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Ryan: You’re still feeling sick, sweetheart?
What? How in the heck does he know?
But then I glance out the doors that lead toward the balcony and spot the culprit—nosy-ass Stella. God. I wouldn’t be surprised if her freaking TikTok followers know about my vomit marathon.
Me: I’m fine. I think I just went a little too hard on Stella’s pancakes.
Ryan: Baby, I know you’re going to be so annoyed when I say this, but I think you need to go to the doctor.
Me: Ryan, I’m fine. We don’t need to be dramatic about this.
Ryan: You’ve been sick for the past few days, Car. This isn’t being dramatic. It’s being cautious.
Me: Are you going to guilt me into going? Is that what’s happening here?
Ryan: That’s exactly what’s happening.
Me: You do realize they’re just going to tell me I have a stomach virus, right?
Ryan: I don’t care. I’d feel better if you saw the doctor today. Please, Carly. Just go. It will take you all of forty minutes, and you’ll be done. And it’ll put my mind at ease.
Me: Wait a minute… Let me guess, you just so happened to have an appointment scheduled for me, huh?
Ryan: I mean, maybe Dr. Lieber has an opening at noon today and I told her receptionist to go ahead and put your name down? That might’ve happened…
Me: RYAN.
Ryan: Just remember, I only did it because I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you.
Me: Also, because you’re a little bit neurotic.
Ryan: That, too. But mostly, because I love you.
When I don’t respond, he sends another message.
Ryan: So…you’ll go?
I mean, do I even have a choice?
Me: Yes. Fine. I’ll go. But only because I love you and I don’t want you to give yourself a heart attack. There’s no way I could handle being a widow and dealing with our parents.
Ryan: LOL. That’s my girl. Call me after and let me know how it goes?
I roll my eyes.
Me: Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you know.
Ryan: Love you, baby. P.S. I know you’re rolling your eyes at me.
I roll my eyes again.
Me: Whatever. And love you too, you lunatic.
Ryan: ;)
Once I lock my screen, I head out to the balcony to let Stella know she’s the brand-new recipient of a subway ride and a three-block walk to the doctor.
“Mom, we’re leaving in an hour. So, fit in all the making out now.”
“Leaving?” She looks at me with a tilt of her head. “Where are we going?”
“To the flipping doctor because you just had to text Ryan and let him know I puked,” I retort. “Also, you’re buying me lunch after.”
“And why doesn’t Sal have to go?” she asks, putting a hand to her hip.
“Because Sal knows when to keep his mouth shut.”
Sal chuckles. “This is exactly why you’re my favorite kid.”
I shake my head and laugh. He’s always saying shit like that. Most times, though, he makes sure he says it in front of his actual kid.
Although, I can’t deny I think it’s hilarious.
Best stepdad and soon-to-be father-in-law a girl could ask for.
Go ahead and add that to the long list of things I never thought I’d ever think in my whole life.
Thanks to my mom recording every second of our trip to Dr. Lieber’s office, we arrived ten minutes late. The receptionist and nurse were none too pleased, but Dr. Lieber didn’t appear to mind. She was friendly when she stepped into my exam room, and once I answered what felt like a billion questions, she had the nurse draw some blood.
All this for a stupid stomach virus.
So dumb.
“How are you feeling, sweetie?” my mom asks from the seat beside the exam table I’m currently sitting on, and I sigh as I adjust the annoying paper gown the nurse made me put on when I got here, trying to make sure the damn thing keeps my bare ass covered.
“Mom, I appreciate your concern, but for the fiftieth time today, I’m fine,” I retort. “The only reason I even came to this appointment was so that Ryan didn’t give himself a stroke worrying about me.”
“I’m so lucky to have such an amazing stepson,” she says with a big ole, proud-as-hell smile. “And just think, soon, he’s going to be my son-in-law.”
I almost tell her she has to stop saying stuff like that in public or else we’re going to end up on Maury Povich, but Dr. Lieber’s presence stepping back into the room forces me to keep my mouth shut.
“Well, Carly, your blood work came back, and everything looks great.”
“Perfect,” I respond, and I start to get off the exam table. “I knew there wasn’t—”
“But there is one thing.”
I pause my momentum, one butt cheek still on the table, and look at her with a quirk in my brow. But before I can even ask what she means, my mom chimes in.
