Checked

by Jamelli, Jennifer

  “Your medical reports from the last ten years were sent to me.”

  “Oh.” No magic. No deep insight. This time. I let my gaze fall back down to the table.

  “The report from February of, I assume, the year of your break-up was pretty intense. Eight hundred calories a day. Purging. Late period. Pregnancy test.”

  My head snaps up as I snatch my hand away from his. I feel my cheeks turn insanely red. “The nurses at the college health center insisted I take that test. They must see a lot of potential pregnancies come through or something.”

  I put my head down again, urging my cheeks to cool off.

  “But it wasn’t a—you weren’t. Pregnant.” He sounds almost as flustered as I feel but continues. “The report said the test was negative.”

  “Of course it was,” I cry out, probably in a much angrier voice than necessary.

  I peek up at him. He looks broken again.

  Damn it. Shit. Damn it.

  {R.E.M. cuts in with the melancholy “Everybody Hurts.”}

  “We didn’t, um, we never—” I try to explain. “I had no need to take that test.”

  “Oh.” His eyes go from wounded to shocked. I guess that is better.

  For him anyway.

  “I-I’m sorry, Callie. I just read the report. I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I force out the words as I look back down at my plate of half-eaten nachos, unsure of where to go from here. Well, at least he probably won’t force me to eat any more nachos.

  “Callie.”

  I can’t look up at him. Not yet.

  {R.E.M. continues, slow and solemn.}

  “Callie.”

  Still not ready.

  Before I can even really register the fact that he is moving, he’s beside me.

  “Callie.”

  As my eyes begin to fill, I close them and push my head down even further. {The refrain begins pounding.}

  He covers my hand with his and tugs it to his lap.

  “If you want to talk about this now, I’m here. I hadn’t planned to hit such serious topics until later in our treatment, but since it seems there’s some overlap here with the eating thing, it’s fine.”

  My hand is in his. On his lap. And he wants to talk about sex. The sex I didn’t have with Tony.

  “Callie?”

  Clearing my throat, I try to answer. “Um…I don’t mind going through this with you for, uh, our treatment, but, um…I’m not sure if…if I can say it all here. It’s, well, pretty humiliating.” I keep my head down, waiting to hear his response.

  He responds with his hand before his voice, squeezing and again rubbing his thumb over the top of my hand. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. {“The Blower’s Daughter.” “The Blower’s Daughter.” “The Blower’s Daughter.”}

  “Callie, I know it’s the cliché doctor thing to say, but there really is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  Back and forth. Back and—

  “Yes, you have some problems that complicate your life, but it sounds as though this relationship had entirely unrelated issues. It sounds like this guy had quite a few issues of his own.”

  Yes, yes, and yes. My head nods a little.

  “However, I know that these things can be challenging to discuss, especially to say aloud. So, because we do need to finish this conversation in some way for your treatment, I’m going to add it to tomorrow’s plan.”

  So now I have twenty-four hours to obsess over it? Fantastic.

  “Tomorrow you will have a full day of assignments but no face-to-face session. This personal day of work is essential to your treatment because you do have to be able to do some of these things on your own when no one else is watching.

  “Now, I’m not talking about major things here. We’ll just be concentrating on little fixes that you can make as you go through your day, small exercises to try to improve the quality of your everyday life.”

  While I am glad that it sounds like I won’t be having a personal picnic on the floor of a public bathroom, I’m still not sure what he means.

  “So what will I be doing?” My emotions are all pretty much under control so I look up as I say it. His eyes are patient, concerned. Still pretty intense, as usual.

  His thumb continues to massage my hand as he answers, “Well, there are some minor tasks you can complete. One thing that really struck me from our email conversations was the fact that you really don’t have much spare time. This makes sense because of the time you put into your routines and checking. However, you need to teach yourself how to relax, how to have spare time without making it worry time. This will take some work so we are dedicating tomorrow’s entire session to it.”

  “But I have to work at—”

  “I know, and you’ll still go to work. In life, that’s what many people do—they spend half of a day at work and then get some spare time to relax during the other half of the day. I know you have the work part down. We just need to add the relaxing part.

  “During your down time tomorrow, you are going to participate in some activities that are generally considered to be fun. You’ll be watching a movie, playing a game, reading in the bathtub. Oh, and chatting online.

  “That’s where I will come in. We’ll chat online tomorrow evening and discuss tonight’s activity, your worst case scenario and odds. Then we’ll also talk about all of this stuff that came up. I think it might be easier for you to write or type it, if I remember your first appointment correctly.” He smiles. “Does this sound okay?”

  It’s worth a try. Nod number 603,969.

  “Good.”

  He squeezes my hand and moves his own to pick up the check, leaving my hand right there in his lap. Instinctively, I begin to pull away, but I don’t get very far. He grabs my hand and puts it back in the same spot in his lap. He gives it a firm squeeze this time before again moving to pay the bill.

  I don’t move this time, and his hand joins mine again moments later as I thank him for dinner. Neither of us lets go as we get up from the table. Or when we leave the restaurant and head for his car.

  Inevitably, the moment comes when we have to separate to get into the car, but he takes my hand again the second we are settled. Our hands rest in the leather area between our seats.

  The ride home flies by. He occasionally breaks our silence to give me some instructions for tomorrow. Putting Words with Friends on my iPhone. Trying to remember my password for the Facebook account Mandy set up for me years ago. Figuring out how to “friend” him so we can chat tomorrow night. He also wants me to try to omit one item from each of my routines tomorrow. I’m not sure what I’ll do about that, but I’ll have to think about it later. When we aren’t holding hands.

  Way too soon, we arrive at my house. He turns off the car and looks over at me. Calm, almost relaxed eyes.

  His eyes don’t leave mine as he lifts my hand up to his lips. Waterfalls of heat course through me as he places a soft, lingering kiss on the top of my hand. Slowly, he turns his head to rub my hand against his cheek and jaw line. One more kiss, this time on the palm of my hand, a searing gaze, and he places my hand in my own lap.

  He comes to my side of the car, walks me to my front door, and says good night. Once his car is out of sight, I close my front door, take off my shoes, and breathe.

  Chapter 17

  day three

  MY DAY OF RELAXATION BEGINS with exhaustion. I could not have slept more than three hours. That means I spent at least three other hours thinking about nachos. And calories. And clothes that might not fit me anymore.

  Before I even get out of bed, I make two very important decisions. One: I am not weighing myself this morning. I can’t face it right now. I will simply count that as the item removed from my morning routine. Two: I am not eating today. That should balance things out from yesterday. I’ll weigh myself tomorrow and everything should be fine. And if it’s not, I can fast tomorrow too.

  Confident with my p
lan, I get out of bed and start my day.

  AS I’M PUTTING MY HAIR dryer away, my phone buzzes.

  Him.

  Count. Open text.

  Good morning, Callie. I’m sure you are almost done with your morning routine. Ready to relax?

  Smile. Count. Reply.

  I guess so.

  Seconds later, my phone makes an unfamiliar sound. It is coming from the Words with Friends application I downloaded last night. DA Blake has invited me to play a game.

  Count. Accept.

  He has already used a double word tile and earned eighteen points with the word “broth.” Ugh. After at least seven minutes of thinking and maneuvering my letters, I come up with twenty-four points for the word “booth.”

  I go back to the bathroom to straighten my hair. Around ten minutes later, my phone buzzes again. He took another turn.

  I play, finish straightening my hair, put on some comfortable clothes, and hear my phone buzz again. This time, there is an alert that I have a turn and a message as well. I didn’t even know I could send messages through a game.

  It takes me a few minutes to play a word and another few to figure out how to read his message.

  Movie time?

  That is all it says. It’s 11:15 a.m. I guess I do have time now before work. I reply.

  Sure.

  For the first time in an eternity, I change the channel on my bedroom television. I find the cable menu and search for movies that can be viewed instantly. Pretty Woman catches my eye, and moments later, the movie begins.

  My phone buzzes again. Another turn played. I push pause on the movie and come up with my response, pleased that I’m now beating him by thirty-eight points. I send him a fast message before putting down my phone.

  Hey! You are interrupting my movie!

  I add a small smiley face at the end of my message, hoping it might prevent putting a sad face on him.

  Two minutes later, another buzz. Movie back on pause. He’s played AND sent a message.

  The kids are doing both nowadays. And more. Watching movies, playing games, texting, eating, talking on the phone—all at the same time.

  The kids? Yes, maybe thirteen-year-olds have time for all of this, but—

  But I promised him I’d try.

  So I play my turn, unpause my movie, and settle back on my bed.

  After about twenty minutes of taking turns in our game and staring at Julia Roberts, I realize that I have been picking at my nails in between turns. I’m probably not supposed to be doing that.

  It really is hard to sit here when I have so much to do. It doesn’t help that my stomach keeps growling. I grab my notes for my paper on The Scarlet Letter—to fill in the time between turns.

  I get a pretty smooth system going. Listening to the movie, writing down ideas for my paper, and playing my turns. I even decide to throw repainting my nails into the mix.

  “What are you doing?” Mandy asks from my doorway. I didn’t even hear the door open.

  “Relaxing,” I answer simply.

  “Sure—it really looks like it,” she says, laughing. “Hey—I’m heading out. I’ll see you after work?”

  “Yep.” I’ll be home tonight. Chatting on Facebook about sex. Can’t wait.

  “Careful, Mandy.”

  “Okay. Bye, Callie.”

  “Bye.” I return to my relaxation routine, putting on a second coat of nail polish after taking another turn.

  {In honor of my day, Bruno Mars sings “The Lazy Song.”}

  AT THE END OF THE movie, I have freshly painted nails, pages of notes written for my paper, and a 41-point lead in Words with Friends. Not bad.

  And I feel pretty good—I haven’t had any time to worry in the last two hours. Maybe I can get used to this relaxation thing.

  My phone buzzes, this time with a text message.

  Ready for your next activity?

  It’s 1:30 p.m. I guess so.

  Reply.

  Yep. What’s next?

  Seconds later, he writes again.

  A long bath. For relaxing, not scrubbing. Check your email for your tub activity.

  A tub activity?

  Buzz. Another text.

  Oh, and don’t forget to bring your phone.

  Reply.

  To the bathtub?

  Buzz.

  Yep.

  All right…

  I go to check my email. Some junk, a note from Dad making sure we are still shopping on Thursday, lesson plans (and date plans) from Dr. Gabriel…

  Buzz. My phone again.

  Did you get it?

  Reply.

  Hold on, I’m getting there!

  I add another smile before sending.

  Okay…the other emails will have to wait until later. I click on his email. He’s sent me an electronic gift card to Amazon. He wants me to buy a magazine on my Kindle for my tub activity. So now I’m taking two electronic devices into the bathtub with me? That ought to be good.

  He has included a list of suggested magazines. I recognize two of them as literary journals because I’ve read issues of both before. Under these titles, he’s written, “If you find it difficult to leave your zone of comfort.”

  Next, he has listed two celebrity gossip-type magazines, just like the ones my mom subscribes to at home. Under these, he’s commented, “I hope you pick one of these. It’s easy to relax and escape your own life while reading about other people and their problems.”

  Lastly, he has included the title of a gourmet cooking magazine, under which he has simply typed a smiley face.

  I take a moment to marvel at the fact that he understands my real connection to cooking well enough to joke about it after only knowing me for a couple of weeks while Mom and Dad will no doubt buy me yet another set of hardcore pots and pans for Christmas this year.

  BUZZ.

  What did you pick?

  Reply.

  The celebrity nonsense :)

  Send.

  Buzz.

  Good.

  I get ready for my bath after downloading the magazine on my Kindle. Oh so carefully, I step into the bubbly water and place my phone and Kindle on the ledge of the bathtub. I read. And take turns in Words with Friends.

  When I start to get overly wrinkly and begin to think about getting out, I do feel rather relaxed. This celebrity gossip really can be pleasantly mind-numbing. Maybe that is why Mom likes it so much.

  I get out around 2:40 p.m. Jeez.

  My phone buzzes yet again.

  Almost time for your leaving preparations. Don’t forget to skip something! I’ll chat with you tonight.

  Reply.

  Sounds good. Thanks.

  I get dressed, and thankfully, my purple and black color-blocked dress still seems to fit just fine.

  3:00 p.m. I’m ready to begin my leaving preparations. I’m not quite sure how to omit one of my thirty-three checks. Then the numbering will be all out of whack, and something serious might happen as a result. To a family member. To me. To him.

  This is ridiculous. Why take one thing out just to say I did and then end up messing up something major?

  I could always omit three different checks, taking me down to thirty, but how would I even choose? What if I overlook something serious and my house burns down? Or floods—especially now that I found out that flooding isn’t covered under normal homeowner’s insurance.

  Now it’s 3:10 p.m. My fresh coat of nail polish is already gone. As I finally allow myself to begin my checks, my stomach makes a loud, angry noise. This, accompanied by the painful sensation I’m experiencing, must mean that my stomach is eating itself.

  Good. Maybe I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.

  Still focused on my rumbling stomach as I start my second round of thirty-three checks, I come up with a loophole for my predicament. I usually grab a cereal bar or snack before I go to work. I won’t be doing that today. That can count as my omission, can’t it? If he asks, I can truthfully say I left something out.<
br />
  Pleased with myself, I finish my rounds of checking. And then I’m off to work.

  THERE MUST BE A LOT of writing assignments floating around campus this week. Most of the computers are taken when I arrive at the writing center.

  Brittany is here and that Luke kid is sitting right beside her tonight. They lean over to help each other or make comments or something every once in awhile. They look pretty comfortable. Maybe they are dating now. Love at first sight in the Pierce Writing Center.

  Most of the other students keep to themselves, typing away intently. I get more tickets than usual, but I still have plenty of down time to get my own work done.

  After typing a few pages of my paper on The Scarlet Letter, I decide to check my silenced phone. Just in case he’s written. Making sure no students are looking my way, I slip the phone out of my purse. It’s my turn in our game. I happily increase my lead to fifty-two points.