“I can’t be sick,” I add, quieter.“I don’t have time—or insurance for it.I pay for the bare minimum.”
“Sometimes the body forces time,” she says, gentle without being pitying.“Sometimes it throws alarms because you’ve been ignoring the early warnings.It might not be a pregnancy, but we need to figure out what’s happening.”
I stare at the countertop.At my hands.At the faint tremor in my fingers that I’ve been pretending is caffeine and not fear.
“End of January,” I admit.“Finland.We used a condom.”
“Who provided it?”
“Him.”I don’t say a name.I don’t have to.“From his wallet.”
Dr.Ruiz nods once.“Wallet storage isn’t ideal.Heat, friction, time.It can compromise it.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I say, because I would like to go back to believing this is a bug.A virus.Something that requires antibiotics and two days in bed, and then I get my life back.
Dr.Ruiz sets her tablet down.“Okay.Here’s what we’re going to do.Vitals.A quick exam.And a urine pregnancy test today.”
My stomach rolls, sour and fast, and my mouth waters in the least romantic way possible.
“Cool,” I say.“Love that for me.”
Dr.Ruiz studies my face again.
“Do you feel safe?”she asks.
The question snaps something taut inside me.
I hear Cally’s muffled voice outside, a low murmur—trying to be quiet.I hear Monty’s deeper tone, clipped and controlled, like he’s giving a warning without raising his volume.
Safe?
I look at Dr.Ruiz, and my mouth curves into a smile because sarcasm is my reflex, my armor, my best trick.
“Define safe?”I ask.
And the thing is, I don’t even know if I mean physically.Because emotionally?
With those two?
Safe has never been the point.
Safe has never been what they do to me.
They make me feel held.Wanted.Seen.And terrified, because I know exactly what it costs to want them back.
“I have support, if that’s what you mean.”I glance again at those two who, surprisingly, aren’t fighting.“Emotional, physical, but ...a baby would mean a life change and I can’t afford that.”
There’s no point in mentioning that the father was a stranger.We didn’t exchange names ...or phones.Nothing.It was a bar at the hotel and a quickie in his bedroom.What am I supposed to tell a little one?I was sad, and it felt like a good idea.Sorry for not exchanging information.All you get is me.
What would I tell a baby?
Please, let it be something else.Not a pregnancy.
“I understand,” she says calmly.“Let’s check your blood pressure.”
She moves through the routine with practiced efficiency: cuff on my arm, thermometer, pulse ox, quick questions about appetite, hydration, dizziness.
My blood pressure is a little low.It’s probably because my body is basically a cautionary tale right now.
