She starts to gather random things throughout the room and I blink, watching her for a moment before the denial finally turns into dread.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me it’s impossible?”
She grimaces. “Nothing’s impossible. Just because it shouldn’t happen doesn’t mean it can’t.”
“Oh.” I sit in the chair that feels like it was placed for precisely this moment.
Now, Dr. Love looks upset. “I thought that was explained to you when you signed up?”
“It might have been… I might… I might not have been paying enough attention?”
She doesn’t scold me, she just pauses to squeeze my hand and give me a sweet smile. “We’ll get this sorted out. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
I do, but I’m not going to argue with her.
“So… Do I pee in a cup?”
She chuckles and points toward the same tube we get in for our physicals. “I didn’t think Earth medicine had enough time to imprint on you.”
“Some things stick a little better than others.”
“No fluids needed—well, except sweat.”
The tube opens for me and once I’m inside, it’s business as usual. The hum, the slight pulse, the soft scent on the air, and then, it’s done.
I’m almost afraid to step out.
But delaying what already feels inevitable is foolish… and I like tothinkI’m not a fool.
“Well, looks like you were right to get checked,” Dr. Love says when the tube closes behind me.
“I’m pregnant?”
She nods and taps some other things into the computer. “Do you want to know what they are?”
I already know, but, “Yes.”
“The data just confirmed they’re Opodean.”
She keeps saying “they” not “it”. I don’t remember half of what Kita told me about her family to even know how many kids—or eggs or whatever—opodeans have at any given time.
“How many?”
“I’m not sure, it’s very early. The data is giving me an estimate of a few weeks, not more.” She makes a few more notes. “Do you want to make a decision now? Or do you want some time to figure it out?”
I shake my head, “I’m not ready to be a mom.”
Should I tell Sirin? I probably should, but…
“Take a deep breath.” Dr. Love places her hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to be okay.”
I know. Logically, I know. But I still want to crawl into a corner and disappear.
“Let’s get you taken care of.” She presses a few more keys on the computer and a bottle of pills spits out of a dispenser in the walls.
She double checks them and then turns to me, but she doesn’t hand them over. “Go home. Get comfy and after you’ve taken them, just relax. They’re going to make you groggy and you’ll probably have some cramping. If you have a bath tub, I’d recommend spending time in there. Let the hot water do half the work, okay?”
I don’t, but I nod anyway.
