Rachel POV
'Still not changing your mind?' Sarah lean towards me as I prepare my banana oatmeal.
Oatmeal, that slimmy stuff that might make me puke is actually good for the fetus. I have been reading preggy stuff from Google and more or less, at least, I know what food I should eat to get the maximized nutrients.
'About what, Sarah?' I throw a look at her. It's early in the morning, like seven, and she came knocking at my door. 'Did you came here for the purpose of finding out who the father is?'
'No.' She shrugged innocently, but she just betrayed herself from her body language . When Sarah lied, her eyes blinks many time. 'Well, who wouldn't be curious, Rachel? But, that's not totally true, it's Sunday and I actually took the time to visit you.'
'That's really nice to hear.' I said in both deadpan voice and expression, as a matter of sarcasm. 'Would you like to have some oatmeal?' I offered her.
'I'm fine, really, I can make myself some hot coffee, I know where you place them.' Sarah lifted herself away from the bar chair and steps inside the kitchen.
I took the bowl and head towards my sofa, cross my leg and on the television. It's still summer, shorts and oversized t-shirts is the best holiday outfit, however, in about a few months, my wardrobe would have facing major crisis. I won't be able to fit in to what I owned right now, I'll be walking with a tummy that is big enough to cover the view of my feet.
The aroma of freshly brewed arabica coffee filled the entire house and I misses Derek, and how he took his coffee with digestive. I remember watching him working on his files while we are in Camp David, he look absolutely perfect, curly brown hair, chiseled jaw, those sapphire eyes reading the documents, I wonder when would I ever get bored looking at him. I would have grabbed the document on his hand and threw it away if there is no risk of going to jail for reading it, sex would come next. It's hard to resist sex with Derek when he is looking oh-so-hot.
'Hey, switch to the morning talk show.' Sarah said as she sat down beside me.
'Why?' I followed her instruction anyway.
'Derek Hoffer will appear in the show!' She rushes.
How did I not know about this?
'So, Mr. President, do tell us about your views about the budget regarding maternal and child health programs, we understand that these budgets has always been targeted for cuts in the appropriations process, do you support these actions and if so, how are you going to ensure that the funding will be made as a priority?'
The interviewer in big black frame question Derek, along with two other female interviewer as well. Many woman has been drawn to Derek's attractiveness, including these ladies, obviously, their posture were leaning towards him, plus, one of them were blushing.
'God! She is blushing? What happened to the word professional?' Sarah reacted quite excitedly.
'Wouldn't you?' I try to hide my smile, my heart is bursting to see my boyfriend in the screen, like drinking a flute of cold, expensive champagne, feeling the bubble sizzling around your palates. I wonder if the baby can feel it?
Derek seem relaxed in his posture, he nodded as the host speaks. Without a few second, Derek is reading to answer his question. 'Of course, the budget for children and maternal has always been a priority, from the beginning of my campaign, Grace and I have been emphasizing the importance of healthcare, whether for children, for mothers, everyone. We care for the well being of every Americans. If you were aware of the statistics, we have successfully implement an increase of budget for young children's education. Grace and I firmly believe, that with appropriate education, we give children hope to build a future they want, a future they believe and a future they want to live in,' said Derek confidently, and the audiences gave him a loud applause.
'He is good, isn't he?' Sarah pointed out, gawking at the screen.
'Of course.' I nodded, chewing the oatmeal that I kind of refuse to swallow.
'You dad sponsored the right man, I think he is good.'
'He visited our house before, to meet my dad.' I played with the oatmeal using my spoon. I remember vividly what we did in my house, that was still the beginning, the very beginning.
'Did you meet him?' Asked Sarah anxiously.
'Yeah, I did. He is...nice.' I tried to make it sound as if I am not that interested in him.
'Just nice? Rachel, he is technically your boss, and every time you saw him on the plane, did you not skipped a beat?'
I did, all the time.
'Sarah, I am very professional at work.'
She rolled her eyes, as if everything I said was a piece of bullshit. 'Are you sure Tony Linton isn't your boyfriend?'
'Why are we talking about him again? Sarah, you can try texting him or something, see if I care?' I voiced out. One second later, I figure out something, 'wait, you have a crush on him? Sarah?'
She refused to look at me, but a snigger leaks out of her lips. 'Well, he is kind of everybody's man, and he is polite and so on.'
'What happen to Afu, I mean that is a huge shift in your preference in man. God! Sarah?'
'Rachel Woods, don't dig up my past. I did suspect if Afu puts voodoo on me.'
'No, I don't think so, remember Denny Renault? The guy who fancies horses' leg, I told you he is sick, and you said he has a charm side to his strange fetish.'
We fell silent afterwards, Sarah was annoyed by my accusation and she decides to focus on the television.
'...My father is my biggest role model, if you haven't know already, he shapes my childhood, mould my teenage years and I look up to him as one of the most upright gentleman...'
My father is my biggest role model.
Derek's words hits me like a hurricane.
Father.
A role model.
Are we going to be a good role model? I put my spoon down, my appetite is sealed from the sudden emotional bomb.
How am I suppose to tell my baby about us? We are not decent. The thing about us is not as simple and one plus one. The last thing I hope would happen to me was being a single parent.
When I discovered my dad's affair with Aunt Lucy, I endured years of resentment towards them.
This shouldn't happen to my child, it should end with me. I can't brought this to another generation. Not every mistake deserves to be forgiven. I stared at my oatmeal, before I can stop it, the contents in my stomach just puke out out of nowhere and landed onto the bowl that I am holding.
'Jesus! Rachel?' Sarah was astonished.
'I guess this is morning sickness. It's the beginning.' I managed to struggle those words out.
----
'Please fill in your particular here, Dr. Brightman will be attending to you shortly.' The lady at the counter passed a set of form and pen to me.
'Thanks' I muttered, pulling a force smile at her. Every day I told myself 'smile is free', but today, I can't seem to lift up that spirit in me. I picked the seat at the silver bench beside the window.
I have to get this done fast; I have a meeting at the Ferragamo store to custom make my bag.
The lady in front of me must be irritated by the clicking sounds I made with the pen. Her face was dull without any make up on. She looks tired, and her skin looks dry. Her hair was messy and her stomach was kind of big. What has pregnancy done to all the girls?
The registration form is totally alien to me. This is kind of interesting to me even though I am hyperventilating inside.
When was the last time I had my pap smears? Oh, two years ago when I had a yeast infection. I wonder if Kenzo contracted my sort of 'STD' by growing mushroom on his penis. We broke up the same year when we realized the relationship is going nowhere. I remember the weird feeling when the doctor inserts something cold, filled with lubricant onto my vajajay. I don't even want to recall.
Okay, medical history, let's see what medical achievement have I got. 'Bleeding disorder'? Where did the blood go? 'Deep Vein Thrombosis', never heard of, unless it's deep V. And 'G.I. Illness' which reminds me of G.I Joe and inevitably reminds me about Channing Tatum. Seriously! Rachel, focus! And the last one, Trauma, does my condition here make me eligible for that tick? Alright, none at all.
Age of first period, thirteen. Easy. Am I sexually active? That is a tough one; I won't be here if I weren't. Method of contraception? Why is this tougher than a fifth grade question?
One final question, my marital status, which is absolutely easy, I am single.
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I am wearing a pink gown that the clinic provides, lying on the bed. Dr. Brightman was already sitting in front of me, typing something on the ultrasound equipment.
'Are you ready, Rachel?' Dr. Brightman were sort of enthusiast, maybe it's her job to be, after all, she knew how scary the hormones of the expecting mother can be when they are moody, and she is not going to risk it. Dr. Brightman looks like she is in her fifties, her hair wasn't messy, but I can see her appointment to the salon was infrequent, she really needs a trimming. I managed to visit the hairdresser once every month to get my hair nourish since I started dating Derek, and I was rewarded with the compliments Derek gave. He said my hair smells like wild flowers of the forrest.
'I think so,' I replied. She smiled at me. Perhaps she was trying to ease my anxiety, I thought I hide it pretty well.
'Before we start the scanning, some question I need to clarify with, when is the last time you had sexual intercourse with your partner?' Dr. Brightman looks at me.
'6 weeks ago, if I remembered correctly.' I said softly.
'Right, let's start with the scanning, shall we?' She smiled at me.
She squeezed a few drops of cold lubricant on my belly, and she placed the equipment that is attached to the ultrasound machine that looks like a barcode scanner at the cashier onto my skin. It was tingly. The monitor came alive with gray images. Oh god. I sighed. My heart was beating hard. She rolled the thing vertically and horizontally across my stomach and pressed something on the ultrasound which makes a lot of beeping sounds.
I squint at the screen, I don't even know how an embryo looks like, and everything seems so incomprehensible.
'See the black spot there?' Dr. Brightman paused the screen and point in with her forefinger.
'Yeah, what is that?' I was anxious, but not in a good way.
'It's your baby, Rachel.'
All my energy drains out. I felt dead for a moment. I can't appreciate the life that is nested inside me, all I think about is how am I going to tell Derek.
What am I going to do with the baby?
'How old is the...the baby, doctor?' I asked calmly.
'Exactly 5 week.' She read the file again, 'Oh, your birthday happens to be 6 weeks ago as well.' She chuckles.
'Can I abort it?' I asked. I realized my heart panged forcefully that my palm become sweaty. It wasn't easy to get those inhumane words out of me.
Dr. Brightman sat there, biting her lips, her gaze were thoughtful. She went back to the machine and pressed some button. One second later, the printing machine was activated. She peels off the paper from there and passes to me. 'Maybe you need more time to consider this.'
I took the paper from her; it was the black and gray image we saw earlier. The black spot.
Dr. Brightman adds, 'you have up to twelve week if you are really certain about the abortion.' She smiled faintly and pads my hand encouragingly. 'At the mean time, I will prescribe you with folic acid for three months; have more iron and vitamin C and try to relax.'
I got changed, back to the clothes I wore. I cancelled the meeting with the Ferragamo staff, as if I have to mood to custom make any bag right now.
I trudged out of the changing room, placed my bag on the white dressing table attached to the wall while holding on to the black and white image on my hand.
My body was drenched with uncertainty. My whole life is going to take a huge tumble. This isn't what I wanted, I never wanted to have baby at this point of time, I still have so many things to do with or without Derek.
I left the photo on the table, searching inside my bag for my lip balm. As I begin to rub my lips with the honey flavored lip stained, the door swing open, causing the photo to fly and land on the floor.
As I shift my neck to where the photo was, horror caught me next.
A vibrant red dress monopolize my whole vision. Beautiful manicured hand, adorned with crystal bracelet around her wrist, a gold ring that is ever so familiar to one that I have always seen on Derek's finger.
As if my days wasn't bad enough, to have my boyfriend's wife staring at the photo of my baby, this is destiny making a joke on me.
We look at each other. My heart is beating fast, like a drummer hitting the drum insanely to get the attention of audiences. Her face is an agonizing mixture of anger and shock.