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I unlock the car, slip into the driver’s seat and crank the engine. While the cab warms, I recall Dr. Prince’s words.“This is about progress. About letting go of what doesn’t serve you and making room for what you want in your life.”
To let go of my mother and all the subliminal pain she inflicted over the years, I need to rehash the memories that hold me prisoner. The memories that diminish and suffocate. The memories that make me feel less than worthy. That makes me feel undeserving. That hinder me from moving forward, from growing.
I need to let her go so I can let Shelly in fully. Let her shine her love and light on all the dark places. Cast away the demons and shadows. Replace the hurt with affection and passion. Help me heal and grow and move forward.
And if I am lucky enough, Shelly will say yes. When I ask her to move in, she will agree with my favorite smile and a resounding yes.
FIVE
SHELLY
ThinkI’m going to be sick.
I pause at the entrance of the doctor’s office. Brace my hand on the wall. Take a deep, cleansing breath. Then another. Close my eyes and allow the cool air to settle the chaos in my stomach. After a third deep breath, the nausea subsides. A little. Enough for me to stand straighter and trudge forward.
Do all medical facilities use the same lemon-scented bleach?
Ugh. This is going to be a long,however many months I have leftpregnancy.
At least I haven’t thrown up since the day at the hospital. Puking is the worst. The. Worst. Need someone to hold your hair while you hurl into the porcelain throne? I amnotthe gal to ask. Don’t care how tight we are, don’t care how many years we have known each other, if you bow to the porcelain throne, I will run the other direction.
I check in at the reception desk and am handed several pages on a clipboard with a pen.
When I called to set the appointment with my regular gynecologist—who also specializes in obstetrics, lucky me—the woman on the phone told me new paperwork is necessary. Standard form updates plus new documents for the pregnancy appointments and a more thorough family history.
I’d rather fill out new paperwork than have to visit a new doctor.
Halfway down the first page, the door to the office opens and Devlyn walks in. The remaining bit of my nausea vanishes at the sight of him.
Slipping off his sunglasses, our gazes lock. A brilliant smile lights his face as he walks in my direction. Warmth embraces me in an everlasting hug. He takes the seat next to mine. Curls his fingers around my elbow, leans in and presses his lips to mine.
Damn, I will never tire of him. Not the smile he reserves only for me. Not his gaze that heats my blood. Nor the simple yet potent way he caresses my skin with his masterful hands.
Not sure if I can pinpoint what it is about Devlyn that calls to my soul, but he quiets the noise. Grants a sense of peace I didn’t know existed until him. Bestows me with love I hoped was possible, but never experienced until he entered my world. And he just makes me feel… alive.
“Am I late?”
I shake my head as I work to calm my heart. “No. I got here a few minutes early to fill out paperwork.” I hold up the clipboard. “Should finish before they call us back.”
“Need help?”
“Maybe with health questions when I get to the family history section.” He nods, then sits back and wraps an arm around my shoulders. His thumb paints small circles on my upper arm, distracting me from my task.
Devlyn is my favorite distraction.
I trudge through most of the paperwork on my own. When I reach the family history page, Devlyn chimes in with what he knows about his family. High blood pressure on his father’s side. Ovarian cancer on his mother’s side. For the most part, my family history is boring. Grandma Reed had diabetes, but not until later in life. Other than that, our slate is pretty clean.
“Shelly,” a female voice calls out. I peer up from the clipboard to see a nurse at the doorway leading to the patient rooms. “Come on back.” Devlyn and I rise from the seats and walk toward the nurse hand in hand. She steps aside to let us pass, then closes the door behind us. “Hi Shelly, I’m Ramona. Don’t think we’ve met yet.” She extends her hand to me, then Devlyn. Next, she hands me a small plastic cup with a sealed lid. “We need to collect a sample before heading back.”
This part of the visit isn’t new.
I take the cup from Ramona, ask Devlyn to hold my purse, then enter the restroom to the right. Once the cup is full and the lid secured, I set the sample in the pass-through box in the room, wash up and exit.
Outside the restroom, Ramona has me step on a scale, measuring my weight and height. After noting the numbers in my chart, she walks us to the patient room and closes the door behind us. Paper crinkling echoes in the room as I sit on the exam table. Devlyn parks himself in the extra seat off to the side while Ramona sits on a wheeled stool after washing her hands.
“How has your health been since your last visit, Shelly?” Ramona asks as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my bicep.
“Good. No changes. Except the obvious,” I say on a nervous laugh.
