Claire clears her throat. “Fiancée. He proposed at Christmas, but my rock’s getting resized,” she says, waving her ringless left hand as she clasps mine with the other.
“Congratulations, then,” the nurse says with a conspiratorial wink and ushers us through the next set of doors.
Guilt settles in my stomach as I force a smile in return, but the warmth from Claire’s fingers intertwining with mine is a nice distraction. And I’m suddenly glad she’s insisted on accompanying me.
“I’m Mrs. Ethel, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” the nurse tells me as she leads us back to a curtained partition. She pats a narrow cot. “Have a seat right here,cher, and tell me what’s been goin’ on.”
“I think I ate something that triggered my peanut allergy. Luckily, I found a beautiful woman willing to administer my EpiPen just before my throat closed up,” I explain, careful to avoid lying. “And I told her I was fine, but she insisted I come in to get checked out. She’s such a worrier, that one.” I whisper the last part as an aside to Mrs. Ethel, who chuckles as she clamps a pulsometer over my fingertip, and Claire clicks her tongue in annoyance.
“Sooner you learn she’s always right, the better,” Mrs. Ethel remarks and straps a cuff around my arm next. “Ooh, chile!” she exclaims, making me flinch. “Your pulse is through the roof.”
I sigh. “I’ve noticed.”
“That epinephrine will do it to you every time,” she muses as she slips on a pair of reading glasses and begins jotting down my vitals.
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “EpiPen aside, I’m afraid my heart rate hasn’t been right since I met her,” I admit, tilting my head in Claire’s direction and making the nurse laugh again.
“Cher pitié. You better watch this one, shug,” Mrs. Ethel tells Claire, her voice filled with amusement.
“Yeah. I’ve got my work cut out for me,” Claire replies, shooting me a sultry look and making my heart quicken again.
“Pretty sure I’m the one in trouble,” I mumble to myself.
Mrs. Ethel hums in approval. “All right, I just need to update your medical history, baby. Full address, phone number, and date of birth?” I confirm the details for her while Claire sits silently.
“Marital status, single, but not for long. Religion?”
“Roman Catholic,” I reply quickly.
“Occupation?”
“Medical doctor.” That one earns me another appreciative hum.
“Any other allergies besides peanuts?”
“No, ma’am.” I shake my head as I continue answering her follow-up questions.
“Do you drink alcohol? Smoke?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you sexually active?”
An audible gulp is the only sound I’m able to make.
The nurse pauses to glance up over her glasses when I don’t answer immediately, her eyes darting back and forth between Claire and me while I reach up to scratch the back of my neck.
“Should we run an STI panel while you’re here?”
“No need—I mean, no, thank you,” I choke out after the silence stretches too long. Mrs. Ethel cocks an eyebrow and scribbles over her clipboard, and I stifle a whimper.
“I assume you’re wanting to change your emergency contact. You have a Dr. Reed listed here, but we can replace his info with your fiancée’s.”
I cough lightly. “Oh, actually, you can just leave my, um, my brother-in-law’s number on there.” I can’t help but cringe inwardly at Landry’s new title.
Mrs. Ethel furrows her brow at me. “You sure?”
“I’m a teacher. I’m not always allowed to have my phone on me during class,” Claire chimes in, to my relief. “Dr. Reed knows how to get in touch with me in case of an emergency.”
