypochondriac (or any responsible human being who lives in the modern age) to have to admit.
“I would have to go home and check,” I said. “But I’m sure I’ve taken them all exactly as prescribed. I haven’t missed one.”
“Yes,” Dr. Delgado said, in a bored voice, looking at my chart. “So you said. You do realize that most studies show that birth control pills are only ninety-one to ninety-nine percent effective against preventing pregnancy, even when used correctly.”
I swallowed. “Well, I mean, yes, I know that, but—”
“And you are a woman at peak fertility, Ms. Thermopolis,” he went on, “who travels frequently between time zones.”
“Well,” I said. “Yes, but I still always try to take my medication at the same—”
“Plus I would imagine you and your fiancé have frequent intercourse.”
I wanted to die when Michael said, “As frequent as possible.” I don’t think the magnitude of what was happening had quite hit him at that point.
“So it is not unreasonable to suppose that there was perhaps a systems failure at some point,” Dr. Delgado said. “Mazel tov. You’re going to be parents. Now, what do you say to an ultrasound?”
That’s when I realized I’m one of those people: One of those women on that show I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant, which Tina and I love to watch together and mock. Especially when the women go camping, and then suddenly they’re like “I was sitting on the toilet in the outhouse, and then plop! Out came a baby!”
Tina and I always swore we’d never be one of those women, because who is so out of it that they don’t know they’re pregnant?
Me! That’s who. I am! I am that out of it! I could be on that show! Hi, I’m Princess Mia of Genovia, and I didn’t know I was pregnant.
What kind of monster am I? Think of all the weird things I’ve been putting into my body lately, such as:
• Austrian schnaps.
• Two-hundred-year-old Napoleon brandy stolen from the consulate general’s office.
• Champagne in the Exumas.
• Tylenol PM!
• Chocolate-covered strawberries.
• Bag after bag of cheese popcorn.
• Eleven billion cups of Genovian tea (which is NOT herbal).
• Not to mention approximately a million pounds of magnesium, Butterfinger candy bars, wasabi peas, screwdrivers (courtesy of Lana Weinberger Rockefeller), and more.
“I highly doubt you ate a million pounds of anything,” Dr. Delgado said in a calm voice after I’d hysterically confessed my shameful Food-and-Drink-a-Log. “And I have never heard of a developing fetus being harmed