Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Michelle
Twenty weeks pregnant
A s the fourth episode of The Property Brothers begins in the waiting room and my stomach grumbles its loudest growl yet, I wonder how exactly a gestational diabetes test isn’t considered a form of torture condemned as a crime against humanity. But that’s probably the fact I haven’t eaten anything since last night.
Luckily, I’m almost at the end of the process, waiting for the results of the third hour blood draw, and then I can get something to eat. Hunter mentioned District Taco or Falafel, Inc. or both if I can’t decide once I’m given the okay to eat again.
Given my pre-pregnancy weight, the current size of the baby and my “advanced age,” the doctors recommended I do my glucose tests at twenty weeks. My results were barely in the range for failing the one-hour test, so I’m back for more. If things are negative this time around, they might have me do the one-hour test again at twenty-eight weeks and determine next steps from there. I shudder at the idea of having to drink the glucose solution again in two months, but whatever Cumulus needs to stay healthy.
An upbeat jingle sounds from the TV in the corner, two carrots singing and talking about an erectile dysfunction medication. Ironic, considering the events bringing so many of us into this waiting room.
Not that I know much about Hunter’s current erectile function levels. But based on my multiple experiences over the course of those initial ten hours . . . I’m starting to think it might be worth getting an updated baseline.
We’ve gone on a few more dates since the baseball game. Nothing quite as elaborate, especially since the city is in the middle of a record high heat wave. Still, the intentional time Hunter’s been planning for us to spend together, whether working through the list of restaurants he’s cultivated since his move or in an icy movie theater watching a rom-com he enjoys as much as I do, has been nice.
The air in the waiting room changes, and I look to the door to see Hunter standing just inside it, looking for me. A smile lights up his whole face once he spots me and moves through the crowded room of babies and pregnant individuals. My chest warms at seeing him arrive. I told him not to change the feedback session he and Hayden had scheduled with app beta testers for this morning, since the first few hours consisted of me sitting around and getting poked. He insisted on being here for the final results with the doctor though, as well as making sure I got fed immediately afterward.
“Hi,” he says as he plops in the chair next to me, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
“Hi,” I say back, squeezing his knee affectionately. Gosh, he looks handsome. And that’s not only the glucose test hunger talking. It’s like I summoned him with my thoughts of his penis. Nothing has progressed physically, which I know has a lot to do with my comments earlier in July. But I’m getting to the point where I want to start mixing the new closeness we’re finding with the stuff we know already works.
His presence calms a part of me worried about the results. Hunter’s been doing research on adjustments to make to his meals for us, if need be, and knowing I won’t navigate the results alone is a relief.
“So, what kind of grey and neutral decorating scheme have the brothers developed today?” Hunter asks, right before the call of “Lewis?” comes from a nurse in pink scrubs.
“Luckily, it’s very grey and very neutral,” I say as we walk toward her. “You didn’t miss anything.”
We follow the nurse into an exam room, where she tells us the doctor will be in to talk to us soon.
“Who are we seeing today?” Hunter asks. His hand falls on the uterus model sitting on the desk before he realizes what he’s touching and pulls away.
A giggle escapes. “Careful, we wouldn’t want to be known as the couple who spills things on the floor most times we’re here. We’re seeing Dr. Jameson. It was supposed to be Dr. Simon, but I guess things got switched around. I couldn’t get enough service to look up Jameson, so I guess we’ll see.”
Hunter’s staring at me, eyes wide.
“What’s up? Oh no, have I had glucose solution on my face this whole time and no one’s told me?” I rub next to my mouth.
He shakes his head. “No, you called us a couple ...”
I open my mouth to respond but knuckles rap on the door before I can.
“Come—”
The door pushes open before I can finish my sentence and my stomach plummets as a man about my age enters the room. He takes one look at me, his eyes tracking to Hunter’s tattoos, before he sighs with a haughty air.
“Dr. Jameson. You’re Michelle Lewis?”
“Yes,” I say, uncertainty lacing my tone.
“I see you’re here for your three-hour gestational diabetes test. I’m going to assume given everything”—he gestures at all of me—“the results are going to be positive for this one as well, but I’ll go grab the labs. Be right back.”
Hunter looks between me and the door in shock, all memory of the conversation the doctor interrupted blown away. “Did he really just? He can’t . . . I mean, he’s here to help you, and then he ...” Hunter continues to have his head implode at the doctor’s introduction.
I blow out a shaky breath, forcing myself to breathe in and out at a normal pace. Fuck. “He can. Welcome to fatphobia in the medical community.”
“But he didn’t look at your file to know your blood pressure, previous blood work, everything else is healthy. Plus, he would know plenty of people fail the one-hour test and have normal results with the three-hour.” Like I said, he’s done his research.
I try to appear nonchalant, sensing Hunter is getting worked up, and I don’t want him to know how much this still rattles me, even after almost forty years. “For some people, appearance tells them everything they want to know.”
“Well, I’m going out there, we can see another?—”
Another knock at the door, followed by an immediate re-emergence of Dr. Jameson, cuts him off. The doctor shuts the door behind him, almost hitting the nurse following him into the room in the face. Her carefully neutral look tells me everything I need to know about this guy. He’s an asshole, and everyone knows it. I better buckle in.
“Well, somehow , your glucose numbers are in a normal range. You’re sure you fasted all night and drank all the solution?”
Hunter moves next to me, and I sense his mouth is about to open, so I grab his wrist. “Yes, I’m sure. I was happy to follow your practice’s recommendation and take the tests early, but I’m not surprised by the results. Especially during my pregnancy, we’ve been following?—”
“Hmph.” He cuts me off. Hunter’s arm grows tenser under my hand. “I’m not interested in your home remedies. I’m surprised you got pregnant in the first place, given your advanced age and”—he makes a gesture indicating to everything about me again—“but I guess luck is on your side. Now, about the weight you’ve gained since being pregnant ...”
“Anything I’ve gained is within the norms of a woman for my BMI at twenty weeks,” I say, trying to keep my voice strong. This asshat doesn’t deserve to hear he’s getting to me, cutting right to my core. I’d learned long ago weighing myself regularly isn’t something that served me, so keeping closer tabs on it during this pregnancy is already grating on me.
“Well, that may be, but you’ll never get it off again once you’ve given birth. I guess you can stop by the desk for some meal planning resources. I’m not sure they’ll meet your appetite, though.”
I recoil like I’ve been struck.
“Hey, buddy,” Hunter says, his tone low and furious. “That’s enough. You’ve told us what we need to know, so kindly get the fuck out.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.” Dr. Jameson looks flabbergasted anyone would even dare.
“But you can talk to her like that? Big man in a white coat. You’re lucky I respect the woman next to me enough to let her fight her own battles when she wants to. Wonder how that coat would look up against the wall?” Hunter’s eyes flash, his meaning clear without actually threatening the other man.
The doctor’s cheeks flush red, and he stands up taller, straightening his tie. “Well, if that’ll be all, Jessica here will get your next appointment made.” With that, he leaves the room.
The dark-haired nurse clears her throat. “Hi, I’m Jessa, actually. And I’m so sorry.”
“He a fuck face like that all the time?” Hunter takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You’re not responsible for his behavior.”
She smiles gently. “He is a fuck face like that all the time. People have complained, but ...”
“Because he’s a presumably straight, white man, nothing sticks,” I say, my heart in my stomach. I’ve sat in these rooms in far less clothing than I’m in now, but have never felt more exposed.
Jessa mutters something under her breath in Spanish before raising her voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I do think he’s one or two complaints away from actual action. We’ve lost a lot of patients because of him. I can give you the names and contact info of where they go, if you’d like.”
The weight of Hunter’s gaze on me is like a tangible touch, knowing this is my call. “No.” I shake my head. “I’ve been so happy with everyone else here, and I’ve dealt with judgments about my weight all my life. No guarantee someone else wouldn’t do the same thing.”
She nods, an empathetic look on her face.
“If we wanted to make a complaint to someone here, though,” Hunter asks, casting a furtive look in my direction. I’m too tired to protest that I don’t want to make any waves.
“I can get you that information too,” Jessa says. “I’ll be right back with the contact info and the details for your next appointment. Then you guys can get out of here.”
A thick silence descends over the room after she walks away. I know Hunter’s looking at me, waiting for me to meet his gaze, but I’m not sure what I’ll see there. Worse, I don’t know what he’ll read in me.
“So, what did you decide about lunch?” Hunter asks after another moment.
“I’m not really hungry,” I say, hating how the joy of our lunch plans has evaporated.
“Mich, you need to eat something. It’s been over twelve hours.” His voice is gentle, coddling even, and I snap.
“I know I need to eat something. But forgive me if my appetite is gone.” His eyes hold mine as my voice shakes and a tear escapes. I regret lashing out immediately.
He studies me closely, his eyes searching my face, but betraying nothing at what he finds there. When he speaks, his tone contains no indication I just snapped at him for something that’s in no way his fault. “How about we take a ride share home and I’ll make you a smoothie? We have those blueberries I got at the farmers’ market yesterday.” The suggestion carries the same warmth and care he always shows when he wants to do something for me, to help me.
Still, the instinct to make myself as small and amiable as possible is too hard to fight. “We can take the bus, it’s fine. And I’m sure you have other things to do. It’s the middle of the day.”
He steps closer and slowly reaches his hand toward my face, as if he expects me to pull away. I fight against the impulse. “Hey. That guy sucked. And I’m so sorry you dealt with that today and ever before. If I thought the idea of bodily violence appealed to you, and I wasn’t positive he’s the litigious type, I’d make good on my wall-smashing threat. But let me take you home, out of the heat, and make you a smoothie, okay?”
I nod, his hand cupping my cheek all the while. “Okay.”
A few hours later, a knock on the door wakes me. “Hey, it’s me.” Hunter’s voice comes through the door. “You told me not to let you sleep past four, but I also didn’t want to wake you, so it’s 4:30 now.”
I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the disorientation that accompanies a solid mid-afternoon nap.
“Uh, you awake? Can I come in?”
Right. Open mouth, use voice. “Yeah, I’m up. Come on in.”
Hunter walks through the door, and pauses a few steps inside, looking around. “Wow, I’m not sure I’ve seen it so dark in here since ...” His voice, soft and low, gives me goosebumps.
The low lighting with the shades pulled suddenly looks more sexy than cozy. I push up against the pillows, keeping the blankets tight around my waist. My pant-less state is more obvious than normal .
“Oh, right. I guess we do spend most of our time in the living room.” And pulling all the blinds this afternoon felt right to match my mood.
He nods, leaning against the dresser. “How are you feeling?”
All thoughts of sexiness leave my mind at the reminder of how the day started. Fuck, I hate he saw that, heard that. There’s a good chance he’ll see some pretty weird stuff by the time this baby is born, but that’s natural. According to Dr. Jameson, there’s nothing natural or redeeming about my size, and that cuts right to the core of me.
I shrug. “I’m okay, I guess. The nap was necessary.” I play with the comforter in my lap, avoiding his eyes.
“I’m thinking of making burrito bowls for dinner. Penzeys sent some spices over, including a mix for taco meat, so I want to try it out.”
“Sure, sounds fine. You know I’ll like whatever you make.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t get your bowl this afternoon after the appointment, so I thought I could make up for it. I’m no District Taco, but I can whip up a mean queso.”
I nod, still silent.
He stands there for a moment longer, the air heavy with intent on his side. I can tell he wants to say something else, but isn’t sure what.
“All right then, I’ll get working on food. Should be ready in about twenty-five minutes or so.”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say. “I’m still waking up.” I put on a smile that feels fake from tip to tip. The look on Hunter’s face says he isn’t much more impressed by it.
“No hurry. See you out there in a few.”
He raps his knuckles twice on the top of my dresser and turns toward the kitchen. The apartment fills with sounds of him putting pans on top of the stove and getting ingredients out of the refrigerator.
Knock it off, Lewis. You love queso. You love yourself. You’re not going to let a miserable asshole and his biases keep you down .
Maybe if I wash off the memory of the day before dinner, I’ll feel better. I grab what I need from my room and set it in the bathroom before walking out to let Hunter know my plans.
His arms flex with the speed he chops peppers and onions on the counter. For a moment, I watch him, mesmerized by the skill and care he puts into simple tasks. I really should volunteer to help more, though the last time he had me cut something, he took the knife out of my hand two seconds later. Something about me needing all ten fingers for “Itsy Bitsy Spider.”
He looks my way a moment later. “Hey there.”
“Hi. Something smells good out here.”
“New spices pass the smell test. Check.” He gives me a soft smile. One that says he knows he’s being over the top, but he’d love to see me smile too.
“I’m going to get a quick shower before we eat. Want to wash away the day.”
“Definitely. Be sure you don’t wash away your appetite.” He winks, and I laugh.
“The dad jokes are becoming more regular, you know.”
Shrugging, he says, “I’m not going to fight it. See you in a few.”
As the hot water sluices over me, I let the lavender scent of my body wash unwind some of my tangled thoughts and the warmth undo some of the tension in my shoulders. Still, when I get out of the shower, my eyes avoid the mirror as I get dressed. Today is a day for being gentle, and tomorrow is a day to claw back my appreciation for all my body does for me, and now for little Cumulus. This is simply a setback.
I braid my wet hair in a long plait behind me, not wanting to bother drying it. If there’s anyone who can make me feel better, just by sharing space, it’s Hunter. My stomach growls for the first time since Dr. Jameson stole my appetite, and I head out to the kitchen to enjoy dinner.