The next morning, I wake up when I hear Mom getting ready for work. I don’t have to get up, so I snuggle under the covers and flick through Youtube videos on my phone, looking for something relaxing to watch.

Mom taps on my door and pokes her head in.

“How you feeling today? You get any sleep last night?”

“I feel great, Mom!” I give her a big smile. “I slept really well, which is strange, considering how much I slept yesterday.”

“Not so strange.” She comes in, sits next to me and strokes my head. “You haven’t been sleeping well for quite a while now. Your body needs the rest.”

Dog appears silently and jumps up on my bed. He tries to climb into Mom’s lap, but she gently pushes him off, saying, “Keep your fur off my clean uniform, thanks.”

Not discouraged, the cat takes the opportunity to walk up my stomach to my chest, where he attempts to drape himself over my boobs. Somehow, though, he slides off, then keeps sliding until he falls right off the bed.

We wait for a moment, but when he doesn’t reappear, I peek over the edge of the bed to look for him.

“He’s laying where he fell,” I report to Mom. “He’s spread eagled, eyes closed, apparently resigned to his new life as a floor-cat.” We both laugh.

“How about you, Mom? How’d you sleep?“ I watch her face closely. Yep, she’s different this morning. Her good mood from last night has held over to today. She seems lighter, happier.

She hasn’t come into my room in the morning like this since Dad died.

Please God, I find myself thinking. Please, God, let my mother’s mourning be over. Let her have peace and be happy again now.

“I slept well too. Better than I have in years, I think.” She smiles.

I smile back. “Awesome!” She squeezes my hand. “You know what though? I feel kind of guilty. Maybe I should get dressed and go in to work, since I’m not sick anymore.”

Mom makes a comically shocked face. “What? You’ve worked your butt off for Delcroft. I’m sure your overtime alone adds up to at least eight hours. I think you should rest, relax and take your time getting ready for your big date tonight.” She smiles. “The boss himself said it’s okay. So don’t give it another thought. You deserve it.”

I nod. “Yeah. Okay.” She’s right. I do deserve it!

“You’ll be gone when I get home, so have fun tonight!” She gives me a hug and kiss and takes off, humming.

* * *

After Mom leaves, I laze around watching Youtube videos until almost ten o’clock. I get up and have something to eat, and then decide to treat myself to a movie. I scroll through Netflix and decide on Tom Cruise’s Edge of Tomorrow. True to its Live-Die-Repeat tagline, it’s like a futuristic, thriller-spy-suspense-action-adventure version of that old Groundhog day flick with Bill Murray. Plus, it has an older-man-younger-woman romance subplot that resonates with me right now. What a great way to spend a morning. I barely remember the last time I watched a movie.

By lunchtime, I’m mulling over getting the rest of my cleaning done when I get a text notification.

It’s Flora.

Flora: Pssst, hi.

Me: Hi.

Flora: How’s your head?

Me: Much better today! I slept almost all day yesterday, then all night last night. :P

Flora: What? You trying to beat Rumplestiltskin’s record or something?

Me: Rumplestiltskin?

Flora: Yeah. You know, the guy who slept his life away.

Me: Um…no. I think that was Ebenezer Scrooge?

Flora: No, Scrooge is the Ghost of Christmas guy…I think.

Me: Oh right. LOL!

A couple minutes go by, then:

Flora: I looked it up. Rip Van Winkle!!! What a weird fucking story! Anyway, glad you feel better Jen.

I laugh. It’s amazing the tangents my conversations with Flora take sometimes. But it’s all good, since it’s keeping her from asking too many questions about what I did yesterday.

Me: Thanks. I feel like a million bucks actually.

Flora: Well sheeee-it, girl! Maybe you should get your butt outta bed and come to work then!

Me: Ow, I think I feel my headache coming back. *grin*

Flora: Yah, that’s what I figured. LOL! Too bad though. You’re missing out on something strange.

Me: ?

Flora: I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s your boyfriend, I mean, boss. He’s in a fantastic mood!

My heart stops and then races in my chest. I wonder if that’s because of me…?

Me: He is?

Flora: It’s unreal, Jenny! He came in for an early meeting, and he actually joked around with me! And when I brought the meeting agenda into the conference room for him…he was singing under his breath! Then he thanked me for doing such a great job around here!

Oh geez!

Me: Wow, what? You sure it’s Blake and not an impostor?

Flora: I nearly died of shock, haha. I’m almost wondering if it’s because of you.

Oh shit. Quickly, I wrack my brain trying to remember if I let something slip yesterday. But, no I didn’t…so how could she know?

Me: Um…me? How could it be me, I’m not even there?

Flora: That’s what I mean! You’ve called in sick exactly once, and it’s the one day Blake actually seems happy. Coincidence? YOU DECIDE!

I get warm, tingly feeling, knowing that Blake probably is in a good mood because of me. But that is quickly followed by wondering just how much Flora knows…or can guess. She’s smart, she could be messing with me.

As much as I wish I could tell her, I can’t. It’s too early anyway.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some quiet happiness. Woo-hoo! I squirm delightedly in my bed, thinking about Blake thinking about me.

Playing it cool for now, I text her back:

ME: Thhhpppppttt… I fart in your general direction!

Flora: LMAO

Me: K, get back to work now, you’re starting to piss me off. ;)

Flora: Alright, alright. Enjoy the rest of your day off, Rip. See ya tomorrow.

I practically spring out of bed, happy as hell. Happy? I was happy before, but now I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to have dinner with Blake after my doctor’s appointment.

Motivated now, I bliss my way through all my cleaning and laundry, making everything spic and span and orderly. Nothing brings me down, not the clumps of cat hair that somehow end up on the floor behind my toilet, or even scrubbing down my shower walls.

The whole time, visions of those hot, steamy kisses with Blake dance through my head.

I’m so energized, I even clean and organize the kitchen before I’m done. The rest of the day passes quickly and before I know it, it’s time to get ready for my doctor’s appointment, soon to be followed by…dinner with Blake!

I can’t keep the smile off my face.

* * *

Once I’m at the doctors office, though, my smile fades away. I was thinking the appointment won’t be more than an hour but it’s almost six thirty before I get out of there.

What I thought was going to be a couple questions about my headaches and a short exam, ends up turning into a new patient intake physical, complete with full history, pap smear, blood work, everything.

When the lady at the desk informs me of what’s in store and hands me a clipboard, thick with forms to fill out, I balk.

First, this is all going to be very expensive. So I double-check with them to make sure that the billing for this visit will not be in my name.

The secretary confirms that Blake Cameron is paying for everything. She turns her computer monitor to show me that it’s his name and information in the BILL TO field on her screen.

The lady’s giving me the stink-eye now, so I take the clipboard to a chair in the waiting area. I start filling out the forms but I’m silently stewing.

Okay, fine. Blake knows all about this expense and it’s not like I’m spending his money by accident or something.

Problem is, I didn’t agree to a full physical exam. I didn’t agree to switch doctors. Even though it’s a far better clinic than the one my mom and I usually go to, something about not being consulted about whether I want to change doctors rankles.

The presumption of it, I guess. It’s just…annoying.

Is he trying to exert control already? Trying to get me used to him making the decisions? It’s fine for him to do that at work, but this isn’t work.

So annoying! Just who does he think he is?

I stop writing, pen poised over the form.

Why should I put up with that? Yes I want a good man and a family. But I’m also a modern woman, and I need to be consulted in matters that concern me. Maybe he doesn’t mean to patronize me but I’m not a doormat to be told what to do.

If I don’t nip this in the bud now, how can I expect things to go later on, down the road?

I tap the pen on the paper, thinking.

I’m trying to understand the consequences of allowing this. Will I be obligated to him? For what? Would it be setting a precedent or something?

I don’t understand what, or why he’d want that.

I resume the tedious form-filling, thinking hard about this. I want to understand what it means, and also, my own reaction to it, before I meet up with Blake later.

If I can.

I’m also feeling a tad bit guilty. What right do I have to cost Blake all this money? What value have I given him?

And what does he expect in return?

I don’t have to go through with this. But if I don’t, then I’m rejecting him, in a way.

I suppose it depends on what his real motivation is. If it’s control, then I’m not comfortable with that and I need to make that clear to him.

If his real motivation is to provide, like Mom was talking about, then it’d be stupid and ungrateful of me not to allow him to do that.

With some misgivings, I finish the forms and hand them in. Since I’m the last patient of the day, I’m directed into the doctor’s office right away.

As the doc asks me questions and makes notes, I answer by rote, my mind still obsessing over this new question.

Control? Or provide? Which is it?

Could it be both?

Controlling me by making me change doctors? No, that’s just stupid.

I go back to the idea of obligation. Obligation for what? Sex? He can get that anywhere.

Besides, who’s kidding who? I’m already half in love with him, and highly looking forward to having sex with him, frankly.

Which he’s probably well aware of.

What I’ve seen of him so far shows that he’s a proper and honorable man. So why would he be doing this for less than proper and honorable reasons?

The doctor directs me to an exam room where I change into the paper gown and wait, thinking.

The physical exam begins. I endure the poking and prodding, answering more questions while I shiver half-naked in the stupid gown.

Last night, Blake thanked me for letting him do this for me.

He thanked me. And today, Flora said he was in an incredibly good mood. I still think––hope––that it’s because of me.

But…why would a guy want to spend so much money on a girl he isn’t even officially dating yet?

Mom’s right. He cares for me. He must, to be doing this.

And maybe, he does need to take care of me, too. So that he can, well, ‘woo’ me, but also––and maybe more importantly––so that he can feel like a man.

Maybe care-taking and being a hero gives men a boost of testosterone too. Maybe it feeds that whole hero complex-thing that certain men seem to have.

And if I look at it that way, it makes me feel really good. Cherished. Wanted.

Protected.

What a feeling! As if, I have nothing to worry about anymore. As if, everything is taken care of.

As if everything’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

The last time I felt this way, I was a child. And maybe that’s partly what’s bothering me.

I’m not a child anymore.

I’m afraid this is too good to be true.

And what are we always told about anything that seems too good to be true?

When we’re done, the doc goes away while I get dressed, still swinging between exhilaration and anxiety. Not a good state to be in. I struggle to settle the worry that’s gnawing away in my chest.

The physician returns to consult with me about his findings. “You’re as healthy as a horse,” he says. “The concern most people have about headaches are that they may be caused by a neoplasm. That is, a tumour, either benign or cancerous. First, allow me to assure you that brain tumours are very rare, and that when they do occur, the vast majority are benign. Which is not to say that they can’t cause serious problems including disability or death.”

I’m nodding, having heard all this before. He continues, reciting statistics about the rarity of tumours vs. migraines and the usual treatment options.

“…so, in conclusion, your history and the way your headaches present, tells me that there is no cause for concern. Now, we can schedule further testing if you like, however, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

Blah blah, yeah yeah. I know they’re just migraines.

This whole thing was a waste of time.

As I leave the medical center, my thoughts turn to my father. He was always saying “don’t worry so much, just do the best you can and then step back”…that sort of thing.

Briefly, I wish he was still here now, to tell me what to do. Then I realize that he’d be too smart to do that anyway.

He’d give me all the facts and advice he could…and then step back and let me figure it out for myself.

And for the first time since he passed, his memory evokes something other than an overwhelming sense of loss and grief. I feel a wave of gratitude that I had his love and guidance for as long as I did.

And with that, I realize that I’m still tired, stressed and over-thinking this whole thing. I make myself stop.

I’m seeing Blake in a few minutes.

I’ll just talk to him about it like an adult when I get there, that’s all.