Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“ J esus, Dahlia!” My sister’s shrill voice startles me as I walk through the front door. “Where have you been? I thought something happened to you.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve texted.” I put my head down and vow to stay apologetic. I don’t want to say something that’ll agitate her more than she already is.
Fern puts a hand on her hip and glares at me. My redheaded, petite sister may not be a large person, but she can sure fill a room when she wants to. She’s positioned herself right in my way, giving me no choice but to face her wrath. “Yeah, you should’ve. Where the hell were you? I texted your friends, and they said you left with some guy, but they couldn’t give me a name or number for him.”
“That’s because I never gave them his name. I didn’t really check in with them before I left. They had all found their own guys to possibly leave with at the end of the night, and I found someone too. I spent the night at his place.” I realize that explanation doesn’t help my situation any because in terms of being safe and looking out for each other, we all kind of lost our heads last night. But maybe Fern will take pity on me because it’s the first time I’ve been with someone since Alain. And wouldn’t she be happy that I’m getting back out in the dating scene again?
She rolls her eyes. Guess not. “Don’t you guys realize the danger you put yourselves in? Something really bad could’ve happened—not just to you, but to all of you.”
“I know. And the next time we go out, I’ll make sure to do a better job keeping track of where everyone is going,” I say, hoping that will be the end of her lecture. But Fern remains in place, eyes locked on mine. “I’d love to talk more about this, but I need to take a shower. I have a doctor’s appointment before work today, and I need to get going if I’m going to make it on time.”
She finally relents and moves away from the door, letting me into the rest of the house. “I made oatmeal this morning. There are some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks for the offer, but Justin made me breakfast.”
Fern raises a brow. “He cooked for you? You’d better keep this one. You’re going to need to eat, and you’re not much of a cook yourself,” she says with a grin.
“You’re one to talk,” I fire back. “You couldn’t boil water until Julie left and you had to figure out how to feed yourself.”
Julie was Fern’s roommate for a few years, and she basically kept my sister fed the entire time they lived together. But Julie moved back to Texas, where she was from, which opened up a bedroom for me to move into.
Fern lets out a mirthless chuckle and checks her watch. “Don’t you have to get ready? As much as I’d love to exchange witty remarks with you all morning, I need to get to work.” I make a move toward my bedroom, and before I enter Fern yells, “You’d better tell me more about Justin tonight.” As if she’d let me get away with keeping him to myself.
A quick shower is all I have time for, and I give my auburn hair a blow dry, leaving my hair wavy instead of straightening it like I usually do. I throw on a pair of dress pants and a pink blouse, then head to the living room to grab my purse. Fern has already left for work, so I lock the door before heading out to my car. My Honda hatchback is the same car I had when I graduated high school. But I’m not ashamed of it. It gets good gas mileage, still looks good, and it's paid for which is great for my budget. Right before I’m getting ready to pull away from the curb, my phone pings with an incoming text.
JUSTIN: I told myself I was going to wait until tonight to text you, but I can’t wait that long. When can I see you again?
A smile creeps across my face. Justin can’t seem to get enough of me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same way.
ME: I’ll text you later to arrange something
Justin texts me back a thumbs-up emoji, so I know that he’s at least read my message.
By the time I arrive for my appointment, I’ve only got a couple of minutes to spare, so I hurry up the steps to the second floor of the building where my doctor’s office is. Even though I thought I was giving myself plenty of time, traffic was stop-and-go in so many different spots, making the commute here take almost double the time it needed to. I breeze through the door to the office, check in with the receptionist, then take a seat in the waiting room.
God, I hate these appointments so much. It’s a routine Pap smear, which shouldn’t take that long, but does anyone really enjoy getting undressed to put everything on display down there?
“Dahlia Davis?”
I look up as my name is called, and the assistant, a full-figured woman in pink scrubs, greets me with a smile. I get up from my seat, and we exchange the usual pleasantries. She hands me a cup for a urine sample and points me toward the bathroom, telling me that I can put the cup in the metal door above the toilet. Then she tells me that when I’m done, I can go to the first door on the right. I already know the drill since this is where I’ve been going ever since I was in my late teens, but since I haven’t been here in a couple of years, I appreciate the refresher.
In the exam room, the assistant goes through my medical history, asking me all sorts of questions about my periods. I explain that my last period was roughly a week ago, and it was a normal period for me. At least I think that’s when it was. Add that to my list of things I should keep better track of. But for the last four years, I haven’t had to think about periods and ovulation because I wasn’t having sex.
“Have you had sex in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours?” The woman looks at me with her cherub face, expecting me to say no.
“Yes, I have,” I say proudly. And it was wonderful, I want to add, but keep that bit to myself.
The assistant keeps quiet and types something into my online chart. She’s silent for way too long, making me fidget in my seat.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, unable to take the silence any longer.
“Probably not. It’s just that we usually ask our patients to refrain from sexual intercourse for one to two days before a Pap smear.”
“Oh,” I say quietly, redness blooming across my cheeks. “Do I need to reschedule?” I hope she says no. I don’t want to have to come back here for at least a few years.
“No, you don’t have to reschedule. We’ll just make a note on your chart in case there are any abnormalities on your Pap.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would cause an issue.”
“It’ll most likely be okay.” She gets up from her chair and opens a drawer on the side of the exam table. She pulls out a white hospital gown and tells me to get fully undressed, and to put the gown on with the opening in the front. “Dr. Tarlton will be in to conduct your exam in a few minutes.”
I nod, and once she leaves the room, I hurry up and get undressed. I always feel like I either have too much time to get undressed or not enough. I’m either caught in the middle of taking my pants off, or sitting on the exam table in a scratchy gown for far too long. There’s never an in between. I put the gown on with the opening in the front, just like she said, then pull it tighter around me to make sure nothing is hanging out when the doctor comes in.
After a few short moments, there’s a knock on the exam room door, and once I give the go-ahead, Dr. Tarlton steps in, greeting me with his warm smile.
“Dahlia, how are you doing today?”
“I’m doing fine. I didn’t think I was going to make it on time since traffic was so bad,” I reply.
He nods in understanding. “Traffic is the perpetual problem around here, isn’t it?” Dr. Tarlton takes a seat and looks through my chart briefly, then turns his attention toward me. “How’s your family doing? Has your dad finally retired yet?”
The ability of Dr. Tarlton to remember even the most mundane facts about me and my family is just one of the reasons why I keep coming back to him. I switched to him after my last gynecologist, a female, wouldn’t take my concerns seriously. The last practice I was at was a group of doctors who, on their website, claimed to be the most attentive and caring physicians in the Puget Sound region. “We treat every patient like family.” Bullshit. Dr. Johnson and her gang of misfit gynecologists seemed to be more concerned with getting as many patients through the door as possible so they could keep that money rolling in. When I’d have an exam, Dr. Johnson would spend about five minutes with me, and any concerns I had about period pains or severe cramping, she wrote them off as normal and basically dismissed me. She actually told me once that sometimes when women talk about their periods, “we can get a little dramatic.”
Dr. Tarlton is different. He listens to me, and every concern I have is given the attention it deserves.
“Yes, he retired last year. And he’s been trying to keep busy with little projects here and there, but he’s got something to keep him occupied now.” Dr. Tarlton waits for me to continue. “My mom is getting her kitchen remodeled, and although my dad isn’t helping, he likes to be at home to observe and make sure everything is going as it should.”
“That’s exciting for them. And I assume everything’s going smoothly so far?”
“So far. Or at least that was the case when I talked to my mom last.”
“That’s good to hear,” he says with a smile. “Before we begin our exam, I wanted to let you know that we have a resident in the building, and as with all our patients, I need to ask you if it’s okay that they sit in on the exam.”
Given that my gynecologist’s office is right next to the University of Washington’s medical school, it’s not the first time I’ve had a resident observe an exam. I’m not at all bothered by it, so I give my permission without hesitation.
“Thanks for allowing this. Let me step out for a second to grab Dr. Alder.”
Mere seconds pass, then Dr. Tarlton is back and right next to him is?—
No. It can’t be.
There’s no way that the resident that’s here today is the same one I slept with last night. The same one who whispered a whole host of dirty things in my ear while we were in his bed. The same one that made me breakfast this morning and dropped me off at my house.
Why does it have to be him? Literally anyone else would be better.
I guess now I know that Justin is training to be an ob-gyn. And I can’t believe I didn’t ask before. But would it have mattered? How was I supposed to know that Justin is doing his residency at the same place where I’m a patient?
Feeling awkward and more than a little exposed, I pull the gown tighter around myself and focus my attention back toward Dr. Tarlton. I smile pleasantly to hopefully give off an air of confidence. I don’t want to let it show that I’m uncomfortable as all get-out with Justin being in the room. Dr. Tarlton is very perceptive and might pick up on something that I don’t want to disclose.
“Dahlia, this is Dr. Alder,” Dr. Tarlton says as Justin reaches out to shake my hand. Our eyes lock as he takes my hand in his, and there’s so much his eyes are saying right now. It’s as though he’s pleading with me not to let anything slip. Our handshake lasts a touch longer than necessary, and Justin gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.
“Pleased to meet you,” Justin says.
“Nice to meet you too,” I reply.
Dr. Tarlton looks over at Justin like a father who’s proud of his son. “Dr. Alder was at the top of his class in med school. He’s also very kind and has a good bedside manner. He’s going to be a great addition to our team here.”
A grin spreads across my face because Justin’s cheeks are a little redder than before. I think it’s sweet that he’s embarrassed by Dr. Tarlton speaking so highly of him.
This whole interaction feels so normal; it’s like we’re being introduced at a party or some kind of social function. I can almost forget that I’m completely naked and covered only by a very thin hospital gown. But then I shift on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath me, giving me a verbal reminder that I’m still at the doctor’s office and the uncomfortable part has yet to begin.
“Thank you. I appreciate your kind words,” Justin replies. He looks down at his watch and it looks like he’s checking a text message. “Dr. Tarlton, I’m so sorry. It’s my mother, and she usually only texts me during working hours if it’s urgent. I’m worried that something might’ve happened. Do you mind if I step out and see what’s going on?”
“You should definitely go and check it out. I hope it’s nothing serious,” Dr. Tarlton says.
Justin nods. “Thank you. Go ahead and proceed with the exam. I’m not sure how long I’ll be, and I don’t want to put us behind,” he says, then turns toward me. “Dahlia, it was nice to meet you.”
Oh, thank goodness. I’m going to be spared having to bare everything to Justin. I don’t doubt that he’d be professional about the whole thing, but I really didn’t want him to look at me in such a clinical way.
Right before Justin leaves, I catch his gaze and he throws me a wink. I understand now. There’s no family emergency. I guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t want him to sit in on the exam.
Once Justin is out of the room, Dr. Tarlton trains his gaze on me. “I suppose we should get started so you can get to work on time.”