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He glanced at the chart again, then at Luna. “Would you like us to go ahead and schedule the sonogram now, or would you like a few days to think about it?”
I knew he was offering me an out, a way to stall, but I shook my head. “Let’s schedule it now.”
He smiled, small but reassuring. “Alright. I’ll have the nurse set it up. We typically aim for around eight weeks for the first scan. Based on your symptoms, I’d say you’re close to that, but the ultrasound will confirm.”
Luna let out a soft sigh beside me, and I knew she was relieved I wasn’t putting this off. I could feel her staring, but I kept my eyes on Dr. Fetters. “And, um…” My throat was dry as I forced out the question. “Can I get a copy of the sonogram picture when we do it?”
His expression softened. “Of course. Most parents like to keep them.”
I wasn’t sure if I’d be keeping it for myself or if I’d be sending it to Carter. Probably both.
Dr. Fetters jotted down a few more notes before looking up. “Do you have any other questions, Soleil?”
A thousand. A million. But none that I could ask here. None that he could answer.
“No,” I said, voice quieter than before. “Not right now.”
“Alright. The nurse will be in shortly with your prescriptions and appointment details.” He hesitated, then added, “And if you need anything else, even if it’s just to talk, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
I forced a small smile and nodded.
As he left, Luna exhaled, long and slow. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”
I ran my hands over my thighs, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my leggings. “I guess not.”
She studied me, and I knew she wasn’t convinced. “Sunny…”
“I don’t want to talk about Carter right now.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, and regret immediately followed. I sighed and shook my head. “I just…I can’t yet.”
Luna didn’t push. Instead, she looped her arm around mine and leaned her head against my shoulder again. “Okay,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to do this alone.”
The words settled into my chest, heavy but comforting. No, I wasn’t alone. I had Luna. I had Mom. And whether I was ready or not, I had this baby. And sooner or later, I’d have to decide if I still had Carter too.
After finishing up at the clinic, Luna drove me home and hugged me goodbye. I let myself into the house and locked up. I’d left my phone here on purpose so I wasn’t distracted by it or forced to push away thoughts of Carter when I knew he would be messaging or calling.
When I went to the bedroom to find it and check for notifications, I saw a message from him.
Carter 2:12 PM:Sunny, is there any way we can talk? Please, I have so much to say to you.
I perched on the edge of the bed as my stomach rolled with nausea. The pharmacy would fill the prescriptions, and I’d have a delivery guy drop them by for me, but right now, there was nothing to help me with the feeling that I had to throw up again. Carter’s request definitely didn’t help.
However, while I was still angry with him, Mom and Luna’s words had gotten to me. I couldn’t keep pushing him away and expect him to be there if I needed him. It was time to put on my big-girl pants and handle this like an adult. If things were going to go sideways, I had to let them go and not try to stop the inevitable.
After all, I owed it to myself to get those answers, and Carter deserved to know the truth about his unborn child, even if he didn’t want a future with me or our baby.
I sent him the address to the Malibu house, and all that was left to do was wait. Now that he knew where I was, I knew he’d show up and want to talk, and I prayed I was ready to talk when he got here.
32
CARTER
My palms were drenched, shoulders tense as I walked up the steps to the home in Malibu Sunny had sent me the address to. The minute I saw it I knew where it was, and I felt foolish for not thinking of it last week when she vanished. Of course Melanie would let her stay here as a respite from Rick’s overbearing personality while she was going through so much turmoil.
I skipped the bell, choosing to knock gently. She was the one who sent me the address; she knew I’d be here.
The door swung open slowly, and a very hesitant, anxious-looking Sunny stood in the dim entryway. She looked tired, but just as beautiful as ever. I paused before saying anything, taking the moment to admire how pretty she was without makeup or her hair done. Her messy bun and sloppy sweats screamed motherhood, and it already looked good on her, but the internal reminder sent up warning flags my PTSD hated.
“Could I come in?” I asked cautiously, and she stepped aside.