“No,” I mutter to him.
He ignores my remark and follows me toward the nurse. “I think it’s so sweet when spouses tag along. It’s nice to have a hand to hold sometimes,” the nurse says to Brody rather than me.
“Oh, I’m just Journey’s very best friend and her health advocate. I find it helpful to have an extra set of ears, and I want to make sure I can support her however possible if need be.” Brody’s voice changes as he speaks to the nurse; it goes up an octave and has a hint of feminine sweetness.
“How sweet are you?” the nurse replies, patting Brody on the back as we walk ahead. “Just ahead to room four.”
Unbelievable.
I walk into the room and take a seat on the edge of the mint green paper-covered exam table. Brody takes a seat in the guest chair and crosses his legs. I can’t believe him.
The nurse wraps a blood-pressure cuff around my arm and pumps the bulb while watching the seconds on her watch. When she’s through, she removes the cuff and jots a number down on her notepad. “Could you remove your shoes and step onto the scale?”
I slide my boots off and take the few steps over to the scale, feeling my blood pressure rise. Thankfully, she checked that part of me first. “All right, you can step off,” she says, adding the number to her notes. “Is there anything additional you would like the doctor to know before she comes in?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
The nurse smiles and closes Brody and me inside the room. “What is wrong with you?” I ask him.
He blows me a kiss in response.
I let my feet dangle from the table, focusing on the plaid pattern of my socks versus the coy look on Brody’s face. He will know the truth about my past, a truth I wanted to keep to myself. “Brody, I—”
“I’ll leave if you’re uncomfortable,” he says.
“I am uncomfortable. I have a history you don’t know about. These things usually unravel throughout a relationship between two people, but we aren’t in a relationship.”
“You’re right. I’ll step out,” he says, standing from his seat. “I was just trying to comfort you.”
I’m caught within his eyes, reading the realness behind his words. “I don’t want to be judged.”
“I would never do that to you.” His eyebrows knit together like they do when he’s sincere.
Air spills from my lungs, and I glance up toward the fluorescent lights. “You can stay,” I tell him, wondering if I’ll regret this decision. He keeps squirming his way in and makes it so far, I have a hard time pushing him away after.
Dr. Beatrice doesn’t leave me waiting long. She notices Brody first, probably wondering if he’s my husband, boyfriend, or whatever he just told the nurse he was to me, but she doesn’t seem fazed by his presence. “Journey, it’s been awhile, huh?”
“Yeah, I kept meaning to make an appointment for a physical but—”
“I have heard every excuse known to man and/or woman,” she says, winking at me.
Dr. Beatrice takes a seat on the rolling stool by the sink and scoots over a little closer. “Is this a friend of yours?” she asks me.
I give Brody a quick look, noticing his doe-eyed expression. “Yes, Brody’s here for support,” I tell her.
“Are you okay with Brody hearing potentially private information about your medical history?” Dr. Beatrice continues.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She folds her hands and rests them on her lap. “Journey, your weight concerns me. I know we’ve been down this road before, but since it’s been a while, I want to let you know where I’d like to see your weight versus where it is at the moment. At five-foot-five, you should be between 114-144, which is an average weight. You’re currently at 98 pounds, which you haven’t been in about ten years.”
I’m avoiding Brody with all my strength. I don’t want to see whatever expression he has on his face. “It happened over the course of the last six months after my father passed away,” I explain.
Dr. Beatrice nods with understanding. “I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. It’s a catastrophic life event when a child loses a parent.”
I swallow hard, to push her words toward the back of my head. “Yeah.”
“Well, we know these types of events trigger mental health side-effects with you, right?”
