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“Oh, Claire. Of course I will. I was planning on bullying my way into this as soon as you tripped your way in here.”
I sigh into her hair, my shoulders dropping just a bit, some of that tension easing. “You’re the very best best friend. I’m so lucky to have you.”
“You are incredibly lucky to have me. I could have let you hang out with the cool kids in school by yourself, and then where would you be? Still cool, but Charlee-less.”
I bark out a laugh. “I love you so much.”
She gives me a squeeze. “I love you too, Claire Bear.”
“And who did you bring with you today, Claire?” Dr. Tam smiles at the two of us as she closes the door behind her. I gotta hand it to her, for a woman who’s about to dish out bad news, she still looks utterly positive.
“This is my best friend Charlee,” I tell her, giving her a smile, as shaky as it is.
“Ah. Nice to meet you, Charlee. You two seem very close.”
Charlee squeezes my hand. She’s been my partner in crime for most of my life. I can’t remember before her and I like it that way. We’ve been through everything together, which is why I want her by my side right now.
“We’ve known each other for almost twenty years. She’s more than my best friend. She’s my sister.”
Charlee’s bottom lip does a slight wobble. “Don’t you dare,” she whisper-yells at me, dabbing the corners of her eyes. “I spent two hours last night learning this smoky eye technique, and redid it three times this morning to get it to look this fabulous. If you make me cry, I will kill you.”
Grinning, I lean forward, resting my forehead on hers. Charlee doesn’t need an ounce of makeup, and doesn’t normally wear much, but recently she’s been watching all these tutorials and coming to work looking like a straight-up queen.
Waiting for your stupid brother to make a move, she muttered to me last week when I made a comment about her pretty makeup.
“It’s lovely to have friends that are more like family,” Dr. Tam comments, interrupting our lovefest. “Can I assume that means you’re okay with Charlee hearing the news I have to share with you today?”
The news. So there is news. I knew it. Oh, shit. Crap. My stomach clenches like a fist when another wave of that damn nausea hits.
“Yes,” I answer after a long pause. “I want Charlee here with me.”
Dr. Tam nods. She sucks in a breath and leans back in her chair studying me quietly for a moment. “Well, Claire. Let’s get right to it, shall we? Why don’t I give you the first bit, which is I think what you’re most anxious about. Hopefully, that’ll help settle your nerves.”
Okay, this sounds hopeful. Maybe I was freaking out about nothing.
“I reviewed your test results from your pelvic exam and your blood work, and there is absolutely nothing about it that rings any alarm bells in terms of ovarian cancer. I have no concerns whatsoever. That being said, you might consider genetic testing down the road. You can check if you have the BRCA1 or BRCA2 mutation, which would increase your likelihood of contracting ovarian cancer later in life. However, I’d hold off on that for now.”
It takes a full minute for my brain to register what she’s saying. And when it does, my entire body folds forward with relief, a whoosh of air bursting from my lips. “I don’t have cancer? I don’t have cancer!”
Charlee throws her arms around me. “I told you, you’re such a hypochondriac!”
I wipe the tears that are streaming freely from my eyes. My cheeks hurt. I’m too happy to feel stupid about how freaked out I was. “Thank you,” I say to Dr. Tam.
“I’m so glad I could deliver that news to you.” She clears her throat and stacks her shoulders, expression turning serious. “Now, onto the next piece…” Pursing her lips to the side, she hums to herself while she scrolls through her tablet. I hear her murmur the name of a few medications, I think, before she finally looks up again. “When was your last cycle day one?”
I blink up at her. “Pardon?”
“The first day of your last period.”
“Um…” My nose scrunches as I try to string the dates together. “It was…” My thought process derails when Charlee stiffens beside me. My gaze slides sideways, noting the way she’s staring at my stomach. Oh, fuck. “It was a while ago,” I whisper. “Longer than…longer than normal.” Like, mid-June. And it’s August 7th. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember,” I lie, for what purpose, I’m not sure.
“You were in here at the end of June with strep throat. We gave you rifampin because you have an allergy to penicillin, correct?”
My head goes up and down slowly.
The doctor studies me for what feels like ten entire minutes, like she’s trying to read me, figure out what the hell’s going on in my head. I’m not sure even I know what’s going on in there. I feel a little lost.
“Rifampin has been known to lower the effectiveness of oral contraceptives.”
