by Whitney D.
I landed a job at a smaller hospital in another town nearby. It was an overnight position which turned out to be nothing at all like my day job, but instead it gave me a new high that I thrived on. I loved it from my very first day. The ER came alive at night with much more interesting traumas and a whole lot of drama compared to the day shift. On my third day there, I diagnosed a lady with chlamydia. Then I overheard her on the phone telling a friend that her husband had to be cheating because how else would she have gotten chlamydia. I immediately realized that my situation wasn't nearly as bad as it could be.
Two weeks later, I was at work towards the end of my shift and I began to feel like I was coming down with the flu. I threw up once at work and was immediately black-listed. My boss told me I needed to go home and if I was still nauseated by the following day, I should see a doctor.
Lucky me. Flu and other various viral infections were quite common among the ER staff and my new job just so happened to welcome me with a big fat case of the ER funk.
After getting home, I grabbed the mail from the mail box and made my way up the front steps to the door. Waiting for me on the porch was a small brown box. I picked it up and looked it over quickly. The label on it had been printed by the post office which gave me zero information as to who it was from. I tossed it on the kitchen counter along with the stack of bills from the mail and put myself to bed. Later that afternoon, I woke up and immediately felt sick again. I hurled into the toilet, barely making it there before the vomit came up.
After grabbing a quick shower, I threw on some leggings and an over-sized tee and headed to the walk-in clinic near my house.
Once I arrived, I filled out some paperwork and sat in the waiting area for exactly sixty-seven minutes before I was called back.
“Troyer. Emery Troyer,” the nurse called me from the check-in desk.
Yanking my purse from the floor, I stood and made my way to her. I smiled as I approached her, but she didn't respond. Instead, she gave me what I could've sworn was the stink-eye before she turned and made her way back to the hallway lined with exam room after exam room. After entering the fourth door on the right, she nearly let the door slam in my face after she walked in. Bitch.
She was a bottle blonde with fake press-on claws and her lips were heavily coated with bright red lipstick. If I had met her anywhere other than this clinic, I would've sworn she moonlighted as a prostitute. She was chewing gum that popped and smacked in her mouth as she rolled it from one side of her mouth to the other. There was a certain level of professionalism that someone in her job should possess and I quickly became aware that she lacked every bit of it.
“Symptoms?”
“What?”
“What. Are. Your. Symptoms.”
“Vomiting, headache... exhaustion.”
“Probably the flu.”
“Yeah. I work in the ER. I'm sure it is.”
She tilted her head at me as if she was annoyed before she grabbed a blood pressure cuff.
“The doc will be right in,” she gave me a fake smile before exiting the room.
People like that she-devil had no place in the health care industry. I immediately realized that she was probably fresh out of school - she had to be. An attitude like that certainly wouldn't get her very far in this industry.
Ten minutes later, the doctor entered.
“Mrs. Troyer? I am Dr. Booker.”
“Please, call me Emery.”
“Very well, Emery.”
Dr. Booker was Dr. McHottie. He couldn't have been more than thirty-five. He was a massive 6-feet-plus. His frame consisted of broad shoulders, toned muscular arms, a waist that narrowed a bit compared to his chest, and lean athletic legs. His hair was dark and a bit shaggy, but it suited him well. My eyes immediately gravitated to his all important ring finger. Married. Typical.
“So Mrs.... Emery. We're just going to take a cheek swab and do a quick test for flu.”
He plucked a long q-tip from a drawer and asked me to open my mouth so he could swab my cheek.
“This should only take a few minutes. I will be right back.”
He placed the swab in a plastic vial and exited the room.
Moments later, the bitch nurse returned.
“Your swab is negative for flu so Dr. Booker wants a blood draw to check your white blood cell count.”
“Okay.”
I extended my arm as I waited for her to draw my blood. She swabbed my arm with an alcohol wipe before jabbing the needle in with no care whatsoever. It took every bit of self control I had not to tell her exactly where she could go with her foul attitude.
“This will take a while. You can see yourself out. We will get you from the waiting room when it's back from the lab,” she dangled the blood vial in my face before she left.
After making my way back to the waiting area, I watched a story on CNN about how more people are having to work into their eighties before retiring.
“Mrs. Troyer. Emery Troyer. Mrs. Troyer!” I was jolted awake by the bitch nurse shouting at me from the desk again. I had fallen asleep with my cheek plated firmly on my enclosed fist. I made my way sluggishly over to her.
“Right this way.”
I didn't say anything and was beyond the point of expecting her to be any thing other than a horrid human. She was a bottom feeder that wouldn't have a job for much longer, just so long as she kept up her shitty attitude.
“In there,” she pointed as she stopped outside the door to room four.
I was surprised when she followed me inside and then lingered for a reason I wasn't aware of. Moments later, Dr. Booker entered. He must've silently told her to get out because she left without a word and the vibe between them was evidently uncomfortable. Shit... was she fucking Dr. Booker? Man, that would make for an interesting story on the evening news. I could see it now: Prestigious doctor involved in extramarital relationship with young nurse. Scandalous.
Dr. Booker sat on a rolling chair next to me and placed his hand against my knee.
Whoa, buddy. Totally inappropriate.
Even though he was ridiculously good looking, the feel of his hand against me was uncomfortable and extremely unprofessional. I was just about to brush his hand away and say something, when he abruptly said, “Mrs. Troyer, you're pregnant.”
My world immediately stopped spinning.
“That's not possible. There must be a mistake.”
“Mrs. Troyer--”
“Please don't call me that, I am in the early stages of getting divorced.”
“I am sorry to hear that...... Emery.”
“So like I said, there must be a mix-up. I can't have children.”
“Well I assure you that it's not a mix-up and obviously you can.”
Feeling bile rise and burn the back of my throat, I stood before rushing to the tiny office sink to vomit once more. Except this particular episode had more to do with the unsettling news of me being pregnant, rather than morning sickness which suddenly occurred to me was why I had been randomly throwing up.
“I'll give you a minute...” Dr. Booker eventually said.
“NO. I'm fine.”
I yanked a few paper towels from the dispenser above the sink to wipe my mouth before turning back to face the doctor.
“It's just....”
“You're getting divorced?.....”
Yes. No. Yes. No... it's that I don't even know who the father is. That and the fact that I am in the midst of a divorce, I thought. What a fucking disaster!
“I understand. This must be hard to absorb because you are divorcing. I can recommend a counselor if you'd like. It will help. You will need all the support you can get.”
I nodded, but didn't say anything.
“Very well, I will get you the info and then you will need to make an appointment to see an obstetrician as soon as possible. If you need a recommendation--”
“I don't,” I interrupted as soon as it felt as if it was getting too real.
Dr. Bo
oker left the room only to return moments later with a card that said Shana Brooks, Psychologist. Seriously... is this how my life is going to turn out? A single mom who doesn't even know who the father of her child is. And to top it all off, it's probably Matt which is gong to make our divorce an even larger nightmare than I had imagined.
FUCK.
“Thanks,” I yanked the card from between his fingers and made my way out. Just as I made it to the elevator, tears began to fall. I couldn't hold them in, no matter how hard I'd tried. I pressed the button inside for the bottom level several times in an attempt to get the doors to shut. But luck would have it, a few other people made it inside before they closed.
One particular lady looked over at me and the look on her face was pity. Shit.
I brushed my dampened cheeks with the back of my hand and kept my head low and my eyes glued to the floor for the rest of the ride down to the first level. I made it back to my car and home in less than twenty minutes.
As I tossed my keys onto the kitchen counter, I noticed the box that had come in the mail. I had completely forgotten that I had left it there before I got sick and left for urgent care.
I grabbed it before sliding my finger underneath the tape and flipping the flaps back. A few balled up pieces of silver tissue paper were the first thing I saw. Removing them, I tossed them to the floor before I saw the tiny white box with the red satin ribbon inside.
I knew who it came from and exactly what it was the second my eyes settled on the satin bow. Inhaling a pointed breath, I removed the white box and tore the red ribbon off before popping the box open.
I was surprised however to notice that even though it was from who I suspected, that it's contents were not at all what I imagined.
It wasn't the large diamond solitaire necklace Sebastian had gifted me. It wasn't the dainty band of diamonds he'd given me on my sixteenth birthday either.
It was a key.
A key? What the hell was it for? What did it mean?
I took the key and laid it flat on the kitchen counter. Pulling a stool out, I sat in front of it, eventually leaning my chin against the granite and staring at it long and hard. It was made of brass and was rather large. I must've sat there like that for a long time because I dozed off. The doorbell rang a while later, waking me. It was dark out and the key was stuck to my face – leaving a very impressionable indention of just what it was along the apple of my left cheek.
The doorbell rang a second time. I considered not even answering it, but I decided I would at least take a peek at who it was. I tip-toed like a seasoned burglar to the entry-way that led from the kitchen into the foyer. Holding onto the frame of the wall, I peeked to the glass paneled front door, but didn't see anyone. Walking to the door, I unlocked it, opening it just in time to see Sebastian descending my front steps.
I quickly moved to shut the door, but he turned around and said my name so airy that I stopped breathing momentarily. That was all it took.
21
Regret.
Immediately I shut the door, barricading myself inside, as I pressed my back to the door, praying he wouldn't come. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I felt the vibration as he knocked three times on the other side of the door.
“Emery, please... this has gone on long enough. Just let me in.”
I looked up at the ceiling, trying to gather my emotions. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Then I turned and opened the door. I didn't leave the foyer and he didn't step inside. Neither of us said a word, but then he laughed.
“What?”
“What is that on your cheek?”
I moved the palm of my hand to cover the key mark that obviously hadn't faded yet.
Nothing.
“You got the key?”
I lowered my hand from my cheek and turned my face sideways so he could see the indention.
“Yes...” I said totally mortified about the brand it had left.
“Did you get my note?”
“What note?”
“There was a note inside the box.”
“No I didn't see it. What did it say?”
“Can I come in?”
“It said can I come in?” I gave him a facetious smirk.
“Ha. Ha.”
I hadn't even taken notice to the fact we were still awkwardly standing in the doorway like strangers, but when he asked, I moved aside to let him in.
He hadn't even made it ten feet into the house when he turned back to face me.
“I don't know what happened a few weeks back. What changed? What... happened? Make me understand because I have tried for weeks to figure out what I did that made you leave.”
He ran his hand through his unruly chocolate brown locks and I immediately wanted to do the same.
He looked a little different than he had the last time I saw him and I couldn't quite put my finger on what exactly was different, but I assumed it had some thing to do with the fact that I'd hurt him.
I chewed my lip nervously as I tried to find the words I was searching for.
Suddenly, he dropped to his knees in front of me and wrapped his arms around me tightly before laying the side of his head gently against my stomach.
“Emery, I let you have some time. I wasn't sure what spurred the strange behavior of you running out on me like you did. But I let you have some time to yourself... so that you could figure out whatever it is that you were struggling with BUT...”
“I'm pregnant.”
He wretched his body off of mine abruptly at my confession. It hadn't been any thing like how I imagined it would be when I told him, but there was no easy way to say I'm pregnant and then follow it up with but I'm not sure it's yours. I knew those would be the next lines out of my mouth and when I said them, he'd leave because he'd immediately hate me.
He awkwardly stayed positioned on his knees at my feet and as a result, I immediately wanted to find the largest rock in existence and hide there for the rest of my life.
“You can leave now.”
“Are you kidding?”
He stood quickly, wrapping his arms around me before bringing his lips against my ear, “I'm not going anywhere.”
I pulled away, looking at him with the weight of a million questions.
“It might not be...”
“Mine? Doesn't matter.”
“It does matter.”
“It really doesn't. Not to me anyway. This definitely puts an interesting spin on things, but it certainly doesn't change the fact that I'm in love with you. And for that matter, have you even stopped to think that it could be mine?”
Although the thought had crossed my mind, my gut told me otherwise. I immediately thought the worst. If the baby was Matt's, it would cement a piece of him in my life forever. Deal breaker. Sebastian would never stick around – it would destroy us, again. I shook my head as unwelcome thoughts ran through it one after another.
“Sebastian, if it isn't yours....”
He lifted his hand up to stop me from continuing, “Baby, I'm going to love you and that baby whether it's mine or not. I'm not sure why you would think otherwise, but this doesn't change a thing.”
When had my heart turned so cold and doubtful to think he would be any thing other than exactly who I knew he already was.
At that, I leaned into him, tightening my own arms around him.
“Where's the key?”
I pulled away as I pointed to the kitchen, “On the counter.”
He smiled and nodded before turning to make his way to the kitchen. He plucked the key from the counter and then returned to me, holding it up between two fingers, showing it to me. Grabbing my wrist at my side, he flipped my hand up and laid the key in my palm. I looked up at him with question before he closed my fingers around it, securing it in my fist.
“This is a key to my home. I want you there. Please come back.”
When I didn't immediately respond, he leaned in kissing me with such passion that I had no doubt in my mind he meant every
word of what he'd said.
He left me in a fog when he withdrew his lips from mine and said, “So I'll see you at home. Okay?”
“Home?”
“Our home.”
Home, such a simple word. Dorothy was right... there was no place quite like it and Sebastian was my home. He smiled before he let himself out, leaving me stuttering for words as to what had just transpired. I listened as he cranked the loud engine of the Bronco and it roared to life before he drove away, the sound of the car fading slowly in the distance.
I opened my clenched fist sluggishly, the brass heavy and sweaty against my palm. I stared at it long and hard. Thinking about how this just might play out if the baby is in fact Matt's and not Sebastian's. I couldn't be certain, but I thought I remembered learning in nursing school that paternity could be determined by testing the babies DNA. The DNA can be extracted from the mother's blood as early as eight weeks gestation. If that was accurate, I would expect that we could have a firm answer within a few weeks.
At least, it would be long before I had to face Matt in court. By the time that date rolled around, I was certain I would no longer be able to conceal a burgeoning baby bump.
If we could just make it a few short weeks, we'd know for sure. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that the baby was in fact Sebastian's. I gathered my emotions and locked them away, telling myself we'd give it a go until we knew for sure who the father was. After that, there was no telling what would happen, but the fact that Sebastian promised me he wasn't going any where was reason enough for me.
I left Sebastian's house key on the table near the front door and jumped in the shower. As the water trickled down my body, I felt a huge rush of relief. I still felt like I wasn't ready to be a mom, but before I started feeling bad for myself, I realized it's probably one of those things that you don't really ever feel totally prepared for. Sebastian had made it clear to me previously how badly he wanted to be a father and although this hadn't been planned, I was already convinced he'd be so supportive that the idea of being a mom was starting to grow on me.