“Nice. When did you learn?”
I smirk. She’s dropped her guard, and her excitement to learn more about me after the last few minutes is a good sign. “I started in high school and took more courses in college. It’s been very helpful with my patients. Going to see a gynecologist can be nerve-wracking, as I’m sure you can attest to, and removing the language barrier helps set them at ease. Now, what are you eating, sweetheart?”
She looks back at the menu, but she’s lost in thought. I confirm my choice and set my menu aside. The restaurant is busier than I expect for this time of day. A waitress walks by with a skillet sizzling with fajitas on a tray, and my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and it wasn’t much. My stomach was left twisted in knots over my sudden reunion with Ava after she had left me churning with questions, anxiety, and a dash of fear.
When her text came in, I finally took a breath of fresh air, feeling relief there really was hope for us after all. She’s complex yet rather simple. Earning her trust is at the top of my list. Thinking about my schedule, I try to figure out when I’ll see her again. Mom has a few things coming up, and there are patient files I need to sort through.
I’ll be damned if I don’t learn from my previous mistakes. Becoming a workaholic will not lead me to the life I desire: wife and two point five kids who I can help raise and love. The thought alone causes an ache to form under my breastbone. I’m only getting older, the gap of opportunity to attain my dream becoming smaller each year.
Waiting to start a family comes with benefits but also many risks—risks I see with my patients. Whether Ava becomes the woman I dream of or some other faceless woman does, I don’t want anyone to go through some of the trials I’ve seen.
I’ve borne witness to how cruel life can be with pregnancy.
