he covers my clasped hands with one of his own. “Based on my examination, your hormone levels, and what you’ve told me, I see no reason why you should.”

My head snaps up. “Wait . . . what? But the doctor last night said—”

“It can be difficult, this early, to detect a fetal heartbeat with a traditional ultrasound. As for your bleeding, some spotting in the first trimester is quite common. Now, however, your cervix is closed, your blood work is unremarkable, and the fetal heart rate is normal. All of these factors indicate a routine pregnancy that should progress to full term.”

My mother’s arms wrap around my shoulders, relieved and excited. But I need more. “So you’re saying . . . I get to keep him?

I’m going to have this baby?”

Dr. Witherspoon chuckles.

It’s a jolly sound.

“Yes, Kate. I believe you’re going to keep this baby. Your due date is October twentieth. Congratulations.”

I cover my mouth and the tears flow. I’m smiling so big, my face hurts. And I hug my mother back. “Mom . . .”

She laughs. “I know, honey. I’m so happy for you—I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

This is how it should have been the first time. No fear. No doubts. Only elation. Euphoria.

It’s the most wonderful moment of my life.

I throw my clothes on faster than a cheating wife caught in the act and burst into the waiting room. Delores and Billy stare at me in surprise. “I’m still pregnant! I’m not having a miscarriage!”

They stand up.

“holy shit!”

“I knew Dr. Dickhead didn’t know his ass from his elbow!”

Smiles and hugs are passed around like acid at Woodstock.

And my best friend asks me, “So I guess your mind’s made up?

You’re keeping it?”

My hands drop to my stomach, already imagining the bump.

“Until he turns eighteen and goes to college. And even then, I might make him live at home and commute.”

She nods, bestowing the coveted Delores Warren seal of approval.

Billy drops to his knees in front of me. “hey, in there. I’m Uncle Billy.” Then he looks up at me, worried. “I can be Uncle Billy, right? You gotta let me be Uncle Billy. The only other shot I’ve got is Delores—and who the hell knows what kind a freak of nature she’s gonna squeeze out.”

Delores smacks him on the head.

And I laugh. “Yes. You can be Uncle Billy.”

“Sweet.” his attention reverts to my stomach. “hey, kid. Don’t worry about a thing—I’m gonna tell you everything you need to know. Say it with me: Strat-o-caster.”

Delores shakes her head. “It can’t understand you, Jackass. It’s like the size of a tadpole.”

“After last night, it’s probably a wasted tadpole. But that’s cool, right? It’ll build up its tolerance—put hair on its chest?”

Delores grins. “What if it’s a girl?”

Billy shrugs. “Some guys are into girls with hairy chests. You’d be surprised.”

I turn away from the Tweedledum-Tweedledee exchange and walk down the hall to Dr. Witherspoon. My words come out stunted. Guilty. “Excuse me? I’m sorry to bother you . . . but . . .

last night . . . I was upset and I . . . drank alcohol and smoked cigarettes.” I lower my voice. “And marijuana. A lot.”

A montage of Special Report News flashes through my mind: Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.

Super-preemies.

Low Birth Weight.

he puts his hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “You’re not the first woman to engage in some rather . . . unhealthy behaviors before learning she was pregnant, Kate. Babies in utero are heart-ier than you think. They have the ability to overcome momentary exposure to drugs and alcohol. So as long as you abstain from these substances from now on, there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”

I throw my arms around his neck, almost knocking him over.

“Thank you! Thank you, Dr. Santa—this is the best Christmas present ever!”

I run back to Delores and Billy. “he said it’s okay!” We jump up and down in a circle like three kids on the playground doing Ring Around the Rosie.

And it’s almost perfect. Almost. Because there’s something missing.

Someone.

The only other person on earth who’s supposed to be as happy as I am at this moment. he should be here. he should be picking me up, spinning me around, and kissing me until I pass out.

And then he should be telling me that of course the baby’s fine— because his studly super-sperm is indestructible.

Can’t you just see it?

But he’s not here. That’s just the way it is. I’d like to tell you it doesn’t hurt—that I don’t miss him—that I don’t really care anymore. But that’d be a big fat lie. I love Drew. I can’t imagine ever not loving him. And I want to share this with him, more than anything.

But we don’t always get everything we want; sometimes we just have to be grateful for what we have. And I am. Grateful, I mean.

happy. Because I’m going to have this baby and take care of him.

And I don’t have to do it alone. Between my mother and George, Delores and Billy, there won’t be any shortage of helping hands.

he’s going to be loved enough for ten babies.

Forty-eight hours ago, I didn’t know what I was capable of, what kind of steel pumps in my veins. Now I do. And I guess that’s the moral of the story.