I worry my lower lip for a moment. “Yes, but what about you? It’s far,” I finally answer.
“I’ll leave in an hour.”
“How can you…did you expect this?” I ask.
“I’m always prepared, Sydney.”
“You are…”
“Wonderful, I know.” He says it with a tone of teasing but I’m pretty sure he believes it. “I love you, Sydney.” I can’t say it back to him. The words are stuck in my throat—held there by a preservation instinct I don’t even try to fight. “Good night.”
He hangs up and I lower the phone from my face, my gaze stuck on the moon’s reflection glittering on the dark water. I am not going to sleep with him.
Blue whines as if he can hear my thoughts and doesn’t believe me. Fuck.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The island’s medical suite has state-of-the-art equipment—anything a billionaire and his closest hundred friends might need once they are among the only surviving humans on the planet.
A woman about ten years older than me stands up from behind a desk and circles around to meet me and Blue when we enter. “Hi,” she says with a smile. Merl has taken Nila and Frank with him to train with his dogs on the beach. We are going to meet afterwards in Dan’s suite for a council meeting before I fly out.
“Hi,” I say, shaking her offered hand. “I have an appointment, Sydney Rye.”
“Dr. Felicia Guilder.” She smiles. “Nice to meet you.” Her gaze drops to Blue. “And hello to you,” she says, her accent Scandinavian.
“This is Blue,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, Blue.” His tail wags in greeting. Dr. Guilder’s gaze rises to mine—her eyes are blueberry blue with curled black lashes. They crinkle on the sides when she smiles at me. “Come on back, let’s talk.”
Dr. Guilder leads me through to an examination room. It has the ubiquitous padded table covered in white paper with a blood pressure cuff hanging off the wall. But unlike most doctors’ offices, the window frames a view of the ocean. There is a low cloud cover today, so the sea shimmers silver.
I sit on the table, the paper crinkling under me. Blue's head reaches just high enough that he can rest his chin on my knee. Dr. Guilder takes a seat on the familiar little wheeled stool and wakes up her computer. “I went over your medical records this morning,” she says. “You’ve been through a lot. How are the hallucinations these days?”
“Mild,” I answer.
“Hmm,” she hums while reading over notes on the screen. “You worked with a Dr. Munkin in the States. Ketamine seems to have really helped. After the baby is born you may want to consider another treatment.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “I’m pretty good at telling what’s real, though.”
“That’s good.” She smiles at me, then returns her attention to the computer. “So how many weeks are you now?” she asks, scanning the screen.
“I’m not sure.”
Dr. Guilder looks over at me, a thought on her face I can’t quite read. I’m probably supposed to know that, to be consumed with the timeline. “Have you felt any movement?” she asks, her gaze tracking back to the monitor.
“Yes,” I say.
A smile raises her cheeks. “That’s good. And you know the sex?” she asks, her voice a little surprised.
“Yes, they told me at the end of my first trimester when I had my ultrasound. Said they could see it.”
“I guess he’s not shy,” she says.
“Sounds like me,” I joke.
She turns to me, still smiling, her expression communicating this is such a happy thing, this baby you’re having. And it reminds me that it is a happy thing. More than just the transformation of my life and identity, a whole new person—a not shy person, possibly—is coming into this world soon. A mix of Mulberry and me will be here in just a few months. Holy shit.
“Where do you plan to give birth?” she asks.
I take in a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, cringing a little. I’m 100% sure that I am supposed to know that by now.
Her smile softens, as though she sees the nerves her question set on edge. “It’s okay to not know these things, Sydney. You’re a first-time mom—and a peripatetic one at that. You will figure it out.”
“Do you have children?” I ask.
Her smile softens even more. “Yes,” she answers. “My daughter died but I’m still a mom.”
The impact of her words tighten my throat and sting my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say.
She nods, accepting my condolences with the grace of someone whose grief shines like a gem rather than weighs them down like a stone. “Thank you,” she says. “You could have the baby here,” she continues, changing the subject back to me. “We have all the facilities necessary—including a surgery bay in the case of a C-section.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” My hand finds Blue’s ear and begins to play with it. He leans harder against me, encouraging the pettings.
“If you plan on traveling, remember that thirty-six weeks is usually the cutoff for commercial flights because they don’t want you giving birth on board. I assume you mostly fly private, but even if you don’t need permission, your risks of blood clots do increase later in the pregnancy.”
I nod. “Yeah, I walked every two hours on my flights here.”
