The medical facility is a small family practice, which I prefer. I’m not a big fan of the big medical centers that have every specialist known to man on varying floors. I’ve been a patient here since I was a kid, so they know me well.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Journey Quinn,” Paula, the front office manager, addresses me. My name is different on my file, but she has been referring to me as a Quinn from before I can remember, so I don’t correct her.
“Hi, Paula,” I respond, resting my arms on the countertop between us.
“It’s been a while. How are you doing?” She knows about Dad. The whole town knows about Dad.
“I’m okay,” I tell her, filling in the questions on the clipboard she had placed down for me.
“I’m very sorry your father passed away,” she says, keeping her voice soft.
“Thank you.” I continue answering the questions. Paula is staring at me. I can feel it. Like most people, they want details about Dad, but only if offered. No one would be forward enough to ask questions that weren’t already offered through the obituary.
A gust of wind hits my back, blowing my hair around my face, which I immediately brush away from my eyes before continuing the questionnaire.
Could you be pregnant?I wonder if they would laugh at the response I want to write down. Probably not.
How many alcoholic beverages do you consume in a week?This answer has changed several times throughout the years, but I rarely drink now.
How would you describe your mood?I’m not a big fan of self-analysis, but I know I’ve been quieter than usual and less motivated to do much outside of work. Whether that’s an answer worth dissecting, I don’t know. I also just lost a parent within the last six months.
I finish up the last of the questions and hand the clipboard back to Paula. “Dr. Beatrice will be with you in a few moments,” Paula says with a kind smile.
With a slight pivot, I move toward the waiting area, finding Brody sitting in a chair with a cooking magazine pinched between his fingers, hiding his face. I take the seat across from him. “I told you to wait in the car.”
Brody drops the magazine and leans forward. “Journey, I truly despise playing by your rules.”
“They aren’t just my rules. The doctor will not let you in there with me. What if you were abusing me, and I’m here to talk about you?”
“You came up with the reason way too fast,” he responds. “Am I abusing you?”
“No.”
“Okay, then.”
“Well …”
Brody shakes his head.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says.
“You couldn’t possibly know.”
“You’re thinking … I will follow you in there, and you will have to take your clothes off, and I won’t leave the room.”
I close my eyes and drop my head into my hands. “Didn’t cross my mind, but there’s another wonderful reason why they won’t let you come in with me.”
“Why are you so stubborn?”
“I’m not needy. The trait doesn’t make me stubborn.”
“I’m needy,” he responds. “And I need to know you’re okay.”
“Which you can find out after my appointment.”
Brody lifts the magazine and reopens the pages, holding it in front of his face.
“Journey,” my name is called from behind me. I twist around, finding an unfamiliar nurse with a clipboard. I stand up and spot Brody standing up at the same time.
