by J. Daniels
“Let’s have a look then.” Dr. London flips to another piece of paper in the folder and runs her finger down the page, scanning the results. She moves onto the next column and does the same. “Wonderful,” she says, hands folding together as she lifts her head. “Your levels are excellent, Tessa. Everything looks great here.”
I release the breath I’ve been holding and sink against the chair.
Luke’s hand is on my neck again, gently squeezing as he leans closer and kisses my temple. His warm breath is in my ear, where he whispers, “I love you. Fuck, I love you.”
I close my eyes and press my cheek against his.
The relief I feel is short-lived, because if it isn’t this then what is it?
My hormone levels are great. And? Luke’s sperm is impeccable. Okay . . .
How can we celebrate news that still leaves us with unanswered questions?
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now we move forward.” Dr. London gazes between us. “I’m going to start you on a medication, the one we discussed before . . .”
“To increase my ovulation, right?”
“In a sense, yes. It will increase the stimulation of follicles, which then bumps up your estrogen. This is a medication I prescribe to women who have difficulty ovulating on their own and ones who don’t, like in your case. Think of it as more eggs in the basket for you. It’s typically the first thing we do to up our chances. And many women get pregnant on this step.” She smiles at me. “We might not need to go any further.”
I can’t keep myself from wondering. From asking . . .
“And if we do?”
Dr. London lifts her hand as if to silence any further worrying on my part. “Let’s worry about that down the road, if we even get there, okay?”
Luke takes hold of my hand again and I grip onto it.
“Okay,” I answer.
“I’m also going to want to schedule you for an HSG, which I don’t believe we’ve talked about yet.”
I shake my head, looking to Luke.
“What is that?” he asks her.
“It’s an exam where we check to make sure Tessa’s fallopian tubes aren’t blocked. It’s minimally invasive, but it is a procedure we need to do at the hospital, so—”
“Is it surgery?” Luke’s hand stiffens in mine, his hold becoming severe.
“No, not at all. There’s no sedation involved. But it is under live X-ray and we don’t have that here in the office. It’s a very routine procedure I perform all the time. I don’t want you to worry.”
“Wouldn’t I know if my tubes were blocked?”
“Not necessarily. There are women who don’t develop symptoms, and this goes unnoticed until a test like this is performed. And it might not be both tubes. One of them could be blocked, which would absolutely make getting pregnant a little challenging. This is something we will need to rule out, so we can figure out how to move forward.”
“What if they are blocked?” Luke questions. “What do you do for that?”
Dr. London is silent for a moment. “Let’s worry about that if it becomes something we need to worry about.”
“I’d rather know what we’re in for.” His tone deepens.
Luke’s no longer asking for this information, he’s demanding it.
I rub the back of his hand.
“Mr. Evans, I understand your concern, but let me just say this.” Dr. London sits taller, appearing more commanding. “I think it’s important to take things one step at a time and to focus on the step you’re in, because I could sit here and list what ifs until I’m blue in the face, and the only thing that’s going to do is cause stress on both of you, especially her.” She glances at me. “And I don’t think you want that. I know I don’t want that. The fact that you are here with me right now is worrying enough, I think, because why are you here? You’re having difficulty getting pregnant. And as we go through this process together that is something that will remain in the back of your mind. Even when we get news like this,” she flattens her hands on the opened folder, “which is great news, fantastic news, it’s still there, yes?”
“Yes,” I speak up, gaining Luke’s eyes for a beat before we both resume looking across the desk.
“I can’t control that,” Dr. London continues. “What I can control is how I guide you along, and in my professional opinion, focusing on the step we’re at is the best way to continue with this journey. We don’t want any added stress. It’s our worst enemy, okay?”
“Guess I’m screwed then.”
She smiles kindly at me. “Tessa, I can’t give any of my patients a guarantee that they’ll get pregnant no matter how much I’d like to, however, when I have a couple as young as you are, with no known medical issues, and with results like this,” she taps the pages with her fingers, “I can say the odds are good.”
I grip at her words as if it’s the breath I’m suddenly desperate for.
Luke finds necessity in them as well. Comfort too, and eases the hold he has on my hand, his fingers sliding out from between mine and then folding over my knuckles. He massages away the ache he’s caused.
“Now, we want you to start taking this medication on the fifth day of your next cycle, so I want you to wait until then. You’ll take it for five days.” She scribbles illegibly on a pad and tears the paper free, handing it across the table. “If for some reason you don’t get your next cycle, I want you to call me. We’ll need to do a pregnancy test.”
“Okay.” I keep thoughts of that phone call never happening to myself, and fold the paper in half, slipping it into the back pocket of my shorts.
“Take your body temperature every morning like you have been doing. Typically, women will ovulate between five and ten days after they begin that medication. On day twenty-one of your cycle, I’ll be sending you for bloodwork.”
“To check if I’m pregnant?”
“To make sure you ovulated,” she clarifies. “We want to confirm that the medication is working.”
“What about that test? The HSG?”
“My secretary will contact you to set that up once I take a look at my schedule. We’re probably looking at some time next month.”
“And if I get pregnant on that medicine?”
She smiles. “Then that test won’t be necessary.” She folds her hands together again. “Any other questions?”
“I don’t think so,” I answer, looking to Luke.
He’s hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees and his focus drifting off.
I can’t tell where he’s looking, or if he’s even truly looking at anything. It doesn’t seem like he is.
“Mr. Evans?”
Luke lifts his eyes, his chest moving with a breath. He subtly shakes his head in answer.
Dr. London offers her hand, first to me and then to Luke. “I’ll speak with you both soon. Take care.”
We leave the office the same way we entered it, with Luke keeping close to my side, his hand on my back, guiding me, leading me, but also reassuring—I’m behind you. I’m here. He’s the comfort I cling to.
I step out into the hallway and begin to make my way toward the elevators, but Luke halts and doesn’t follow me, stopping my feet from moving me any farther. His phantom touch remains on my back.
“Shit, I left my phone in there,” he says, turning back and gripping the doorknob. “I must’ve set it on the desk.”
“Oh.” I picture the office, the desk. I try and remember Luke setting his phone down after his conversation with my brother. “I didn’t see it. Are you sure?”
“It’s there. Go ahead downstairs. I’ll meet you.”
“I can wait.”
Brows drawing together, he suddenly appears frustrated and geared up to argue this out with me, until the elevator pings in the distance. His expression relaxes as he lifts his chin in the direction of the sound.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But I’m going because I don’t feel like waiting a year for that elevator. Not because you�
�re telling me to go.” My hair flips over my shoulder as I spin around, padding down the hallway. I glance back with a smirk.
Luke smiles at me before stepping inside the office again. The door shuts behind him.
I CAN’T LEAVE here without knowing what we’re in for, and maybe this makes me a prick for doing this behind Tessa’s back, but I’m fine with being a prick if it’ll give me answers.
I need to be prepared for what’s coming. If it involves Tessa, I gotta know.
“Forgot something,” I say to the woman at the front desk when she gives me a questioning look for returning.
I step through the door leading to the exam rooms and offices, walk down the hallway, and stop at Dr. London’s door. It’s partially open. I rap my knuckles on the frame and step inside when she calls out to enter.
“Mr. Evans.” She looks up at me, stilling the pen in her hand and setting it aside. There isn’t a hint of surprise in her voice. She was expecting my return, or at least anticipating the possibility of it. “How can I help you?” She closes the folder in front of her.
I stand on the other side of the desk. “I need to know what’s gonna happen if my wife’s tubes are blocked. What do you do for that?”
Dr. London tilts her head to the side, thinking over her next words.
I wonder if she’s going to give me that speech again about only worrying about the step we’re on. That’s bullshit I don’t need to hear a second time.
“I gotta know,” I say, pulling my arms across my chest. “She can focus on what we’re doing now and only that. I can’t. I’m not leavin’ here until you tell me what we’re in for.”
“This is something you may not have to worry about, though—”
“I’ll decide what I need to worry about.” My tone sharpens, becomes non-negotiable.
Dr. London nods in understanding. “I see.” She gestures at the chairs. “Would you like to take a seat?”
“I’m fine right here.”
“Of course.” She folds her hands together on the desk. “Surgery will be required if one or both fallopian tubes are blocked. In some cases, we can’t remove the blockage and part of the tube would need to be removed. I would then repair the tube and we would go from there.”
“You’d cut her open?”
“It’s laparoscopic, so the incision would be minimal.”
“But it’s still surgery . . . you’d put her out for that?”
“Yes, she would be under anesthesia.”
I clench my jaw.
I try not to think about worst possible outcomes and every fucking risk involved in being put to sleep, but it’s impossible. My own thoughts begin to corrode my mind.
“Is that the worst of it?” I ask. “If you gotta remove the blockage or part of the tube, she can still get pregnant, right?”
“Absolutely. Even if we need to remove both tubes entirely, there is always IVF, or in-vitro fertilization.”
“Is that surgery too?”
“Removal of the eggs requires surgery, yes. The implantation does not. She’s fully awake for that.”
Jesus fuck. Surgery. More surgery. How much is Tessa going to have to go through?
“What’s next?”
“What do you mean?”
“After IVF . . . if that doesn’t work, then what?”
“Well, we could go through several cycles. Just because the first doesn’t take, doesn’t mean another won’t.”
“Let’s say none of them take.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Then we’ll need to look at other options for you and your wife, such as surrogacy. Adoption is also something to consider . . .”
“IVF is it then, that’s what you’re sayin’? We’re done after that?”
“IVF will be the last thing we could do in terms of Tessa carrying a child, yes.”
I nod once, letting my arms drop. “Thank you. I appreciate you telling me all that.” I turn to leave the office.
“Mr. Evans.”
I pause in the doorway.
Dr. London continues when she gets my eyes. “Please try and stay positive through this. Not only for yourself but for Tessa as well. This is never an easy journey, and more than once, I’ve seen couples let their struggles come between them. I’d hate for that to happen here.”
My shoulders draw back, and I can’t help the smirk twisting across my mouth.
Is she serious with this shit?
“That ain’t us. We’re not your other couples.”
“I’m merely saying—this will test you in ways you haven’t been tested before.”
“So, test me,” I growl, no longer finding any of this amusing. “Nothing’s comin’ between me and Tessa. She knows that. And that warning you just gave? You can say shit like that to me—I’ll allow it—but don’t ever say anything like that to my wife. She doesn’t need to hear about your other couples either. The only thing you two should be discussing is her.”
Dr. London sits up taller and blinks. “Of course. I apologize if I overstepped.”
“You haven’t yet. I’m makin’ sure you don’t.”
I leave the office with a heavy mind, weighing our chances while considering every possible outcome we may have to face as I ride the elevator down to the main lobby.
It’s a lot to process. And even though I have the answers I was asking for, I still don’t have shit. There’s no way of knowing how far we’re going to need to go. Surgery might not be necessary. IVF is the last stop. We may never see it.
On the other hand, we could go through each step, ticking them off one at a time and continuing on because nothing is working for us. There will be multiple, necessary surgeries my wife will need to endure, failed IVF attempts—several until it’s the last one, our last shot, and again, disappointment. Other options will need to be considered. Options that don’t include Tessa ever carrying a child.
What will that do to her?
I can’t help but question if this is worth it. We agreed months ago, we would do anything. Whatever it takes. And I’ve told her—no matter the outcome, I’m hers. I’m never leaving. Not again. I left three years ago, and I’ll regret that decision until the day I fucking die.
It was reckless. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping Tessa away from all the bullshit involving my dad. Alcoholism tears through families. It picks people off. I hid her from the disease killing him. I refused to share that part of my life, and it nearly killed her. It damn near killed us both. My dad’s sober now and working the steps, and my relationship with Tessa is stronger than ever. Letting her in did that. But how will this affect her? If Tessa goes through every surgery and procedure, if we exhaust all avenues and there’s nothing left to do, we won’t be able to go back to the moments we still had hope. She’ll know it’ll never happen.
She’ll know, and it will destroy her.
I push the information I just pressed for out of my head as I walk outside.
I shouldn’t look pissed off or worried—I went back to grab my phone. I shouldn’t look like anything’s bothering me right now, so I don’t. This won’t affect Tessa. I won’t let it.
I step out under the awning and onto the pavement.
It’s nearly one in the afternoon and closing in on a hundred degrees. The sun beats down from directly above, warming the back of my neck and my shoulders through my shirt. Steam rises off the asphalt, and the air feels sticky. It must’ve rained while we were inside.
I squint in the harsh light and spot Tessa in the corner of the parking lot, secluded and shaded by a tree.
Phone in her hand, she’s leaning against my squad car with her knee bent and foot braced on the door. When a man steps out of his truck and speaks to her, Tessa glances over at him and says something in return, her expression unbothered. Then she resumes staring at her phone while the man momentarily pauses at her response before briskly walking away.
I pick up my pace, glaring at the side of this motherfucker’s head as
he passes me.
“What’d he say to you?” I ask when I reach Tessa.
She pushes off the car and slips her phone away, tucking it into the back pocket of her ripped cut-offs. “He said it was disrespectful to lean against a police car, and that I shouldn’t do it.”
“Oh yeah?” I step closer while fighting the urge to move in the completely opposite direction. Maybe I can act like I forgot my phone for a second time. “And what’d you tell him?”
Tessa smiles at me while securing her long, red hair into a messy knot at the top of her head. “I told him he needed to relax, and that I have nothing but respect for the cop who drives this car.” She lowers her arms. Her shoulders jerk. “I kept it PG.”
My brow cocks. “What’d you really say?”
Laughter shakes her chest, and she taps her chin in thought. “Mm, I can’t remember my exact wording . . . but it was something along the lines of ‘Blow me, cocksucker. Nobody gives a fuck what you think.’”
I smirk. “No wonder he practically ran away from you.”
“He acted like I was dry-humping the hood.”
“And you only pull shit like that on weekends.”
“Only if you’re watching . . .” She wiggles her brows and we share a laugh. “Did you get your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Where was it? On the roof?”
Tessa tilts her head, fighting a smile while I remain silent.
Clearly, explanations aren’t needed, and any lies I’d tell right now, she’d pick apart anyway.
I don’t admit to shit. But I don’t need to.
“It’s fine. Whatever.” She steps into me and throws her arms around my neck, molding us together.
I grip her tiny waist and tip my head down.
Tessa barely comes up to my chin when she’s barefoot or wearing sandals, like she’s doing now. I love how small she is compared to me. How I can toss her around with zero effort, move her how I want, and how much she gets off on that. Maybe she’s imagining me doing it right now. I wonder if she is as she presses closer, firmer. Her breasts smashing up against my ribs and the dip in her top revealing their heavy swell.
Her skin is pale despite all the time she tries to tan it, and shiny thanks to this fucking heatwave we’re having. I stare at her cleavage and the drop of sweat that disappears right fucking there. I think about chasing after it with my tongue.