by Aja Cole
She sighs loudly. “I know. For tonight, let’s just pretend no one else exists though, okay? Now pick a movie but I refuse to watch any romantic comedies or horror movies.”
“How are your least liked genres at such extremes?”
“Dunno, but I wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to watch The Fast & The Furious.”
Plopping on the couch with our plates and beers, we spend the next two hours eating and enjoying the time together that we haven’t had in far too long.
It’s good to be back home.
“Hey, I’m gonna head over to Lira’s. She wants to talk, probably stay the night there. You all good here?”
I look up from where I’m stretched out on the couch, reading over the papers I got from Jenna earlier.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Good luck.”
My sister makes a face, crossing her eyes. “Thanks, I’m sure I’ll need it.” She disappears soon after and I flop back onto the cushions, setting the packet aside to stare at the ceiling fan.
So when you’re alone, call me back...and I’ll pick up where I left off.
I close my eyes, mouth suddenly dry.
There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t open this can of worms. Because that’s exactly what it is. Once I open it, there’s no scooping it back in or ignoring it or trying to leave what happened in California in California. I’m not even going to lie to myself that way, because I know damned well that my willpower is simply not strong enough to keep him out if I let him in.
I knew it when I was there, and I’m just as sure of that with miles separating us.
And the truth is...he’s already in. With just those few days together, he gave me more than my husband gave me the past year of our marriage and it’s a sobering realization because I can’t have him.
So what the hell do I do?
Enjoy whatever I can get until we can’t ignore reality anymore?
Or the choice that’s most likely the smart one, leaving things where they’re at and not courting the inevitable pain I’ll feel when it has to end.
I wish I could say that I would be able to appreciate that we had something instead of nothing, but if that were true, I wouldn’t be sitting here wanting more than I know I can have.
On the other hand...it’s just a little phone sex, right?
Sure, Jan.
You know what, clearly my decision making when it comes to guys is a little clouded. There’s no way that I can make this decision on my own because I’m clearly biased.
This is a job for the coin-toss since I’m not willing to tell my friends or my siblings right now about this particular dilemma.
Snatching a quarter from the little dish on the table, I decide on my odds.
“Alright, best two out of three. Heads for yes, tails for no.”
I talk to the air since clearly there’s no one around to hear me.
Flipping the coin, I wait for it to land on the table and peer at it with one eye open.
Tails.
Okay, that’s totally not disappointment I feel.
Two more left.
I flip.
Wait.
Squint.
Heads.
The suspense is making my heart pound.
One more left, and it’s a tiebreaker.
I remind myself that whatever the coin says goes, no negotiations or changing my mind.
Flip.
Wait.
Look.
Tails.
Shit.
I throw an arm over my face, deflated.
This is for the best.
It’s not as if I really know Jackson or who he is. I don’t even know the man’s last name or what he does for a living. Sure, we had good sex but that’s not everything and we clearly wouldn’t last past our physical chemistry.
That’s why you wanted to tell him about your job first, hm?
Clearly a fluke. It was just because he was the most recent person I’d connected with, and I have a tendency to latch onto feelings.
Yeah…this is for the best.
Maybe if I repeat it enough times, I’ll believe it.
15
I’m antsy, energy prickling just under my skin with nowhere to go.
There are two things I like when I feel this way…sex and dance. But one of those is out of the question because the thought of picking up a stranger or letting anyone touch me that’s not Jackson is repulsive.
I know the feeling will fade because there’s just no way that a few days with the guy has ruined me for sex forever, but right now…it sure as fuck seems that way.
Hefting my dance bag on my shoulder, I peek into the studio, trying to be incognito and see who’s around.
Samira happens to be looking at the doorway in the mirror as I do, and she whirls around, coming down off relevé to sprint-slide towards me, throwing every bit of her 100 pound frame into grabbing me in a tight hug.
“Oh my god, I didn’t know you were back!”
I drop my duffle and hug her back, her big, bouncy curls squashed against my cheek. “I just got in a few days ago.”
There are a few other dancers on the other end of the studio and when they notice me too, the next few minutes are full of greetings and hugs and a feeling of warmth and comfort that I’ve missed.
“If you feel up to it, we’re about to go over a new combo.” Jalee ties her dance shoes while she sits on the floor, eyes sparkling. “It’s been a minute since you’ve danced with us, it’s okay if you need to warm up.”
“Nah, I’m down. Let’s see if I’ve lost any rhythm.”
Tully moves in front and starts to go over the steps, counting off beats. We follow and feel it out before we turn on music. In no time, it feels like I never left and I’m ready for the real thing, light sweat misting my skin.
A bass heavy, even sexier version of DVSN’s “Too Deep” starts to play and I let the music slide through me, free-styling until Tully’s hand goes up to count off the choreo.
Hip pop, body roll, angle, snap.
Floor, pop down, head, leg kick, over.
Push back, shimmy, hit it.
Over the rest of the song, we move through the steps, together but each in our own little worlds, the music taking over to ease the restlessness I’ve been feeling.
Dancing settles me, and dancing with these girls again is like fitting a piece of me back in.
It was never the same in California. It was nice, and the other dancers were great and cool, but it wasn’t my studio. They weren’t my girls.
Tully, Jalee, Samira, Rox, Valeria, Harper and Priyanka. All of us adding our own style, our own dash of flavor to the mix.
When it’s over, we hold the last pose before we drop it, hooting and laughing and high fiving each other.
“Damn girl, you still got it!” Tully smacks my ass playfully, then throws me a towel. I mop up the sweat between my breasts and around my neck and face, invigorated.
“Hell yeah! Short break, then go again?”
Jalee nods, swallowing after taking a gulp from her water bottle. “You know it. We’ll record the next one, see what we can change.”
“I missed y’all. So much.”
Harper smacks a kiss to my forehead, then drops to the floor to stretch her legs. “We missed you too, girl. Welcome back.”
“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Except under one off-limits man.
Popping a lozenge into my mouth, I flip through the brief, then jot my thoughts down on slim sticky notes as I go. I’ve been at Pink Slate for just under two months and it’s been challenging and scary and fucking amazing.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to be in an environment like this, needed to work with these talented, badass, women-loving women until I was here, right in the middle of it.
I love my job, and everyday I feel a little closer to really tapping into the place in my own head that’s been taken over by self-doubt and stress and negativity that I haven’t shaken all the way
.
But I’m trying to be kinder to myself, and that’s what matters, right?
It’s okay that my first marriage didn’t work out.
It’s expected that my love story won’t mirror my parents’.
It’s fine that I’ve gained a few stubborn pounds.
I’m allowed to think about Jackson sometimes and wonder what could’ve been.
I’m allowed to not have it all figured out.
Can you tell that I’ve been taking inspirational Instagram posts to heart? Self-acceptance is the best acceptance and all that.
I didn’t want to bring my funk to my new job, so I’ve made a conscious effort to be better and find the happiness and appreciate the love that I already have. From myself, from my friends, from my family.
For now, it’s enough.
Tucking my feet underneath me in the cozy pale blue chair in the shared, open working space, I try to completely plunge myself into the client brief, really get a feel for not only their mindset but what their audience would respond to best. How would I respond to the concept? What would I want to see, hear, feel to convince me to engage with the product?
I’m scribbling away, so lost in my own thoughts that it takes a minute for Carlotta’s voice to pierce the bubble I’ve got going on.
“Nomi, you know your nose is bleeding?”
I blink, crossing my eyes to look at my nose before I look down at the front of my dress and see drops of blood dotting the cheery yellow fabric. I cover my nose immediately, finally feeling the wetness on my face while I take the tissues from Renae on my other side gratefully.
“Dammit, I bet I’ve got a stupid sinus infection.” I mumble behind the tissue, setting the stack of papers on my desk.
“Well go ahead and get checked out, I’ll let Kiely know.” Carlotta offers, handing me my purse and shooing me off. “Go on, get some meds and let us know you’re okay.”
“And this is your first nosebleed?”
“No, I had them when I was younger but not in awhile. My throat’s been irritated too and there’s been a bit of congestion, so I assume it’s an infection.” The nurse taking my vitals and information jots down what I tell her, and I toss away the tissue I’d stuck up my nose, relieved when nothing else comes gushing out.
“Well, you’re due for your wellness exam. Do you want to go ahead and do that today, too? Dr. Kasey is free.”
“Sure, might as well since I’m here already.”
“Great. Change into this gown for me and go ahead and use the bathroom and this cup, then just set it into the slot and close it when you’re finished. The doc will knock before she comes in.”
I take the cup and gown from her, heading to the small bathroom connected to the room. “Okay, thank you.”
Peeing in a cup will never not be just a little weird. It’s also a great reminder that I should probably do much better on my water intake, because I’m definitely not getting the pale yellow color they say is supposed to mean good hydration. I finish up my business and do as instructed, then fold my clothes and slip on the gown, tying it wrap style around me.
I hop up onto the exam table and swing my legs between the stirrups, waiting on the doctor to make her appearance.
Damned sinus infections.
It’s been years since I’ve had one, but maybe with the move, my body got a little thrown out of whack.
I start singing the jeopardy waiting song in my head, reading the posters on the walls and surveying everything in the room before I finally hear a firm knock on the door. Dr. Kasey pokes her head in.
“Nomi?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
She steps in, closing the door and shaking my hand before she sits on a little rolling chair and moves the computer monitor over so she can look at me and the screen.
Dr. Kasey is a slim, older woman with a jaunty dark ponytail, sandy skin and blue-rimmed glasses perched on her straight nose.
When she surveys the screen and then me, I notice that her eyes are green and she’s got laugh lines bracketing her mouth. She gives me a kind smile, stroking her fingers together as she speaks.
“I’m Dr. Evelyn Kasey, I’ll be your primary since Dr. Grant retired. You can call me Dr. Kasey or Evelyn, whichever you’re most comfortable with.”
I nod, “Dr. Kasey is fine with me.”
Turning back to the screen, she moves the mouse, brow furrowing quickly before it smoothes and she pushes the screen away to look at me fully again. “So, you believe you have a sinus infection, yes? Tell me a little about that.”
“My throats been a bit sore and I’ve had some congestion, but I didn’t think anything of it. My nose started bleeding at work today, and I figured I should come in and see if that’s what’s happening since I’d rather not have it get worse.”
“Yes, they’re quite nasty little things aren’t they? Let me have a look and we’ll see if we can’t confirm or give you some relief.” She snaps on gloves and then reaches for the thingy that they check your nose with, “Any soreness? Toothaches? Face pain?”
I tilt my head while she checks my nose, “A little achiness, yes. But my body has been a little sore too, I dance weekly so it’s kind of a constant since I prefer weights at the gym as well.”
“That’s good, staying active.”
“Yeah, I’m not very good at sitting still.”
She retreats, directing me to open my mouth so she can look at my throat. Then my ears, then she checks my breathing. Taking off her gloves and dropping them in the receptacle, she moves back to the computer screen, clicking a few times.
“Hm,” She makes a sound, glancing at me.
“Is that a good hm or a bad hm?”
Dr. Kasey flashes a quick smile, “Neither. I’m not seeing the irritation I’d like to call it a sinus infection, not enough for antibiotics, at least. I want to go ahead with the wellness exam and go from there, alright?”
“Kay, should I lay back?”
“Yes ma’am. Yvette is going to come back in, and we’ll get started.”
Soon enough, we go through the full check, with me answering questions intermittently along the way.
“You haven’t had a recent period, correct?”
“No, they pretty much stopped altogether a few months after I got my IUD placed. I’ve had some spotting recently, but nothing even close to a full blown period.”
“I’m not feeling your strings, so I want to go ahead and do an ultrasound, just make sure it’s still where it should be, alright?”
I nod my head, my fingers linked just under my breasts while I stare at the ceiling and wait for them to set everything up. Not long after, my legs are in the stirrups and Yvette moves in with the vaginal ultrasound thing that I do not know the name of.
I don’t even bother looking at the screen since I don’t know what I’d be looking for anyway.
“Nomi, have you had any cramping or pain?”
“Nope, used to with my periods but it’s been pretty smooth sailing for the past 10 months with the IUD.”
“I see.” Dr. Kasey mutters, taking the instrument from Yvette. “Any nausea, breast tenderness, sensitivity to certain smells?”
I glance at her profile and down between my legs, unease filtering through me.
“No, none of that...why?”
After a small silence, she stops. With her other hand, she tilts the screen towards me, then clicks a few things that enlarge the picture. Circling something, she taps the screen with a short nail, “This, is your IUD. It seems to have migrated, meaning it’s no longer where it should be.” She taps a space above it that just looks like a dark blob to me from here. “And this...is a gestational sac. CRL consistent with about 6 to 7 weeks.”
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, pounding.
“6 to 7 weeks that my IUD has been out of a place?”
Yvette chimes in from my other side, placing a soft hand on my arm.
“6 to 7 weeks that you’ve been pregnant, sweetheart.”
16
I sit outside the doctor’s office in my car, staring at the spread of pamphlets in my passenger seat.
There’s one about my options if I don’t want to continue to pregnancy, or if I don’t want to keep the resulting baby afterwards.
One about all of the things that can go wrong, along with side effects I might experience during the pregnancy.
Health during pregnancy.
Recommended prenatal vitamins.
Nausea roils through me and I throw open my door, leaning over to the concrete to throw up the early lunch that I ate hours before. Wiping my hand across the back of my mouth, I close the door and take a calming breath, or I try to…but my exhale comes out on a sob.
Then I’m leaning against my steering wheel and wetting the leather with salty tears, wondering what the hell I did for this to be happening right now.
I’m in the middle of a divorce.
I haven’t even moved into my own place yet.
The father doesn’t want any children.
How the fuck was I supposed to know that my IUD wasn’t in the right place? I didn’t want to get pregnant, I took precautions, and I thought that was enough.
God, why wasn’t that enough?
I never knew nosebleeds and throat irritation came with pregnancy. I couldn’t even have the symptoms that everyone knows about? My boobs don’t feel any different. I guess my body has been aching a little bit, but I thought that was because I’ve been dancing more.
What am I supposed to do now? I never wanted to have a kid by myself. I never wanted to have a kid outside of marriage or not have a partner doing it with me.
What if I tell Jackson and he wants me to have an abortion?
I’m not doing that. I don’t care what other women do with their bodies, but even the thought of it is making me physically sick.
No, that’s not an option, not for me.
But if I don’t…then my only other options are to have the baby and keep it or to have the baby and give it up for adoption.
Could I do that? Could I carry a baby for months, feeling it move inside me and sharing my blood with it and then just…let go of it?
