I let him kiss me this morning.
It was pretty innocent as kisses go, but still. It must be the fever. My defenses are down. That’s all. When I get some meds and feel better, I’ll be able to fortify the walls.
Luc clicks the pen in his hand, bringing me back to the present. “Okay, Emmett. What’s your full name and birthday?”
I turn my attention to the clipboard in my lap and start filling it in. Name. Date of birth. Address. Insurance information. Reason for coming in today. Medical history. I breeze through the questions until I don’t.
Are you pregnant or breastfeeding?
No. No. And no. I mark an X over the no so hard, I almost tear the paper.
Have you ever been pregnant? If so, how many live births have you had?
I stare at the page until it blurs. I don’t know if I can write it down and hold it together. How do you write0in the place where there should be a child?
Without warning, I’m blinking back tears, unable to move. Luc’s questions for Emmett are no more than static. My head throbs. My throat aches. But it’s nothing compared to the crushing in my heart.
“Hey.” Luc is leaning past Emmett, his hand on my knee. “Everything okay?”
I swipe my knuckles across my eyes, nod, and flip the page. Why do I even need to answer those questions? I’m here for a fucking sore throat.
I clear my throat and try to get a grip, moving onto questions about my prescriptions. I’m signing the bottom of the second page when Emmett snort-laughs beside me.
“No?” Luc asks. “You don’t have hemorrhoids today? Are you sure?”
My eyes whip to the two of them. Emmett is nearly doubled over in his seat, laughing, and Luc is frowning with mock seriousness.
“N-No,” Emmett stammers in near hysterics.
“Hmm. What about flatulence? Are you flatulent?” Luc asks, pretending to check the form.
“Wh-what does that mean?”
“Gassy,” Luc says, completely straight-faced. “Are you having excess gas?”
Like any eight-year-old boy, Emmett nearly comes apart at the seams. Sick or not, Emmett is a big fan of fart jokes.
I raise a brow at the two of them, but I do it fighting a smile. “Behave.”
Luc turns his clinical frown to me. “What about you, Miss…” He pretends to glance at my form. “Miss Delacroix, which are you suffering from today? Constipation or diarrhea?”
Emmett is in danger of falling out of his chair.
I roll my eyes. “Are you finished with that?”
Luc unleashes The Dimples and hands me the clipboard. “Yes. You just need to sign the guardian parts.”
I sign the forms, trying not to think too much about what I’m doing and why. Then I return the clipboards to the desk. A nurse opens the interior door and calls one of the other patients.
“How much longer?” Emmett says, now fully recovered from his fits of hilarity.
I look from Emmett to the other guy in the waiting room and back to Emmett. “There’s still somebody ahead of us, buddy. That should be pretty obvious.”
Emmett pulls a face. “I’m bored.”
Of course, you are,I want to say.You’ve been without entertainment for thirty seconds.But somehow, I manage to keep this snippy comment to myself.
“Here, buddy,” Luc says, reaching into his pocket. “Want to play Smash Road?”
