The Side Effects of You (21 page)

My court date was approaching, and I was anxious. It had been five months since we started this custody battle, and I couldn't wait to get it over with. I was stressed out, I was gaining weight, and I was just plain tired. I was taking a nap at my desk when someone tapped on the door.

I jumped. “Come, come, come in,” I stuttered, hoping I hadn't overslept. The stress was getting to me. I was burnt out.

“Andrea, did you forget about your three o'clock?” Yasmin, one of my stylists, asked.

“No, no, of course not.” I focused on the clock on the wall. It was ten after three. I had a forty-five-minute break between clients, so I had taken advantage of it by getting a little nap in.

“Andrea, what's wrong with you? You're, like, sluggish and fatigued all the time, and you are sneaking in naps between clients. What's going on, boss?”

“Life, Yas. Dealing with Jeremiah, barely seeing my kids, and worrying about losing them are driving me crazy. I just need a boost.”

I got up and went over to my mirror. I always made sure I looked good enough for a client to want to sit in my chair.

“Well, you should do some yoga, get some exercise in.” Coming from her, a size six, that idea seemed logical. I was squeezing into my twenty-twos, so I wanted to slap her, but instead I gave her a look.

“Get out of my office, Yas. Have someone greet my customer and see what she's getting done. Offer her a drink, and somebody get her draped for me. And apologize for the delay.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

When she was on the other side of the door, I turned back to the mirror. I got the crust out of the corners of my eyes and freshened my face with a brush of bronzer, more liner, and a swipe of lipstick. I adjusted my belt, which used to fit more comfortably around my midsection, and I had to admit that Yasmin might be right.

Quentin had been treating me so well, and he had a housekeeper, so I was becoming a tad bit lazy. Even sex was starting to become a chore.

“You have to do something, sexy mama,” I told myself as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. “You don't want to lose another man's interest because of your weight.”

Although I knew in my heart that Quentin wasn't that superficial or shallow, I still didn't want to become unattractive to him. Hell, as stout as I was, he could still handle me in the bedroom. He'd push back my big thighs and get all the way in. Riding him was easy, because he always had a moving pelvis. Where I lacked, he made up for it. And his favorite position, hands down, was me on my side, with one leg bent, my other thigh resting beneath him. He rode me hard that way, and my stomach quickened every time I imagined him fucking me that way.

I headed to the floor, got to work, and finished out my day. Then I headed home. When I arrived, my darling Quentin had dinner waiting.

We sat at the kitchen table and ate, and then I asked that question that no man wanted to answer.

“Q, do you think I'm getting fatter?”

He paused, looked at me, and swallowed hard.

“Come on, baby. Be honest. I know my clothes are snugger, and I'm exhausted all the time. I need naps during the day now,” I told him.

“Well, you've been stressing a lot, babe. I've noticed a little weight gain, but I'm not complaining. I love the way you look, baby. All of you. Your body is still beautiful to me, because I'm in love with the woman inside of it. I know looking at you naked isn't like looking at a sexy, fit woman, but I'm not turned off by it.”

“I know, but I'd like to join a gym.” I put my head down. I was totally embarrassed to be having this conversation with him. I had never felt insecure around Quentin before, but I knew my body was changing. I knew the weight was coming on pretty fast, and I had to slow it down. “I need some motivation. I need help, baby. I need you to help me.”

“Hey, baby, come here.” I got up and walked over to his chair, and he embraced me. “Stop, okay? Stop. Don't get down on yourself. I'm your man, and I will do anything for you, Drea. You know this. I will help you, babe. Whatever you need, I will do. We will do this together.” He smiled at me.

“Thank you, baby.”

“No thanks needed, my love.”

“You're too good to me.”

“That's my job.” He smiled again and pulled me closer. “Now, come on. Let's clear the table and clean the kitchen.”

After we were done, we relaxed in the family room and watched a movie. Before the movie was halfway through, I was asleep and drooling. I didn't understand what was going on, but I was anxious to start working out, just to have some energy. The next few days were worse. I started to have headaches, and I knew that wasn't normal. I knew I had a lot going on with my current situation, but Quentin thought it was time for me to see a doctor. I agreed and made an appointment for the following Monday. I preferred to go alone, but he wasn't hearing it. Since I couldn't convince him to let me go alone, I gave in.

When Monday rolled around, Quentin and I headed to my doctor's appointment. I sat with him in the waiting room and waited for them to call me back. A nurse called my name and escorted me down a hallway to a scale. When she weighed me, I cringed. I hadn't been on a scale in forever, and I was blown away by the number. Oh, I definitely needed to run to somebody's gym.

“Is that accurate?” I asked.

“Yes, there could be a difference of five pounds from your scale at home, but that's about it,” she said dryly. “Let me get your pressure.”

“I'm sure it's sky high. I've been under a lot of unwanted stress lately,” I told her as motioned for me to take a seat in the chair near the scale.

“Well, we'll see,” she said as she placed a blood pressure cuff around my arm. “Just try to relax, and if it's high, I'll take it again in about fifteen minutes, after you have relaxed a bit.”

I yawned and nodded. I had just gotten up three hours ago. How in the hell could I feel sleepy again?

She read my numbers. “Well, it looks normal to me.”

“It does?”

“Yes. Most patients are happy with that news.”

“I am. I'm just shocked.”

“Well, count your blessings. Come on. Follow me.”

I followed her into an exam room, and then she walked out.

“Oh, Mrs. Young, I'm going to need you to go in this cup,” she said after she came back into the room.

“Why?”

“We have to test your urine to rule out everything.”

“Everything like what?”

“Infection, pregnancy. It's just standard.”

I took the cup and headed to the bathroom. When I finished, I put the cup on the little ledge that said
LEAVE SAMPLE HERE
and went back to the exam room to wait for my doctor. Surprisingly, she came right in.

“Andrea, how are you? It's been a long time. What brings you in today?”

“Hey, Lauren. It's good to see you.” I smiled. She had been our family doctor for years.

“Well, I'd say the same, but seeing you here means something is wrong.”

I sighed. “I don't know. I just feel weak and tired all the time. I'm sure you've heard about me and Jeremiah, the custody battle, and the divorce. It's just so much, and I'm stressed. I just want to make sure there are no other issues.”

She sat down and looked over my file. “Well, we've always had a conversation about your weight,” she began.

I held up a finger. “Lauren, you know I'm not going there.”

“I know, Andrea, but it could be a factor, so I can't rule it out. You are clinically obese.”

“According to science. God didn't confirm that. People who are at a so-called healthy weight could have way more health issues than me.”

“That's true, but we have to look at things from a medical standpoint.”

“I know, but when it comes to shape and size, I look at it as the way God meant for me to be. I could consume the exact same things a person half my size does in a day and do the same activities and still be my size, and they would remain their size.”

“Okay. With that said, let me look at your vitals. Your pressure is normal, which is a plus, and your temp is fine. I just need your results for your urine sample, and we go from there. When was your last cycle?”

“Um . . . I think, um . . .” I had to think. I remembered having one not long ago, but how long ago was the problem. “I have been stressed, and I've spotted here and there, so I really couldn't pinpoint the last actual period. I think it was four or five months ago. I mean, like, a real period. I've had spotting, blood on my liner every now and then, but my last actual
period
period was about four, maybe five months ago.”

“Really?” She stood and washed her hands. After drying them, she checked my heart and made me breathe deeply. She checked my throat and then made me stick out my tongue. “Okay, remove your top and lie back for me.”

“Lauren, I just had a woman exam about seven months ago.”

“I know, but I want to check you out.”

I removed my shirt and lay back.

“Bra too,” she said.

I did as I was told. She checked my breasts, and my nipples were sore. I frowned.

“Is that painful?” she asked.

“Yes. Which is good, right? That means my period is coming soon.”

“Or it could mean something else,” she said. She made her way down to my abdomen and began to press on it. She had a look on her face that had me confused.

“What's going on, Lauren? Talk to me.”

“I feel something, but I gotta be sure.”

“Like?” I asked, raising myself onto my elbows.

“Hold on, Andrea.” She picked up the phone and called the nurses' station. “Do you have Mrs. Young's urine test results yet?” she asked, tapping her pen. “Can I have them right away?”

“Lauren, what's going on?” I was starting to feel scared. I thought it was an infection, a cyst, or a tumor. Whatever it was, it was draining me.

The nurse tapped on the door, and Lauren went to the door to get the results. “You can get dressed, Andrea.” She sat and read the report. “Okay, that's what I thought.”

“What?” I said, pulling my bra straps over my shoulders.

“You're pregnant.”

I had a Tasha Mack moment. “Now, what now?”

“Pregnant. The test was positive. Therefore, you're pregnant.”

“Pregnant how? I've been on the pill for six months. I mean, I've been taking my pill every day.”

“Well, according to this, you need to stop taking your pills immediately. You need to get with your ob-gyn right away to find out how far along you are and to get your prenatal care started.

“Pregnant,” I said in disbelief. I didn't know what to think or how to feel. I wasn't happy or sad. I was blown away. “Pregnant,” I said again.

Smiling, she said, “Yes, Andrea. Pregnant. Maybe this is a way to keep you and Jeremiah together.”

“Jeremiah hasn't touched me in over two years.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Excuse me?”

In a daze, I said, “I'm sorry. I'm not pregnant by Jeremiah. It's my fiancé, Quentin. Once my divorce is final, I'm getting remarried.” I held up my ring.

“Wow. A new husband and a new baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, looking at the chart on the wall, which I had read ten times already. I got up and promised I'd make an appointment with my OB. Still in shock, I walked out to the waiting room.

Quentin rushed over to me. “Baby, what did the doctor say? What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” I said softly.

“Then why have you been so fatigued and dragging?”

“Because I'm pregnant.” My voice sounded flat, even to myself.

Confused, Quentin said, “Come again.”

“I'm pregnant.”

“You're pregnant!” he yelled, snapping me out of my trance. “Oh, honey, that is great.” He hugged me tight. “How far? I mean, when . . . ? Is it a boy or a girl? Talk to me Andrea.”

“I . . . I . . . I don't know,” I stammered. “I have to see my OB.”

“What's an OB?”

“It's a . . . Never mind, Q. Can you believe I'm pregnant? That means we are going to have a baby,” I squealed.

I suddenly got excited. We hugged and celebrated in the doctor's office waiting room, not caring who was watching. I was having his baby, and I was elated.

When we were in the car, he said, “We have to call my moms.” He pulled out his cell phone.

“Why are we calling your mom first?”

“It doesn't matter, baby. I just have to tell somebody. This is our first baby,” he said.

“Second,” I said, correcting him.

His smile faded, and he put the phone down. “Why would you do that?” he asked sadly.

Ashamed of reminding him of my first pregnancy during our happy moment, I said, “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I should not have said that.”

“No, Drea, you shouldn't have. Are you still angry with me about it? Huh?” he yelled. “If you are, let it out now. I live my life every day, telling myself to have no regrets, and even though I broke your heart way back then, the one thing I do regret is making you get rid of our child. So, if you are still bitter, get it out now.” His eyes watered. “I was young, foolish, and had no clue about life back then. I'm so fucking sorry, okay?

“Either you forgive me or you don't, because I want to feel good about this moment. I want to yell the news out to the world, but if you haven't forgiven me, I can't embrace this moment. Back then, I wish I could have felt the way I feel right now. You are pregnant with my baby, Drea. A part of me is inside of you, and I want to celebrate this moment, but if you can't celebrate it with me ...”