Both my parents and Gavin follow.
He drops his hands over the railing of my bed with a laugh, his clipboard clanking against the metal. “Wow. Interesting group.”
“You have no idea, really.” I fix the sheet around me. “Thanks for getting rid of them.”
“No problem. Okay, well. How are you feeling today? Enjoying your stay?” he teases.
“I’m definitely digging the breakfast in bed amenity of your fine establishment. And how are you doing this fine day, sir?”
He sits on the edge of my bed and smiles. “You might be the first patient of mine to ever ask me how I’m doing.” He nods his head in a bow and smiles wider. “I’m well, thank you for asking. But let’s get back to how you’re feeling today. Any pain?”
“Just a little sore at the incision, but other than that, great.”
He rolls down my bed sheet and tugs at the hem of my hospital gown. “May I have a look?”
“Why, Dr. Ames,” I say in a deep southern accent. “We’ve only just met.”
His eyebrows raise and a deep laugh rumbles out of his mouth. “Oh, Ms. Nash,” he replies in his own southern accent, “sorry to have to say this to you, but more people have seen you wearing your birthday suit than you expect. I had a few surgeons with me during your surgery, a bunch of residents watching, nurses, assistants, techs, aides—”
“God, I hope the number didn’t go over my life quota for naked views.”
He chuckles as he lifts the bandage, gently pressing around the skin where there’s a small starburst of stitches. “Looks great. And you said no pain, right?”
“Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”
He replaces the bandage and gown and sits back. “On a more serious note, have you thought about any counseling or the therapy I mentioned yesterday?”
“I could go for some serious retail therapy. You think that’s covered by my insurance?”
He taps his fingers on the clipboard, his expression stern. It seems like my easy attitude to one of the scariest, most horrific things to have ever happened to me is getting him irritated. Little does he, or my friends and family know, I’m utterly devastated. I can’t even bring myself to say the wordspregnantorbabyorembryoout loud.
“What does your partner say? Would you like me to talk—”
“He’s not here. He…he doesn’t even know about this.” I shrug, pretending there’s no giant knife twisting inside my chest cavity.
“Jane,” he lets out a breath, “you should let yourself grieve, let yourself deal with what you went through.”
“I will. I promise. As soon as I break out here and hit the first liquor store I can.”
After an embarrassing fifteen-minute oral lashing on how I should take my health—physically, mentally, and sexually—more seriously, I’m allowed two visitors at a time. I don’t want to burst into uncontrollable wailing in front of anyone, so I ignore everyone and stare at the tiny television that dangles down from the ceiling by a thick metal arm. Daytime soap operas are the only thing on. I have never watched one before, but I become instantly obsessed with how many times the trope of falling for someone you don’t know is your real brother gets screen time.
The truth is, the only person who really knows why I’m here is Julia. The rest of them just think I had a faulty fallopian tube that self-detonated. How could I tell anybody something that was so personal and intimate between me and Dex, before I got to tell him? Right now, he’s grieving the loss of Olivia not being his biological daughter. How is finding out I was the one that was really pregnant with his child going to affect him? How am I supposed to tell him I was going to have his baby, but my body just screwed it up for him? He blames me for losing Olivia, and now I’ve managed to take away another chance at him being a father.
I don’t remember much of the fight we had right before I collapsed, but I do remember one very distinct part.“Jesus,”he said drunkenly. “Don’t tell me you’re going to say you’re pregnant too.”
I started to cry then. I was so hurt and angry at him. This was the person who told me they loved me, and that night he just ended up saying so many things to purposely hurt me.“No,”I whimpered. “I’m not going to say that, you stupid dick. I have cramps. Why are you taking the paternity results out on me?”
“Because you’re the one that questioned it all and now, she took Olivia away for good. You wanted her to not be my daughter. Well, I hope you’re fucking happy. You’re such a selfish bitch.”
Right after he said that, he apologized. His expression was pure shock at his own words.“Fuck. Fuck,”he shouted, stumbling away from me.“I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry. I…”
That’s when I told him to leave.
I replay the conversation over and over as I sit in my hospital bed. Soap operas turn into talk shows. Dex hadn’t even told Stephanie about me. When Julia and I bumped into them having dinner, she had no idea who I was. And the whole time I was standing there listening to Stephanie talk abouttheir child together, thinking my heart was breaking, I was the one pregnant, and rupturing and bleeding.
When the morning visiting hours are over, I take Gail by the hand and ask her to stay for a few more moments. Her skin is soft and paper thin, and it’s hard for me to look in her eyes.
“Have you heard from Dex?” If he showed up for work this morning, wouldn’t he have come with everyone? Are we really that broken up with each other where he won’t come and see me in the hospital? Are we back to beingworkemies?
