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There’s a knock on the door, and I have to admit, a part of me is hoping it’s the grim reaper, here to put me out of my misery.
Like, he and his sharp scythe aren’t that intimidating.
They’re even kind of friendly looking if you really think about it.
Alas, it’s not him when the door swings open. “Hey there,” my nurse greets, going over to my cup of warm pee and dipping a test strip in it with gloved hands. I look on as she lays it on top of protective plastic across the edge of the sink and waits for the results.
“Everything looks normal,” she says, sounding almost disappointed. “Not pregnant.”
Good. I’m glad. I’d really have to fucking worry if I’d somehow turned up pregnant without even coming close to having sex. Still, she looks like it’s not the best of news, so I make sure I nip that in the bud.
“That’s good.”
She smiles kindly as she heads for the blood pressure cuff. “You two aren’t ready to try?”
I laugh. Am I high on drugs? What in the world is going on here? “What two?”
“You and Jake.” She flashes a knowing, amused grin. “He’s too funny. He was just making jokes out in the hall. You’re a lucky girl.”
I roll my eyes. He’s like a charm explosion all over this place. I, apparently, had my force field engaged beforehand, though.
“We’re not together,” I clarify.
She smiles like she doesn’t believe me. Whatever. I have no reason to try to convince this woman anyway. I’ll likely never see her again. At most, at my next annual appointment.
Thankfully, she moves on too. “Blood pressure is normal. Anything in particular you need to discuss with the doctor today?”
I shake my head. “Just my normal appointment.”
“Okay, great. She’ll be in shortly, then. Okay?”
I nod. Okay, Cheryl.
Laughter rings through the walls of the next room, and my head whips that direction so fast, I almost knock myself right off the top of the table. As it is, the paper makes a horrendously loud noise.
What is it, Comedy Hour in there?
I shake my head and pull my paper gown a little tighter. Still, a cool breeze blows across the bare skin of my vagina and makes me tense up.
He can’t hear me in here, can he? I mean, I can hear them laughing, but they’re being extra loud. There’s no way he can hear normal-volume conversation, right?
For the sake of my sanity, I agree with myself. He can’t hear me, and he definitely can’t see me. It’s just like any other awful trip to the gyno. I’ll just get my pap smeared, my boobs squeezed, and get the hell out of here. We probably won’t even leave at the same time, and by the time I see Jake Brent next, I’ll have had the chance to get some composure back.
A knock at the door startles me once again, but somehow, I find my voice. “Come in.”
The door pushes open, and the doctor steps in with a smile on her face. She’s shaking her head, and somehow, I just know Jake is the one responsible.
“Sorry,” she says with a laugh, her blond ponytail swinging. “We’re just cracking up out there. Cheryl says Jake’s your boyfriend.”
I grimace.
“Actually—”
“He’s a riot.”
I smile so fakely, it’s a miracle my face doesn’t shatter. “Oh yeah.”
Dr. Davenport doesn’t notice. “Anyway, let’s get this over with, shall we?”
I nod. Now that sounds like a splendid idea.
“Okay, just lie back for me. Scoot all the way down to the edge,” she instructs, turning to get her instruments ready.
I do as I’m asked, shimmying my way down the table, and my paper gown crinkles the whole way.
My instinct is to cross my legs, but I know better than that. This is the time to butterfly. Wide and open to the air, I’m to spread my vageen for all to see.
I can only hope, with the way this appointment’s gone so far, that Jake Brent doesn’t open the door and step inside right at this moment.
I shake my head and close my eyes. Why am I making this such a big deal? It’s not, obviously. It’s a coincidence. And Jake’s been friendly and fun. Clearly, everyone else is loving their time with him.
Maybe I just need to lighten up? Think of him without jumping to conclusions or getting all nervous.
I mean, it was great to see him smile so much. He’s got an undeniably great smile. It goes all the way to his blue-green eyes and lights up the room. And the ad was right—it makes the most perfect of wrinkled laugh lines at the sides of his eyes. Clearly, he’s like this all the time. Cutting up and having fun. He’s spent many, many years finding the mirth in life.
“Just relax,” Dr. Davenport instructs, putting gentle pressure on the insides of my knees as they’ve closed right up again. “You’re going to feel the pressure of my fingers, first outside and then in.”
