Page 28 of Everything But Mine

The answer echoes, undeniable now. Six. Two. Nine. But still, I can’t make myself say it.

CHAPTER NINE

AMANDA

The check-in desk sits straight ahead, a barrier of polite smiles asking for insurance cards. To my left, nurses open a door deeper into the clinic, guiding people in and out of treatment rooms. The scratch of crayons and the squeak of sneakers press at the edges of my thoughts. To my right, the entry door swings open and shut, letting in bursts of chill air. Two women take turns chasing their kids, who bolt for freedom every time it opens. I suppose, in a couple of years, that’ll be me, running after one of my own. Alone. The way they laugh makes it look easy, but my chest still caves.

I would have been fine doing this on my own, but when I mentioned to Eric I had an appointment for the pregnancy he insisted he’d be here. Now, while I wait here—expecting him—the thought of doing it alone feels heavier. The closer it gets to my appointment time, the more the air seems to thicken. My knee bounces, and I unlock my phone, scrolling over our text messages again.

Eric

I ended up making an appointment for myself. Just waiting for the doctor. He’s running a few minutes behind.

Eric

I’ll be done on time. I promise.

I stare at the thumbs up I sent. Maybe that was bitchy. I wasn’t annoyed when I responded, but I am now. I’ve been staying with him for a bit over a week, and I kind of don’t want to leave—I also can’t until I know when I’m due.

The door to my left swings open, and Eric steps out. His frame fills the doorway, and the door hasn’t even clicked shut before he’s pulling out his phone. Mine buzzes. He must’ve heard it, too, because his eyes flick toward me with a knowing glint. Like a switch, his face breaks into a grin the second he sees me. That easy, familiar smile. He strides toward me, his steps confident, purposeful.

He stops in front of me. We lock eyes, that strange magnetic pull we never talk about buzzing between us. His work blazer stretches across his shoulders, and his shirt, light and slightly wrinkled, clings just enough that I can make out the faint shadows of his chest tattoo. That ink is etched into my memory, the feel of my fingers tracing the design a sensation I can’t shake.

He lightly brushes his lips against my cheek unexpectedly. His breath is warm, and my nose bumps his as I instinctively tilt up, trying to meet his eyes. But he’s already gone, slouched into the stiff plastic seat next to mine. His arm drapes over the back of my chair, his thigh slightly pressed against mine. Usually, I’d make some sarcastic remark about manspreading. Today, I don’t.

I knew this would happen. Boundaries keep us sane and safe from each other. Val’s voice drifts into my head. You have to be honest with yourself. Why did you go to Eric and no one else, Mandy? I shake the thought away.

“Hey,” Eric says. His voice is soft, carrying a gentleness I’m not used to.

I swallow. Staring into his eyes, my annoyance from earlier fizzles out. “Hey,” I echo, my chest tightening.

He shifts, and the contact between his arm and my shoulder sends a shock through me—electric, charged, and complicated. Over in the corner, there’s a woman flipping through a tattered parenting magazine, and a toddler with a juice-stained mouth at her feet. The whole place smells like antiseptic and stale coffee. The silence between us stretches, thick and stubborn.

“You okay?” he asks, low. His gaze searches mine, trailing my features.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s just a check-up.” More denial, sprinkled like salt and pepper.

His brows knit, like he’s about to call me on it, but a nurse says my name. I jolt to my feet, and Eric’s arm slides away. I expect the warmth to vanish with it, but it doesn’t. His hand finds my elbow, steadying me. My stupid, stupid heart that never learns likes the gesture way too much. We fall into step together, his hand moving to the small of my back. Don’t read into it, Amanda. I focus on the sterile floor tiles, the hum of fluorescent lights.

I should tell him thanks, but no thanks. I can handle this on my own.

But I don’t. And he just follows me into a standard examination room. Posters line the walls, reminding patients to get their flu shots or practice safe sex. One curls at the corner of a pregnant lady cradling her belly, the text under her reading, Take your prenatal vitamins. Take your baby seriously.

The nurse confirms my name, date of birth, and reason for the visit before sending me off to pee in the cup of shame.

“Dr. Matthews is working with a medical student. Is it okay if she comes in?”

I nod. I’m a teacher. Students can learn from me any day. Even from this disastrous predicament I’m in.

When I return after peeing in the cup, Eric awkwardly sits on a plastic chair next to the desktop, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s too big for the cramped space. The stiff fabric of his clothing brushes against the chair arms every time he moves.

A soft knock at the door interrupts the thick silence. A young woman in scrubs enters, followed by my doctor in a white coat. The student—likely mid-twenties—has a name tag that reads Lina, and she offers a warm but rehearsed smile. The attending physician nods as she scans my chart.

“Good morning, Amanda. I’m Dr. Matthews, and this is Lina, one of our medical students. We’re just going to go through a few things today,” she explains as she logs onto the computer. “We’ll confirm the pregnancy and check how you’re doing overall.”

Confirm. Like it’s still hypothetical. I nod tightly, my hands clasped in my lap. Eric clears his throat but says nothing.

“Before we begin,” Lina starts, her eyes flicking between us, “is it okay for us to discuss your medical information in front of your partner?”