Halloween seemed to come out of nowhere, even though it was actually like two weeks later. She blames the fact that she's barely had any sleep lately, with the combination of the pregnancy and work. She's thankful for the break for a while though it kind of—well, it presents its own problems.
CeCe isn't really—she likes most foods, but she's not that much of a sugar lover? She's never really eaten cake or cookies or any type of candy in abundance and she hardly even like soda anymore, so it's—it's really annoying that all the sudden, she can't stop eating sour gummy worms. She's never eaten gummy worms! At least, not the sour kind. And she wouldn't have even started eating them if she hadn't gone home to visit Flynn and mom and—it's just, there was candy everywhere. From chocolate to starbursts to gummy worms and this weird chalky candy and popcorn balls and caramel apples—she pretty much couldn't stop munching on sweets and candy all night. (She even had a huge piece of pumpkin pie that even Flynn laughed at her for, it was so big.)
And then she went home, and the craving for sour gummy worms were still so bad that she went to the grocery store and bought four bags. Not even the little bags, because she's clearly going crazy and bought four huge bags of sour gummy worms and—the really crazy part—is actually eating them.
It's really not a good thing to be eating gummy worms constantly though, and Sarah is giving her this look that's pretty much saying What is going on with you? She should tell her, probably. She's how far along now? A few weeks into the second trimester. She's going to find out eventually, she knows, she just—she can't tell her. It's too—she just can't. She can't tell anyone yet. It's too soon, and too scary.
That's why it's terrifying when they go to the photoshoot for some website—she can't even remember what the company is called, or why they're doing it, just knows that the stylist is yelling at Sarah, and she's yelling back, and CeCe doesn't fit in the dress that she'd tried on for this shoot a week ago.
She puts down the gummy worms.
In retrospect, it was a really stupid thing to do. CeCe usually runs in the mornings—she loves it, the way her heart will beat fast and her lungs will work and her chest will ache. She likes the feeling that moving puts in your arms and legs and the fresh air is amazing for your mindset. It's good for you to run in the mornings. She hasn't been doing it recently though, distracted by too many things.
She knows, somewhere in the back of her head, that gaining weight is normal when you're carrying a baby. She knows that it's healthy; that you can't lose that weight short of having the baby. The stylist's voice is still echoing inside her head though, and the same with Sarah saying, kindly, later on, "Maybe you shouldn't eat so many of those sweets, CeCe—not that I'm telling you what to do, but you don't even like sweets, do you? What's going on—you okay?"
She's terrified, and so she puts on sweats and an old t-shirt and goes running in the middle of her fifth month being pregnant. It's definitely a stupid thing to have done, considering, but it isn't until after she gets that sudden wave of dizziness and she trips, slamming hard into the ground on her side, bruising her hip, that realizes how monumentally dumb an idea it was.
It's not the first time she's gotten dizzy out of nowhere, and had to sit down and just breathe for a moment before she could figure out where she was and what she was doing. But it's the first time she was pitching forward when it happened, and it's the first time she realizes how—how dangerous it could be.
She sits in the grass of the school she happened to fall onto for a good ten minutes.
She can feel the baby kicking, and she knows, rather than thinks, that it's mad at her.
This was her mistake, and the consequences are going to get worse. She can't fight them off by dieting or exercising, by risking her baby's life. What if she'd fallen and landed on her stomach? What if the baby stopped kicking? What if—
She calls Sarah, and calmly tells her everything, and asks her to come pick her up. It's been five months. She needs—what she needs is to go see a doctor, before she does anything else as stupid as trying to lose weight while she's pregnant. Sarah's quiet on the other side of the line after she says it, but eventually she says, "Okay, okay, where are you?"
She comes to pick her up in a black jeep, and she thinks it's her husband's. She usually drives a little red Buick.
CeCe almost doesn't want to get in the jeep. Sarah rolls down the window though, and smiles. "CeCe, get in. I made an appointment with my gynecologist, alright? He'll be discreet, but come on, we need to—we need to go, he's expecting us."
The first half of the ride is quiet, before Sarah finally says, "CeCs, so—when—"
She stares at her shoes, "Beginning of September. That's when I realized—or do you mean—five months. I'm—it's been five months, I think."
Sarah nods and tightens her grip on the steering wheel. CeCe is nervous, tapping her feet together, waiting for her to yell at her, tell her how stupid she is for letting this happen—how could she do this? What's the world going to think when they find out she's pregnant at nineteen? Her career is over, it has to be. It'll be wrecked when people find out. She's an awful role model, how could she have let this happen?
When Sarah speaks though, angry just like she thought she'd be, it's not—it's not about why it happened, or what's going to happen, or about her career or public image or anything, and CeCe sinks down in the seat and crosses her arms, just—trying to hide. "It's been five months," Sarah says, quiet and mad, "It's been five months and you haven't seen a doctor. CeCe, what were you thinking?"
"I—I didn't know—"
"Exactly," Sarah says, turning into another street carefully. "You don't know anything about what it means to be pregnant, CeCe. Doctors—doctors know. What if there's something—this isn't just about you anymore, CeCe. That's a baby, and she, he, whatever it is, is your responsibility, and you've been doing a pretty crappy job with that so far. What are you going to do if something's wrong?"
"I—"
"We're here," she interrupts. She parks the car in silence, and then before either of them get out, she turns and grabs CeCe's hand. "Hey, hey, CeCe. I love you, alright? You're one of the best kids I've ever known. It's going to be okay. We're going to fix this, and you're going to be fine. I'm mad at you—but I'm not going anywhere."
They go into a private room immediately rather than waiting in the lobby like most other patients. CeCe is thankful even though it takes what feels like an hour to fill out all of the paperwork a nurse gives them. When they finally finish all of that, and she didn't even know half of the answers, a nurse comes into the room and says, "Okay, we need a urine sample first, and then we'll go ahead and weigh you, alright? After that we're going to take your blood and run a few basic tests—and then doctor will come in and you'll have your first ultrasound."
CeCe goes through everything without a real expression. She thinks maybe she's scared, or in shock, or just trying to keep from blowing up and either yelling or crying or freaking out like a crazy person. She winces when they weigh her. She's twenty pounds heavier than she was the last time she'd stepped on a scale. The nurse is smiling at her though, and says, "It's good to gain weight, don't worry."
It's not—she doesn't mind gaining weight, really, it's just, with her job—she thinks a lot of people are going to be disappointed with her. Will they reschedule photoshoots or cancel them all together? Or just get him new wardrobe? Will they kick her off the show? Or—she doesn't even know how this is going to work.
The needle when they take her blood is big and the prick hurts for a few seconds after they're done. She rubs at her arm while they go back to the little room and wait for the doctor.
"Get on the chair," Sarah says, settling down in the smaller guest chair in the corner of the room. CeCe looks at the big one, with all the equipment around it and the white plastic covering it. She does not want to sit there. She does anyway, when the door opens and a man comes in, white coat and clipboard signifying him as the doctor.
He's smiling, at least, so CeCe tries to smile back while he sits down.
"You're CeCe Jones?" the man says, holding out a hand. She shakes it awkwardly, nodding. "My daughter's thirteen—she's your biggest fan." CeCe tries not to wince, because that's—she's probably not going to be allowed to admire her anymore, not when her Dad knows CeCe is all, whatever, nineteen pregnant and all of the stuff that goes with that.
"So, let's get down to business. I'm Dr. Charles Taylor, but just call me Charlie, alright? I've known Sarah since she had her first child, so you're in good hands, I promise. Can I ask you a few personal questions before we start the exam?"
CeCe nods, breathes, says, "Yeah."
"You said you think you're about five months? Why haven't you come in before?"
She tries not to look at Sarah, and fidgets for a second before saying, "I just—I was scared, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing. This—I didn't mean for this to happen. It was an accident."
The doctor doesn't ridicule or chastise her, just nods and says, "Alright, we'll get you all caught up today, shall we? I'm going to do a physical exam after the ultrasound, sound good?"
He tells her to lean back on the chair until she's practically lying down, and then he's lifting up her shirt and she is closing her eyes tightly as something cold and wet and gooey feeling is being spread out along her belly.
"You barely have a bump yet," the doctor muses, and then, "Ah, here we go, do you want to see?"
CeCe breathes, and opens her eyes. Sarah stands up and comes over to hold her hand while they stare at the computer screen, black and gray and a little distinctive blob of baby. She can't stop watching, barely acknowledging that the doctor is saying anything at all. There a little heartbeat, fluttering and rhythmic.
It's amazing.
"CeCe," Sarah says, and she breaks her stare to look up at the doctor.
"What?"
"I asked if you'd like to know the sex," the doctor says, chuckling. "I'm also guessing you'll like a disc copy of the baby? And a picture?"
"Yeah," CeCe says. "I mean—all of it," "yeah."
The doctor looks back at the screen and says, "Looks like a little girl."
CeCe closes her eyes and lays her head back against the chair again, and squeezes them shut to try and keep the tears away. She's having a baby—she's having a baby girl.
The doctor makes a little hmm sound then, and pushes a few buttons. He asks, "You said five months?"
"Yeah," CeCe replies, quietly.
"Do you have the exact date?"
She frowns, "Um, I think—it was around when the summer season premiered, I think, so—early July?"
"Hm," the doctor says, and then wheels his chair over. "You couldn't have consummated the baby after that?"
CeCe shakes her head, "No."
"I'll be right back," Dr. Charles says, and leaves the room.
"What does that mean?" She asks Sarah, sitting up.
She shakes her head. "He's just asking lots of questions, CeCe."
They wait about twenty minutes before the doctor comes back in. "Alright," he says, "You're measuring at about sixteen weeks, but you're telling me you're about twenty. What this means is that the baby isn't growing as quickly as she should be."
CeCe jerks, and scoots back in the chair. "What does—"
"It's probably nothing serious," the doctor says, "or else you would have likely had a miscarriage in the first trimester, which you didn't. Can you tell me a little about your eating and exercise habits?"
"Right," he says a few moments later, "With your current weight, you should be eating about 1800 calories a day, and with the baby you should be eating about 2100. And I don't mean in candy, although cravings are perfectly fine to give into now and again. You haven't been eating enough, and you're working too hard." He turns to face Sarah. "She needs a strict schedule—I want her home no later than ten every night. She needs eight hours of sleep—or at least be trying to sleep for eight hours every night. No more crazy hours." He swivels around to face CeCe again. "No jogging, running, power walking—none of that. Regular walking is fine if you feel up to it, but that's it. You'll have to keep it safe with the dancing. Remember—2100 calories. I want you to keep a record of what you eat, and bring it with you when you come back for your next appointment. I'm scheduling that for next week, the 24th, alright? Ten in the morning sound good? We'll have your blood work back by then. Speaking of which—is the father in the picture?"
CeCe shakes her head, eyes wide, hoping Sarah is copying all of this down.
"Alright," Dr. Charles says, writing something down on his clipboard. "Do you know if any genetically transmitted diseases run in his family? Or is he Jewish, by any chance?"
"I—no, um—I don't think he's Jewish. He's from another country though and I don't know what their beliefs and stuff are mainly there?" Sarah sends her a look. CeCe doesn't look back at her.
"Alright. I'm not going to do the physical exam until we see if this new eating and sleeping schedule improves the baby's growth. If it does, we're good, right on schedule. If it doesn't, we'll run a few other tests, see what's going on."
They shake hands again after CeCe gets off the chair.
The doctor adds, before they open the door, "My office will be discreet, Miss Jones, but I do want you to realize that you're going to get bigger as the baby does. How long are you intending to hide this from the public?"
CeCe looks at Sarah, and then shakes her head. "I haven't—I don't know."
She calls her mom that night. She's quiet, at first, and then sighs and says something that CeCe can't quite distinguish through the phone, but she thinks it was some sort of prayer. They talk about everything the doctor said—CeCe repeating it all and her mom asking questions and offering advice. So, candy is bad, bread and fruit is good. No coffee or soda or alcohol—not that she ever drank much of that stuff anyway, and she's thankful about that.
She isn't surprised when she eventually says, "CeCe… Baby, who's the father?"
She almost wants to tell her, but that's—she can't. Her mom won't get it, she won't. "I can't—Mom, it doesn't matter, he's not—we didn't—this is just me."
"Baby," she says, "No matter what you think, this isn't just you. He—he has as much to do with this as you."
"I don't want him to," CeCe says. "I don't want him to have to, Mom. He didn't mean for this to happen, and what's the point in messing up both our lives because of it?"
"Wait, chica, you haven't told him?"
"That's not—this is different, Mom. We're not dating or anything."
"He's still about to be a father, and he has no idea. You need to tell him."
"I—I know. I'm—I don't know, Mama," CeCe says, eventually.
Her mom is silent for a little while. "I'll have to come over soon," she says after a minute, "and we can get that nursery of yours ready. You only have four months now, we'll have to hurry. Any themes you like?"
CeCe hm's under her breath, and says, "Minnie Mouse?"