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“What?” a burly, shirtless guy with a potbelly asks when I knock on his door.
“Sorry,” I say. “Wrong room.”
He mutters something that doesn’t sound English—maybe, German? — and watches me while I walk over to the other side of the triplex.
I stare at him until he goes back in.
I knock again, and the door opens. The chain is on, so I see a bare sliver of suspicious blue eyes and curly red hair.
“What?”
I blink, surprised that she chose the exact same word my German neighbor used. “You were asking about a doctor?”
She eyes me warily. “Are you a doctor?”
I’m prepared for this and present her with my business card. “Greg Hasten. I’m a resident at Dallas Pediatrics.”
Michelle takes the card and reads it.
“I already took it.” The jut of her chin is stubborn.
I’m not sure if she’s talking about the mifepristone or the misoprostol. The first halts the pregnancy’s progress, the second evacuates it. Either way, I get her point—she wants me to know she’s serious and committed.
“Good,” I say, nodding with approval, but then I think better of it. “I mean, not good, I guess, but it’s okay that you’ve taken it. Not that you need my approval.”Shut up, Greg. “How do you feel?”
Michelle closes the door, and for a minute, I think that my nerves and runaway mouth have annoyed her. But then I hear the rattle of the chain coming off. When she opens it again, I get a full view of her room, identical to mine, with the exception of her stuff haphazardly piled all over the place.
“I feel okay so far. Nervous, I guess.”
“That’s normal. What did your doctor tell you to expect?”
Michelle pokes her head out the door and looks both ways. There are a few people—staff, I think—roaming around in the distance, but Michelle waves me into her room anyway. She closes the door behind me. “She said that I’ll have cramping and heavy bleeding. Maybe a low-grade fever. And some other things.”
When I nod, she tilts her head. “You’re in pediatrics, so I can’t imagine you deal with this professionally.”
“No, thank god. I mean, not that I don’t want to deal with these kinds of things. I just mean that—Well. It’s notdealingwith it. I’m happy to. Well, I mean not happy to. No one should have unintended pregnancies. But, it happens. And it’s not your fault. Or—”
I shut my mouth. Michelle’s lips are quirked up in an amused smirk.
I take a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is that I have four older sisters and a medical degree. I did a rotation in Women’s Health and enough second-hand experience in gynecological subjects to know what I’m talking about.”
There. That sounded confident.
Michelle leans against the back of the couch. Despite all my ramblings, she’s relaxed, like maybe that helped. “I bet you saw plenty of tampons in your childhood,” she says wryly.
“You have no idea. Anyway, I’m next door.” I hike my thumb over my shoulder. “Can I give you my number? Not for, like, flirting. Obviously. Just to, you know…check on you?”
At that, she straightens, something passing over her face like resignation or sadness. “I’ll be fine. You didn’t come here to work, and I don’t need any help. I’ll be fine.”
She sounds a lot braver than she did before, so that’s a good sign, right? Maybe she was just nervous because she thought I’d be judgmental.
But still, as she shoos me out her door, and it shuts behind me, I can’t help but think that I should check on her tomorrow, anyway.
Just to be safe.
3
I RESOLVE TO NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN
