“I made you a doctor’s appointment for Friday.”
I frown as I glare at Scott. “Why?”
His returning look is dubious. “You need to see what’s happening. This has been going on long enough, Sylvie.”
“Did you have to schedule it on a day you were out of town?” My anxiety that left me yesterday is now back in full force. He was probably hoping for better results by telling me while still naked and right after an orgasm first thing in the morning. It could be best that he’s not coming, but I almost wish he was. I got used to him coming with me when we were going so much trying to figure out why I wasn’t getting pregnant.
“Only day they had available. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He rubs his knuckles up and down my side from my ribs to my hip.
“Do I have to go?” I whine.
“Yes. You’re sick enough to be asking for permission and taking orders. You’re not yourself and you don’t feel well. You’re going.”
“Ten years and one day of being married and you turn into a dictator,” I grumble, making him laugh. I should go to the doctor, I know this. Doesn’t mean I want to go. Doctors deliver bad news to me. I can’t help but think mine will give me more.
“Don’t think about it until Friday. Come shower with me and then let’s go get our girls.”
I and my sick mind do as he says. We don’t spend much time at my parents’, which is fine. I’m sure I’ll see them soon at some point. Once in the car, Stella asks if we can go skating. Scott glances at me, seeking permission even though she asked him. I nod. This is our last day together before preseason gets underway. I had Scott to myself yesterday, so it’s only fair that we do something with the girls today.
Of the four of us, I’m the least qualified to skate. It’s a damn shame that at three years old, my twins could skate as well as I did and then, it didn’t take long for them to surpass my skill level. Scott thinks I’m cute. The girls wish I could get with the program and skate at least as well as them. I can move, but barely. Scott has to keep a hold on one of my hands or a hip instead of holding onto the girls’ hands.
“She’s gotten so good,” Scott murmurs in astonishment as Stella skates up the ice with Stephanie a few paces behind her.
“She ought to be as often as I bring her here.”
“We should find something Stephanie wants to do.”
“No, we don’t. She likes to watch Stella and talk with the other kids. She doesn’t need a sport just because Stella is learning one.”
He nods. “I know, but I don’t want her to feel left out.”
“She’s fine,” I reassure him. For right now, she’s fine. I lose my balance, my legs shuffling and separating.
Scott laughs as I rush to cling to him. “Easy, Sylvie. I never let go of you.” He pulls me in front of him and flush against his chest so I can get steady on my feet again. “What would these people think of me and my skills as a hockey player and skater if I let my wife fall on the ice?”
“Oh, so this is about protecting your image?”
“And protecting you from falling.”
“Mhm,” I hum as if I don’t believe him. I haven’t fallen once and that’s strictly because of Scott.
Stella zooms by us, slapping my butt as she goes, her giggles fading the further she gets. Stephanie comes by next, but she grabs ahold of my hand.
“Momma?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“How is she so fast?” Stephanie is breathing heavy. Her cheeks are pink. Her hand is grasping mine tightly and I’m pulling her along now, so I come to a stop to give her a rest.
“She practices,” Scott answers. “You could be as fast as her if you practiced.”
Her eyes follow Stella as she basically does suicides from one end of the ice to about center ice or so. It might not be quite that far as she’s not going all the way to the boards. She’ll be exhausted when we get home. For some reason that’s her favorite thing to do for the moment.
“She always beats me when we race,” Stephanie whines. “By a lot, Daddy.”
“Then practice on getting faster. You can take the classes with her if you want.”
“Can I, Momma?” She glances up to me.
Well, I guess her wanting to beat her sister is making her competitive enough to want to learn how to skate better and start learning how to play hockey. I’m not so sure it’s good that they are starting to be competitive with one another, but then again, boys are this way with one another all the time. As long as it doesn’t become a problem, it can’t hurt, right?
“If that’s what you want.”
Stella comes over and stops so little shavings of ice fly up and snow our legs.
“Stella,” I start, the warning already in my tone.
“Sorry,” she interrupts. Call me skeptical, but I don’t believe her. She didn’t have to stop like that and she’s smiling a little too cheekily for me. “Daddy, will you skate with me? Let’s race!”
Scott glances at me.
“Go ahead. I’m getting tired anyway.”
He leads me off the ice where I go ahead and change into my shoes and then I watch him play around on the ice with our daughters. I’m trying to stay happy, but I’m feeling grumpy because the legs of my pants are now wet thanks to Stella and it’s cold in here. It’s truly nice to see them all together. They’re happy and laughing. They’re where they love to be: on the ice. Although, Stephanie doesn’t love it on quite the same level as Scott and Stella. How is it possible for my family to be so happy and for me to not be?
A teenager walks by with an open duffel bag. Oh dear lord! It reeks of sweaty hockey gear and I gag. What crawled in there and died? The scent seems to linger in the air behind him, becoming way too much. I rush to the bathroom, overwhelmed with nausea, and am puking up what seems like everything I’ve eaten for the last year.
Fuck, what kind of virus do I have? It’s lethal.
I’m so tired afterward, it’s all I can do to sit on the floor and lean against the stall. I try not to think of all the possible germs latching onto my clothes right now, but my hands and legs are shaky. If I try to stand, I think I’ll faint or fall.
My phone vibrates from inside my pocket. I pull it out to see a text.
Scott: Where are you?
Me: Bathroom. Puked. Trying to recover.
Shit, I’m tired even texting. Where’d my energy go?
Scott: You need me?
Such a simple question, but it feels loaded. There’s always been but one answer, no matter what’s going on.
Me: Yes.
A moment later, the girls are the first to enter. They assure Scott that no one else is in here and then Scott comes in, his footsteps heavy against the tiled floor. It takes all of my strength to pull myself up and open the door for him.
“Fuck, Sylvie.”
“Momma, are you okay?” Stella asks. I glance down at her to see both of my girls look as worried as Scott. How bad can I look?
“Take me home, Scott.” My voice comes out quiet, hoarse, and weak. A rush of dizziness hits me. I intend to grab the wall of the stall, but I miss. Scott steadies me, though. He wraps an arm around my waist and begins to help me walk out of the bathroom.
“Maybe we should take you to the hospital.”
“No, I’m fine. Take me home.”
“You don’t see what I see, Sylvia. You’re getting worse or something.”
“We might as well just wait until Friday.” However, if we go to the emergency room, he’d be with me. But this isn’t an emergency, so we’re not going. “A little rest and something to settle my stomach and I’ll be as good as new.”
Scott doesn’t believe a word I’m saying and I hate, hate, hate that he’s about to go on a road trip with this as his last memory.
Me: IF YOU DON’T FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE, WE’RE GETTING A DAMN DIVORCE!
Okay, so maybe that’s harsh, but he’s blowing my phone up and there has to be something better he’s supposed to be doing instead of aggravating the shit out of me. I feel better today than I did yesterday. However, it seems my temper is short. He only sent two texts back-to-back to check in, but when I didn’t answer, he tried calling. I sigh.
Me: I’m fine, Scott.
Scott: Could’ve fooled me. Threatening to leave me? W.T.F.
Great. Now, he’s pissed.
Me: I’m tired and you’re bugging me.
Scott: No excuse. We’ve made it this far without baseless divorce threats, don’t fucking start now. Take a nap and feel better. I’ll check in later and you’ll fucking get over it.
Me: Stop telling me what to do.
Scott: Stop worrying me then.
And enter guilt.
Me: I’m not taking a nap because I’m not that kind of tired right this second, but I’ve been laying on the couch since I took the girls to school. I’ve seriously done nothing but watch TV. I’m going to do this all week until I go to the doctor. Both of our parents are going to help me, so I can be a lazy mother. Maybe I just need to rest. So, don’t worry. I’m fine. Everything is under control here.
Scott: I love you.
Me: I love you too.
And all is back to being well in our world. I keep my word, being lazier than ever. One of our parents picks the girls up from school. Someone takes Stella to practice when she has it. Lizzy comes over on her lunch breaks. Scott cooks dinner during the week when he’s home. And then, on Friday, I’m finally at the doctor’s office.
I’m relieved because now, she can tell me whatever’s going on and life can get back to normal. Or, she can give me some pills and a referral to a therapist. That works too. I’m sure it’ll be one or the other.
But as I start explaining my symptoms and start rambling about everything that’s been going on the past few weeks, the doctor starts to frown. That’s a bad sign. My stomach starts to feel queasy as she draws some blood and has me pee in a cup to run a few quick tests. I should’ve stayed home. Doctors deliver bad news to me. Why would this be any different?
I squeeze my fingers over and over while I wait for her to return and give me the verdict. Whatever it may be. She’ll refer me to a therapist, probably. It’s going to be something mental. Anxiety can trigger physical symptoms, and I’m convinced that’s what it is. Why I’m having anxiety all of a sudden, I don’t know. But it seems like the most plausible answer to me.
There’s a knock on the door as if I’m going to be in here doing anything other than waiting for the person who is doing the knocking and Dr. Floyd walks in. With a smile. Okay, that’s strange. She was frowning when she left. Maybe things checked out?
“I can ease all of your worries right now, Mrs. Boyd.”
“How do you figure?”
“You’re not crazy; you’re pregnant.”
My heart hammers so fast and loud in my chest, it’s the only thing I hear. The doctor’s mouth is moving and she looks concerned, but I don’t know why. This isn’t possible. I am in fact crazy after all. There is no way in hell I’m pregnant.
“Mrs. Boyd? I need you to calm down. You’re hyperventilating.”
I am?
“Get my husband.”
“Okay, but first—”
Oh, god. This can’t be. It’s not possible. I don’t understand. “I need my husband!” I screech as black blobs cloud my vision. “I need Scott! I need him! I need—”
When I open my eyes, there are four heads looming over me. My body feels weak, but my heart feels like it’s beating strong and hard and fast, like it knows something I don’t. Then, I remember what happened and that I fainted.
“I need my husband,” I whisper.
“We’re calling him now,” Dr. Floyd assures me. “Let me check you over.”
I lie motionlessly on the bed, staring at the ceiling, tears falling freely. This isn’t possible. It’s simply not. I refuse to believe such a thing. I can’t allow it.
I need Scott.