Her Inconvenient Groom by Niomie Roland
Chapter 6
The nausea, she’d expected. It had started almost as soon as she found out she was pregnant. The first time it happened, she was having lunch with Dennis’s wife, Samantha. They weren’t exactly friends, but as sisters-in-law they occasionally met for a bite to catch up. But the vertigo that attacked her now as she got out up from her desk, or the feeling that she was on a rolling ship the moment her feet hit the floor in the morning… that was weird. Why did the floor suddenly begin to slant? Why did it feel as if she was walking up a slope, when all she was doing was navigating the twenty-odd feet between her desk and her private bathroom?
When Sienna had stepped into her office and found her standing at her desk, grabbing onto its edges as if it was the only thing holding her up, she’d rushed to her side, chided her gently for not hitting the intercom to summon her, and driven her to the hospital.
Sienna had that ‘I’m gonna fight you all the way if you say no’ look in her eyes, but Chantelle wasn’t about to argue. To be honest, she was scared. She was glad she had someone like Sienna looking out for her, bullying her when she needed it. This whole pregnancy thing was new to her, and it took a lot of getting used to. Especially knowing that she was now responsible for another person.
Sienna had shanghaied her into getting into the car, saying soothingly that it probably was nothing, but better to be sure, for her own peace of mind. Trying to keep her calm and not worry too much. But Chantelle knew deep down that something was wrong, and for the sake of her baby, she certainly wasn’t going to drag her feet.
Now, she sat on the narrow bed in a tissue gown, staring at the door, waiting on the doctor to come back in from wherever the hell doctors go to when they disappear in the middle of a consultation.
The thin, solemn-faced older gentleman returned and stood before her with his hands clasped before him, hemming and hawing before he said anything. Then he began ponderously, “Mrs. Moreau—”
“Ms.,” she corrected automatically.
He nodded. “I can’t see any overt signs that there’s anything wrong with your pregnancy. Your early thirties isn’t particularly late for a first baby, especially now that more and more mature women are deciding to have families….”
She wasn’t sure if she liked being lumped into a category of ‘mature women’, but okay.
He went on. “Your blood pressure is a bit elevated, and I wouldn’t be surprised if your blood sugar isn’t down a bit. You say you haven’t been eating?”
She shook her head. “Not as much as I should, what with the nausea.”
He gave her a taut smile. “I know it’s challenging to get past, but you do need to eat; remember, proper nutrition is what your baby needs from you right now.”
She winced at the thought of choking down food she didn’t want, but promised to do just that.
He tore a page from the folder he was carrying and handed them to her. “Here’s a request for a few simple blood tests. Phlebotomy is just down the hall; you’ll need to go over there and let them draw a sample. We should have the results back in a couple of days, and I will call you.”
She got down off the gurney and pulled her clothes on, then slipped into her shoes. Today—the past couple of days, actually—she was wearing flats, not daring to risk the wheeling and rolling sensation that came with her nausea to her habitual high heels.
He nodded at the door. “In the meantime, pick up a few brochures on pregnancy from the side table on the way out. That should give you some useful tips.”
He let his hand rest on her forearm. “And don’t worry; the first trimester can be a bit rough, but it settles down. Just avoid stressful situations, don’t work too many long hours, and keep your feet up whenever you can.”
Chantelle smiled to herself as she left, scooping up some brochures as suggested and heading to Phlebotomy. Avoid stress? She was the head of a major financial conglomerate. When you considered the fact that many of her clients and contacts lived half a world and a dozen time zones away, the idea of working “long hours” was moot.
The hospital was surprisingly quiet, even for a weekday morning. She placed a quick call to Sienna, who hadn’t been allowed into the inner workings of the ER and was waiting outside—very likely arguing with security about why she deserved to be inside with her boss—to tell her she’d be out soon. Then she found her way to Phlebotomy to wait her turn.
There was an empty seat next to a pretty, 40-ish Black woman in a wheelchair, who was chatting with a thin, wan-looking teenage girl who had trailed her IV bag with her on a wheeled stand. From the tinge of gray under her dark skin and the bluish circles under her eyes, she deduced that the girl was quite ill.
She smiled a hello and sat down, immediately immersing herself in her phone to avoid the awkwardness of the shared space.
And yet, she kept being drawn to the conversation taking place next to her.
“I still think Pablo was cheating,” the girl was saying. “You could see it on his face.”
“Huh,” the woman, who she assumed to be her mother, said. “Can’t imagine why Olive didn’t kick him to the curb.”
“Money, of course!” the girl responded with a grin. “For $200,000 in prizes, I’d put up with a cheater, too!”
The woman scoffed. “No, you wouldn’t.”
Chantelle immediately realized they were talking about a popular new TV reality show, Marry that Stranger!, which was based on following around couples who were married less than 30 days after meeting each other. It was scandalous, wild, raucous, and explicit, and she’d be a liar if she said she’d never indulged.
She chuckled to herself, and immediately the young girl pointed at her in triumph. “You watch it too, don’t you!”
She nodded, smiling openly now. “From time to time.”
The woman immediately tried to win her over as an ally. “Tell me that girl shouldn’t have tossed that low-down skunk out the second time he cheated!”
“But Mom!” the girl protested with the idealistic passion only a teenager had. “They were in lurve!” And to Chantelle’s amusement, she actually placed her hand over her heart. “Plus, he’s gorgeous….”
“Right,” the woman snorted. “They met at the day-old-bagel table in the bakery section of a discount supermarket. And got married ten days later! What kind of lunatic does that?”
Ouch, Chantelle thought. That kind of hit close to home. “Maybe they had good reasons to get married. Sometimes, there are things we don’t know about a couple…”
“Well, I think marriage should be based on mutual respect and love. And those things only come with time. And faith and sacrifice. Show me a quickie marriage, and I’ll show you two people Wedding Marching their way towards their doom.” She pounded on the armrest of her wheelchair for emphasis, and then turned eagerly to Chantelle. “Don’t you think?”
Chantelle chose her words carefully. “I think you both have a point. I agree that love takes time to build and nurture. I’m pretty sure that whole ‘sparks flying’ nonsense is just chemical attraction. It might get a relationship going, but it sure won’t nurture it.”
The mom smiled in triumph.
Chantelle added, “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something to be said for sparks! And if a couple gets married, it’s probably for a valid reason. We could at least give them a chance to see that purpose through.”
“And the sex is probably awesome.” The daughter added. “All that mystery, discovering each other for the first time. Not that I would know anything about it…”
“Oh, you!” The mom smacked her daughter lightly on the arm, smiling.
Chantelle felt a brief pang of longing. A forgotten sensation that had been so prevalent in her early twenties, but which she thought she’d managed to overcome and bury. It was that same connection she had with her own mother before she’d passed away. Over the past year, Chantelle’s anger at the woman who gave birth to her had grown, especially now that she was pregnant with her own child.
The secrets her mother and Simon had kept from her and from everyone has been dominating her thoughts for the past year. In fact, she thought ironically, they were in part responsible for the predicament she found herself in right now, with Dustin and the baby.
But alas, there was nothing she could do about her mother’s betrayal except to not repeat it with her own child. Elodie Clark had been dead now for almost 10 years and couldn’t be confronted. “There’s a new episode due tomorrow night,” the daughter was saying slyly. “Do you wanna bet—”
But Chantelle never heard the rest, because just then a nurse call her name, and she raised her hand to signal she was coming. Part of her was relieved to escape from a scenario that was unearthing half-buried resentments within her, while the other was loath to leave the warm circle of light in which these two basked.
She got up and smiled politely at the duo. “Lovely talking to you. Enjoy the show tomorrow.”
The young woman gave her a light wave and grinned. “I know you’re secretly on my side, right?” Then she winked.
Chantelle gave a final, pleasant smile and hurried off.