Sabrina
“You’re going.” Mom gave me a firm look, handing me my water bottle.
The ice inside clinked. Good. I was thirsty and hot and uncomfortable.
“This is not a basic stomach bug.”
“Mom,” I groaned. As I brought the sweet, cold water to my lips, I had to hold back from guzzling it.
“I mean it. Doctor Storrow is the best. I made you an appointment at the clinic.”
Annoyances flickered through me. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You are pale and sweaty and you can’t eat without throwing up. Let me call Karen. She can cover for me so I can take you.”
“Mother,” I gritted out, “I can go to the doctor by myself.”
She stroked my hair and gave me another motherly glare that silently told me I best get up and go, then.
“You’ve worked so hard for so long. And if I know you, you neglected your health the whole time. It makes sense that now that you’ve gotten a little downtime, things have caught up with you.”
I’d hardly call my visit to Maplewood downtime, but she had a point. In the last few weeks, I had been eating and sleeping more than I had in years. Of course my body would choose to break down on me in small-town Vermont.
The sickness might have to do with the deeply conflicting feelings I was having about a certain small-town mayor.
The butterfly sensations, at least. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss inside the sugar shack.
His warm, insistent lips. The way those strong hands had roamed all over my body.
It had taken weeks of mental discipline to stop thinking about our night together. But after one kiss, all my mental barriers had crumbled.
Every time I saw him, my body went to war. Fierce attraction fought with strong dislike. We were so different; ideologically opposed on everything. He was the last man I should be attracted to.
Yet the pull between us was stronger than anything I’d ever felt before.
No wonder I was sick. Was this what a nervous breakdown felt like?
Eventually, I gave in, but I refused to allow my mother to come along.
The medical clinic was in a brick building on the outskirts of downtown, with a warm, comfy waiting room where I sat and sipped my water, praying I wouldn’t vomit again.
I’d expected Dr. Storrow to be a condescending old man, like the small-town physicians of my childhood. So imagine my surprise when a tall Black woman greeted me.
She wore yellow scrubs, and her makeup was done impeccably, and…
“Are those…?” I trailed, staring at her feet.
She smiled. “Limited-edition silver Thom Browne Brogues? Yes they are.” She turned one foot out, then in, giving me the full view. “You’ve got a good eye.”
“And you’ve got the best pair of shoes I’ve seen since I crossed the border into this state.”
Laughing, she held her hand out. “Always happy to meet another shoe girl. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I slid my palm against hers. “From my mother?”
Another laugh, though her eyes were kind and comforting, putting me at ease. She tossed her long braids over her shoulder and shook her head. “No. From various townsfolk. You’re a popular topic of conversation these days.”
I shrugged. Of course. “Glad to hear my reputation precedes me.”
Once she’d led me back to an exam room, she asked me all the standard questions. Then she stepped out so I could put on a gown.
Nerves fluttered through me. It had been a very long time since I’d been to a doctor’s office.
“How long have you been here?” I asked when she returned.
“I bought the practice from Dr. Peters when he retired.” She tilted her head in thought. “My partner Dr. Chao does pediatrics and I see the adults.”
“I’m sure Maplewood keeps you busy.”
“You have no idea. How did I ever think a small town would be quiet and peaceful?”
Sighing, I shifted on the exam table, making the paper crinkle. “I just moved back here from DC.”
“Oh, I know.” She arched both brows. “Prodigal daughter of Maplewood. Sought fame and political fortune on the mean streets of our nation’s capital. You’re brave, coming back to the small town that raised you.”
“You a Vermont girl?”
“Nope.” She put on latex gloves and then took my temperature with one of those head scanny things.
“Mainer. Grew up in a small town called Timber Falls. My dad was the lone local doctor when I was a kid. My mom was a nurse. The two of them ran the only practice in town. I’ve always wanted to practice rural medicine, and trust me, Maplewood is Manhattan compared to where I grew up. ”
I cringed. “You’re a better person than I am.”
Once she’d palpated my throat, examining my glands, she had me lie back. Then she prodded at my abdomen, questioning me about international travel and any new foods I’d been eating.
“Nah,” she went on. “I’m just a country girl. Despite my unquenchable need for designer footwear.”
“Online?” I asked, still trying to figure out how she got her hands on those.
“No. Went to med school in New York. I have a lot of friends who work in the fashion industry. I picked up my love for it there and go back a few times a year to get my fix.”
“You drive that far that often?”
She gestured for me to sit up and slid the blood pressure cuff on my arm. “Yes. It’s only four hours. I go for a long weekend, shop, go to a show, and get my ramen fix. Sure, Boston’s closer, but the shopping in New York is much better.”
I nodded. My mind wandered. In the grand scheme, I understood that New York wasn’t that far away.
Hell, most of our tourists came from there.
But I’d never considered just heading there for a weekend to shop and enjoy the culture.
And I’d never once considered working there, though I didn’t know why.
My brain was in overdrive. There was no way I could stay in Vermont. But I had contacts in New York and could at least job hunt there when this little Vermont experiment was over.
As she continued her exam, I filled her in on the stomach bug that had inexplicably lasted for a month, noting the fatigue, the nausea, and the lightheadedness.
“Do you drink?”
“No. Not really.” I shook my head. “Normally, I drink socially, but I’ve only had alcohol once since I came back. My mom is in recovery, so when I visit, I rarely imbibe. And I’ve been feeling so sick that the idea hasn’t appealed to me anyway.”
“Smoke?”
“No.”
“Any drug use?”
“Only caffeine and shopping,” I admitted.
She felt around my abdomen for a moment, her lips pressed together in concentration.
“I’m going to draw some blood. We won’t get results until Monday since the lab’s in Rutland, but that’s a good start.”
She picked up her tablet and tapped at the screen for a minute or two.
“But based on what I’m hearing and seeing, I think you may be pregnant.”
Heart jumping into my throat, I sat up on the exam table, the paper crinkling violently this time. “Not possible.”
She continued inputting information, impervious to the panic in my voice.
“I have an IUD,” I said.
She nodded. “Got it. But we need to check anyway. When was your last menstrual period?”
“No idea,” I said, my words shorter than they should be. “I have an IUD. I don’t really get periods.”
She nodded again, still focused on my digital chart.
A shiver worked its way through me. It wasn’t possible. Was it?
“Like I said, we’ll do bloodwork. But I think I felt the fundus above your public bone.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Fundus? What the fuck did that even mean? It sounded like a disease.
“Can’t I just pee on a stick?” I asked, suddenly struggling to breathe.
“Sure. You could pick one up at the pharmacy. But if you’d like, we can do an ultrasound to check.”
“Yes,” I said sharply. “Just check please.”
She surveyed me, her face full of compassion. “I’m just being thorough. These symptoms could indicate many things. But let’s at least confirm you’re not pregnant before we start narrowing down the cause.”
I let out the breath I was holding, and my shoulders sagged. It wasn’t possible.
I had an IUD.
And I didn’t even have sex anymore.
She directed me to follow her, so I got up, pulling the gown closed around me, and shuffled across the hall to another room.
Halfway there, my feet came to an abrupt halt. Wait.
I had had sex recently.
Mentally, I flipped through my calendar to nail down the timeline. When had we gone to Montpelier?
A month ago? Or had it been longer?
“Here.” Doctor Storrow gestured for me to lie down on another table, and once I had, she draped a white sheet over my bottom half.
“We could start with the external ultrasound, but honestly, we’ll see more with a vaginal ultrasound.”
I looked at her, blinking, not following.
She held up a weird-looking wand that was encased in a giant condom.
My heart lurched. “You stick that…”
She nodded. “It’s the fastest and most accurate way.”
Closing my eyes, I willed myself to make peace with this total humiliation. With a sigh, I nodded. Fuck it. I was here and I was in the damn gown already. I might as well do all the tests.
After an uncomfortable moment with the wand, she clicked the mouse attached to the machine beside the table, then shifted and did it again, rearranging my lady parts with that ridiculous tool.
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. This was not at all how I’d seen this appointment going.
“Okay,” she said, guiding the wand around again.
“This.” She pointed at the screen. “Is your right ovary. And here’s the left.” She adjusted the wand, the movement making me flinch.
It wasn’t painful, just invasive.
“You’re doing great,” she soothed.
Ha. That’s not the word I would have chosen.
“And this is the uterus.”
While she clicked and adjusted, taking measurements, I stared at the ceiling above, counting the tiles like the task could anchor me to some sense of normalcy.
My phone buzzed in my bag. It was probably Harper and probably urgent. But right now I just wanted to go to bed and forget about this entire experience.
“Okay,” the doctor said in the gentlest voice. “See this?”