Paige
TIME TO GO pay the price for being a woman.
I’m on my way to the gyno to do my least favorite thing in the world: get a pap smear. While waiting in the lobby, I send a group text to my friends.
Me: Hey, guys. I just got to the doctor. Hopefully, it won’t take long. I’ll text you when I’m leaving.
Lydia: Sounds good.
Scarlett: Hopefully there’s still booze left.
This one gets me to smile.
Charlotte: See you soon.
I tap my foot as I continue to wait. This isn’t one of those waiting rooms with magazines or a television to keep you entertained. It’s basically just chairs and walls. Nothing interesting about it, so I decide to send Sean a quick text too.
Me: RF- I’ve never broken a bone. My dad says I’m risk averse. I’m sure this surprises you.
With a smile firmly in place, I wait for him to respond, but am called back and have to put my phone away. After my vitals are taken and the nurse has gone over my recent medical history, she asks me one question that puts a lead ball in my stomach.
“What was the first day of your last period?”
I blink several times and stare at her. Shit. When was I supposed to start? “I’m not sure.”
“Are you late?” she asks as she looks up at me.
“Possibly.”
The nurse says something about telling the doctor and leads me into a room. I’m trying really hard not to freak out and use the time I’m waiting to try to pin down when I should have started. I’m not waiting long before my doctor comes in.
“Hey, Paige, how are you?”
“I’m okay, thanks. How are you?”
“I’ve got no complaints.” She looks down at her chart and then back up at me. “Looks like you’re here for your annual, correct?”
“Yep.”
“No surgeries or changes in your medical history?” she asks while she reviews the answers the nurse already got from me.
“Nope.”
“Great. It says here you’re not sure of the first day of your last menstrual cycle. Can you give me an estimate?”
I try to remember when I should have started, but come up blank. The more I think, the further my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. The nurse must see the panic written all over me and tries to end the misery, but all she does is heighten my anxiety. “We’ll give you a pregnancy test real quick.”
“B-but, I can’t be,” I try to reason.
“Are you having unprotected sex?”
“But I’m on the pill.” I don’t know why the words come out so urgent. It’s like if I convince my doctor this can’t be true, then it won’t be.
“Are you having unprotected sex?” she asks again, but slower this time.
“Well—yes, but like I said, I’m on birth control.”
“The pill isn’t one hundred percent effective. The only thing that works one hundred percent of the time is abstinence. You wouldn’t be the first to get pregnant while on birth control, and you won’t be the last. Now, here’s a cup. You can go to the restroom to your right, and we’ll get this cleared up real quick, okay?”
I nod in response, words nowhere to be found. When I get into the restroom, my hands shake as I fumble around with the cup.
What will Sean say?
What will he do?
Oh my God, how is this happening?
My leg bounces up and down as I wait for the results to come in. When the door to my room finally opens, I stop breathing and I’m pretty sure my heart stops beating.
“Well, it’s negative.”
I blow out a relieved breath, my blood pumping to my whole body again.
“Are your periods irregular?” I shake my head. They usually come like clockwork. “Do you think you’re late or you just can’t remember?”
“I think I’m late.” A new possibility dawns on me that has panic rising all over again. “Could that be a false negative?”
“If you’re a couple days pregnant, yes. Can you give an estimate on when you should’ve started?”
I pull out my phone and look at the calendar. I know I’m on a new pack of pills, so I should’ve started two weeks ago. When I tell the doctor this, she says the test would’ve shown I was pregnant.
“We’ll do a vaginal ultrasound to make sure you don’t have an ectopic pregnancy. Sometimes that won’t show up with a urine test. If that’s clear, we’ll do your pap and see if there’s a reason you’re missing your period.”
The ultrasound comes back negative and the pap is uneventful if not a little uncomfortable. She tells me they’ll send it off to the lab and will call me when the results come in. With no other information to give me, I’m free to go and meet my friends.
Me: Hey, guys. I’m leaving now. See you in twenty.
The whole drive to Scarlett’s I spend reflecting on my appointment. While I’m beyond relieved to not have a bun in the oven, the other explanations for my missed period have me somewhat worried. The urge to look it up on my phone has my fingers twitching, but I know that’s a terrible idea. No matter what symptoms you have, the internet will always have you convinced it’s a tumor and you’re going to die.
Pulling up to Scarlett’s place, I take a deep breath and try to push my concerns to the back of my mind. Hopefully I can count on my friends to keep my mind off of things for a while. When I walk in, they’re already deep in conversation, each with a glass in their hand.
“I’m here,” I say in what I hope is a singsong voice.
I’m greeted by everyone and immediately handed a glass of wine. I resist the urge to down it in one gulp to keep from alerting my friends that something may be wrong.
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask.
“Lydia was asked to be partner at the firm.”
“Wow, that’s amazing! Did you take the offer?”
Lydia has worked for one of the premier interior decorating firms in the Apex and Raleigh area for several years now. I’m actually surprised it took her boss this long to ask, especially since he’s getting older and has no one to give the company to.
“I’m thinking about it,” she responds.
“What is there to think about? Isn’t this what you’ve wanted since you started?” I’m looking at her like she has three heads. The fact she hasn’t jumped all over this is beyond me.
“Well, that’s because there’s one teeny tiny detail I haven’t told you guys about yet.” She looks down, a wide grin overtaking her face. Scarlett, Charlotte, and I all look at each other confused.
“What detail?” Scarlett asks.
“Marcus and I are having another baby!” She hops up and down with excitement and it’s contagious. We all give her a huge hug with lots of congratulations. My eyes travel to the glass she was holding and she says, “Juice.”
“How far along are you?” I ask her.
“I’m only ten weeks. We just told our parents last night. It’s been killing me keeping this from you guys.”
“Are you hoping for a boy this time?” Charlotte asks.
Lydia shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t care as long as it’s healthy. I know that’s such a cliché answer, but it’s the truth.”
“So why can’t you be partner after you have the second baby?” I ask her.
“I love my job, don’t get me wrong, but it requires a lot of long hours. If I’m not at the office having meetings with potential clients and drawing up designs, then I’m at home doing research and searching for specific items. I’m missing a lot with Ella and I’m starting to have mom guilt.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty for having a career while being a mom, Lydia, but you have to find a balance,” Scarlett tells her.
“That’s the problem. If I work less, I get behind. If I stay on top of my workload, I miss out on time with Marcus and Ella.”
“Have you thought about taking on fewer clients?” Charlotte suggests.
“Most of these clients have requested me. I already have a backlog of people waiting for me to design their rooms. If I take less, I’ll have to step down anyway.” The conflict in her eyes is apparent. I know this is a tough decision for her.
“What does Marcus say about all of this?” I ask.
“He’s supportive either way and keeps reminding me that I don’t need to work, but he’s leaving it completely up to me.”
Marcus and Sean are trust fund kids, but choose to work and make their own way. Marcus could quit his job as a police officer and they’d have more than enough to live off of.
The conversation soon switches to Charlotte and her baby and then on to Scarlett and her dry spell with men. I never thought I’d see her go so long without a fling, but she seems to be turning over a new leaf so to speak. Lydia and I show each other what we’ll be wearing to the Rileys’ dinner party this weekend and she reassures me I have nothing to worry about.
By the time I glance at the clock, it’s late. We’ve finished off two bottles of wine, and I can’t walk a straight line if my life depended on it.
Me: RF- I’m drunk.
Me: RF#2- I can’t drive.
Me: RF#3- I need a ride home.
His response is quick.
Sean: Where are you? I’m on my way.
If there’s anyone who can take my mind off of things, it’s this man. And I’m looking forward to it.