Page 84 of Babies for the Christmas Grump

I take a long sip of coffee, trying to ignore the fact that Marjorie is still acting as if I’m one bad step away from needing an IV drip.

“I don’t need a doctor, I need a vacation. Somewhere warm. And far away from this hotel, this gala, and, well, everything.”

She turns to face me, holding out the green smoothie. “I’m not kidding. You look sick. You need to see a doctor, Sunny. I don’t want to be the one to say ‘I told you so’ when you end up in the ER from not taking care of yourself.”

I roll my eyes, but even I can tell I’m not selling it. “I’m not sick, Marj. Just exhausted. I’m fine. Really.”

Marjorie shakes her head. “You’re not fine. You look like a raccoon on a bender. You’re going. And that’s that.”

I open my mouth to make a retort, but she’s already pulling out her phone, and I know exactly where this is heading. She’s going to make an appointment. She’s going to insist I go.

And if I don’t, she’ll guilt-trip me until I agree. It’s like she has a PhD in making me feel like the world is about to end if I don’t do what she says.

She makes the appointment as I watch on, helpless. This may be for the best. At least it’ll get her off my back.

Marjorie hangs up the phone with a satisfied smile. “Okay, we’re all set. Get dressed, Sunny. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

I wince at the thought of getting dressed, because right now, the only thing I want to wear is a blanket burrito. But Marjorie’s already headed for my room before I can mount any protest.

“Fine,” I mutter, dragging myself to my feet. “But if they try to put me in one of those weird paper gowns, I’m suing.”

Marjorie shoots me a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “If you want to wear that robe to the doctor’s office, be my guest, but I’m pretty sure you’d get more attention than you’re asking for.”

“Attention I don’t need.”

Two hours later, I’m sitting in a small, sterile doctor’s office, trying to focus on the little fish swimming in circles on the screen of a terribly outdated TV. I’d rather be anywhere else.

This room smells of rubbing alcohol and regret.

Marjorie’s sitting across from me, barely holding it together. She’s been staring at her phone, occasionally glancing at me with that “you look like you’re going to faint” look.

And I’m honestly this close to telling her that I’ll faint if she doesn’t stop looking at me like I’m one sneeze away from disaster.

But no, she’s practically hovering, even though we both know I’ve already been poked and prodded enough for one day.

I take a deep breath and try not to freak out. I mean, I’m just here for a checkup, right? Just to make sure I’m not a walking disaster zone.

I’ll get some stupid prescription for vitamins, and everything will be fine. That’s it.

The door creaks open, and in comes Dr. Thompson, clipboard in hand, looking entirely too chipper for the situation. She’s got the usual “I’m here to help” smile plastered on her face.

Not that it makes me feel any better.

“So, Sunny. I’ve got your blood test results at last,” she says in a strangely grave tone. “Everything looks pretty good… except there’s one thing I should probably talk to you about.”

I stare at her. “Uh, what exactly are we talking about?”

She takes a slow breath and sets the clipboard aside, her eyes flicking from me to Marjorie before meeting mine again.

“The test came back… and you’re pregnant, Sunny.”

I freeze—a little too frozen because I don’t even feel like I’m capable of processing the words just thrown at me.

“What?” I croak out, barely recognizing the voice that comes out of me. “Pregnant? No. That’s… there’s no way.”

Dr. Thompson raises a hand to calm me. “I know this might be a bit of a surprise, but I double-checked the results. You’re definitely pregnant.”

My heart does some weird stutter step. Pregnant? But that’s… no, I’m not ready for this. I haven’t even figured out what to do with my life. There’s no way I can take on something this big.