Checked Again (Checked Series)

by Jennifer Jamelli

  The smell that faintly lingers on my pajamas. The smell of—

  A hand appears in front of me, inches in front of my chin.

  His hand.

  {Damien starts his song over.}

  It looks like it would be so easy…so easy to just reach out and put my hand in his, to let him pull me out of the car and into his office.

  It looks easy. But it’s not.

  Because I can’t move.

  Because I can’t give him my hand.

  Because I can’t let myself give him my hand.

  Because he left me.

  And—

  “Callie.” A quiet, deep whisper. So hushed that maybe it was only a breeze of the wind.

  I don’t move.

  “Callie.” Louder this time. Definitely not the wind.

  I have to do something. I can’t just sit here.

  One. Two. Three.

  I slide my right hand down to my waist to release my seatbelt. My left hand raises to guide the belt back into its spot, making sure it doesn’t accidentally fly out of control and hit the hand in front of me. His hand.

  Okay. Done. Done awkwardly, but done.

  Moving on…

  One. Two. Three.

  I shift my body slowly to the left, very careful not to brush my face or arm against his hand. I pick up my left foot and let it hang outside of the car. Right beside his leg.

  And now…now I pause for a moment. His hand is still in front of me. Still blocking my way. If I continue to push myself out of the car, I’m going to run into his fingers.

  But if I just sit here like this, well, I don’t know. That would just be ridiculous.

  Okay. One. Two. Three.

  Praying for some miraculous situation where my body is somehow miniature enough to fit in the space in front of his hand without touching him, I begin my escape. I turn my entire lower half in a strange, almost gymnastic move and push my right leg out of the car door. Slowly, I begin to turn my shoulders, trying to squeeze into a ball of nothing and—

  And that is when my miracle happens.

  Just as my shoulders are about to graze his fingers, he pulls back, slowly removing his hand from the car as I (even more slowly) push my body up and out.

  Both feet on the ground. Body starting to stretch, to lengthen to a standing position. And—

  And shit.

  I should have planned this out more carefully.

  As I finish bringing myself to a standing position, I realize we are now body-to-body, inches apart. And there’s not much I can do about that right now as my shoulders straighten, my neck lifts up, my face meets his.

  Inches apart. Body-to-body. Face-to-face.

  I can’t help myself. I look up. Up. Up. Click. Eyes to eyes now.

  {Damien gets louder. And louder.}

  Blue, blue eyes. Sad blue eyes. Concerned. Questioning. Anxious. Maybe a little confused. But mostly sad.

  My neck, now numb…useless…falls back a little, but my eyes don’t move. Can’t move. He exhales slowly. His warm breath lands on my cheek, my chin, my mouth.

  My face starts to tingle…so does my stomach…and then my hands…and my legs…

  His eyes are changing…burning now. Just like when we—

  “Dr. Blake?” A loud voice snaps away the moment, the burning.

  He quickly turns around toward the voice. But we are still inches apart. Body-to-body. Face to tense, rigid back…tight shoulders.

  “Yes, Annie?”

  Annie leans out of the office door, her red hair flying a little with the wind. She starts yelling again. “You have another call from the hospital. They think you’d better go in. Now.”

  I watch the back of his head as he nods twice. Up and down. Up and down.

  “Tell them I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And cancel my afternoon appointments. I’ll have you reschedule Miss Royce’s appointment later.” He motions back to me with his hand as he says “Miss Royce.”

  And Annie just nods, head and hair. Then she disappears, the office door closing behind her. I wonder what she thinks about the fact that he is standing so close to me. Maybe she thinks I’m so mentally messed up that I can’t even stand up on my own without someone spotting me. Or maybe she realizes that—

  He sighs, a long slow sigh.

  His back is still inches in front of me. He doesn’t turn around. I stand completely still. No idea what I’m supposed to do.

  {A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera offer up some advice with “Say Something.”}

  We keep standing. And standing.

  And then he softly inhales. Still not facing me, he speaks. Quietly. “I didn’t tell Mandy that you broke things off with me.” He pauses. “I didn’t tell her who ended it.” He pauses again. “I didn’t know what you told her, what you told your family. What you wanted them to know.” A long, long pause. “I didn’t know what you knew. If you even remembered me coming in to see you in the hospital.”

  I watch as he lowers his head, looks down at the ground. “I still don’t know.”

  I don’t say anything. I still don’t understand exactly what he said to Mandy. I listen for more words.

  “So I told Mandy that you needed a break from me. That I wasn’t helping you.” He pauses. “And that wasn’t a lie.”

  But that’s not why you left. That’s—

  {A Great Big World and Christina keep singing, keep pleading with me. It works.}

  The words fall out of me in a jumble. “But that’s not why you…you didn’t leave because…when you came into my hospital room, you said…you talked about the similarities...with your mother…”

  I stop there. Upon mentioning his mother. Upon, I’m sure, putting another miserable look in his perpetually sad eyes.

  He is silent for a moment. Then he starts talking again. “I know. I know how I left—why I left.” He pauses. “But I didn’t really ever explain it all to you…I didn’t tell you about Mom’s, um, last days in the hospital.” He pauses again. “So I didn’t really want to get into all of it with Mandy.”

  Oh.

  Of course he didn’t want to bring it all up with Mandy, with someone he barely knows. It took him forever just to tell me that his mother died…I don’t know if he ever planned…plans…to tell me how she died. Why she died.

  I don’t know if he wants me to know. I don’t know if he would want me to tell him that I already know…

  What I do know, however, is that his eyes are probably really sad again…and that I helped make them that way. Again.

  And that realization makes my stomach hurt. Makes my throat dry. Makes my head pound. {A Great Big World and Christina keep singing, pushing me once again to speak.}

  “I understand,” I whisper. To his back. “I’m sorry about my email.”

  Slowly, his body begins to turn around. His eyes find mine…and, yes…they are sad. He’s sad. He speaks. “Don’t be. I deserved it. I didn’t let Mandy know that I left you in the hospital when you couldn’t even open your eyes, let alone speak. I didn’t let Mandy know what a dick I was. Am.”

  Completely surprised by his choice of words (word…), my mouth starts to smile. I can’t stop it. I also can’t stop the words that start to fall out of me. “A dick, Dr. Blake? Is that a fancy clinical label?”

  Unbelievably, miraculously, his eyebrows lift up in surprise, and the edges of his mouth turn up into a somewhat smile.

  “Yes, Callie, I believe it is.”

  I feel my smile getting bigger, spreading further across my—

  “Dr. Blake?” Annie again.

  He doesn’t turn away from me immediately this time. He leaves the tiny smile on his face for a beat and then scrunches his nose a little…as though he’s annoyed that we’re being interrupted.

  It’s adorable.

  Callie!

  He slowly steals his eyes from mine and turns back to Annie, who is again standing in the office doorway.

  “I know, I know. I’m leaving in a minute, Annie.”<
br />
  Annie shakes her head and goes back into the office. She has to wonder what is going—

  He turns back to me, his eyes somewhat serious again.

  “You still have to have an appointment.”

  Before I can respond, he goes on. “And we have to talk about your conference.” He raises his eyebrows. “I heard you told Mandy that she couldn’t go with you.”

  What?

  “You ruined all of the work I had to do to get her to clear her class and sorority schedule. That girl is so busy that—”

  “What?” I interrupt. {I don’t even need the encouragement that I’m still getting from A Great Big World and Christina.}

  He smiles at me. Even his eyes smile this time. “I have to go now.”

  “But—”

  “We will talk soon.” He nods his head once, firmly, and turns away from me to walk back to the main office door.

  I watch him until he disappears, until the door closes behind him. Then, with variations of the question “What the hell?” storming through my head, I turn back to my car and get in. Then I head back home. The radio plays the entire time. {But all I hear now is Damien.}

  MANDY’S CAR ISN’T IN HER spot when I get back home. Of course it’s not. She does have a very busy schedule, after all…as I was just reminded.

  I go inside, spray my shoes, wash my hands, and head upstairs to read a little Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I read a few chapters, but my powers of concentration are not the best right now. I’m probably going to have to do a lot of rereading before I write my paper on this one. That, or earn a B on a sub-par essay (I will not earn a B. I will reread. Later. When my mind is more in order…if that is a description that can ever be used for my mind).

  The afternoon moves along. I continue to attempt to read and take some crappy, not really usable, notes as I go along. I tear off all of my nail polish. I eat two hundred calories of fruit, a few hundred calories of soup, and a hundred calories of yogurt (I’m behind on my calories today due to pre-appointment nerves). And I think. And think. And I replay today, our little scene in the parking lot, over and over and over.

  Over. And over. And over. And—

  I see the clock on my dresser. 5:14 p.m. Shit. I’ve gotta get moving. Now.

  I haven’t even left myself enough time to repaint my nails. Ugh.

  I put my Kindle down and get to work.

  5:45 p.m. Leaving-the-house checks done. Coat on. Out the door. Three handle twists. On my way to class.

  6:00 p.m. Professional Writing Lab. In my seat. Ready to think about teen pregnancy for three hours (NOT).

  Melanie’s pregnancy test pops into my head. Then my pregnancy test pops in. And then I start to think about the last conversation I had about that test. The only conversation I’ve ever had about that test. With him.

  And then, well, then I waste a lot of class time thinking about other conversations with him, other moments with him, other things not really in any way connected with teen pregnancy. Fortunately, Dr. Harper doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy walking around and answering questions from my classmates…the people around me who are actually doing their work…who are researching perhaps less STD-infested topics.

  I wonder briefly what other topics have been assigned. I wonder if my other classmates have to do research that basically overflows with information about diseases. I wonder—

  Wait.

  Wait. Wait.

  I can spin this differently.

  Dr. Harper never said that this paper has to address a specific part of teen pregnancy…and Dr. Harper never said that I need to give a full overview of the topic.

  I pick up my pen as a fresh blast of ideas bounces through my mind. {Alicia Keys bounces in as well with “Girl on Fire.”} I write down some notes, the first notes I’ve written today…and they are a mess, but they look something like this:

  Teen Pregnancy’s place in our culture today:

  Teen Mom—struggling girls, failed relationships…

  Other TV shows about teen pregnancy? Soap operas?

  Movies with pregnant teens? Look up.

  Hmm…songs about teen pregnancy…

  Songs about pregnancy…

  “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed (About teens? Hmm…I don’t know.)

  “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna (Maybe about a teen? Gotta check.)

  “All that She Wants” by Ace of Base (I don’t think it’s about a teenager.)

  “Accidental Babies” by Damien Rice…

  {Damien Rice…he starts singing. But he doesn’t sing “Accidental Babies.”}

  Before I know it, class ends. I close my notebook, pretty pleased that I at least did some class-related work.

  9:02 p.m. I get in my car and drive home.

  9:15 p.m. Home. Mandy’s home too. So after I spray my shoes and wash my hands, I head right to her room to talk to her. I lean in the door and see her sprawled out on her bed, a sandwich in one hand and her cell phone (which is up by her ear) in her other.

  Mandy smiles when she sees me. “Hey, Callie.”

  I know I should say “Hello” back and then let her finish talking on the phone. I know it would be best if I just wait to talk to her…wait until she isn’t on the phone with Josh…or with Melanie…or maybe…maybe with him. Maybe she’s talking to Dr. Blake right now, trying to come up with a new plan or—

  “Did Dr. Blake ask you to clear your schedule for the rest of the week?” The words just fly out of me.

  I watch as Mandy’s eyebrows lift a little in surprise. She speaks, not covering up the mouthpiece on the phone. “How did you know about that?”

  “He told me.” I pause. “But how did he…did you…when did—”

  Articulate as ever, Callie.

  Mandy smiles, enjoying my stupid flustered speech, I guess. “He called me. He was all deep voice and worried tone. All hot.” Her smile gets even bigger. “How could I say no?”

  My mouth starts to open…to produce more questions, but Mandy interrupts me before I can even get started. “You couldn’t say no either, could you, Mel?”

  Mel. She’s talking to Melanie. Not him. I guess I kind of figured that after the “all hot” comment, though.

  Mandy starts laughing. “I know, right? Me too. Did he sound all relieved and happy when you agreed? Cause, well, he told me—”

  Now it’s my turn to interrupt. “Wait—Melanie cleared her schedule for me too?”

  Mandy smiles teasingly. “Well, yes, for you. Of course. But for him, too…”

  I shake my head. And I roll my eyes. And…and I find myself somehow smiling back at Mandy as my thoughts turn into something like a part of a dumb ass poem that Dr. Emery would love. Because, really, I’m so lucky to have people that care that much…Mandy…and Melanie…and…well, he has to care at least a little still if he’s been calling Mandy and Melanie and trying to make my trip somewhat better…right? This can’t be standard doctor protocol, right? It—

  Mandy reads my mind. Sort of. “Does he do this kind of stuff for all of his patients? Because maybe I should make an appoint—”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes again to stop her.

  Mandy does stop her sentence, and she smiles at me…really smiles…without the teasing glint in her eyes now. “There’s something there, Callie.” She pauses for a second and then nods her head against her phone. “Melanie agrees.”

  My head starts to shake a little, but I stop it. There’s no point in arguing with them. Mandy won’t understand. Melanie won’t understand. And it’s no fault of theirs. They don’t know how it all ended…why it all ended. {Colbie Caillat moves in with “I Never Told You.”}

  And I’m not getting into all of that with them. They would just worry more. So I just shrug and put a little smile on my mouth.

  “Good night, Mandy.” Then, a little louder. “Night, Mel.”

  Mandy smiles at me again…still no teasing look in her eyes…but a different look there now. One that has
questions in it. Questions that she probably won’t ask. Questions that I probably won’t answer. Wouldn’t even know how to answer.

  “Night, Callie.” She points to the phone. “From me and Mel. Oh. And from that fingernail-sized baby inside of Mel.”

  Mandy squeals a little. I follow suit. So does Melanie (I can hear her through the phone).

  Then I go to my room to get to work. Night preparation work. Work. It is work. Imagine if I’d get paid for the hours I put in…

  No time to think about that now. Too much else to think about. Cleared schedules. Secret phone calls. Scary upcoming confer—

  Nope. Not going to think about that right now.

  Night routine. GO.

  12:42 a.m. Before I get into bed (in really, REALLY old pajamas), I check Words with Friends. No new notifications, though. Melanie probably doesn’t have time to play…I’m sure she’s especially busy now that she’s taken off the end of the week at work…

  And Tony, well, Tony’s probably done playing. Unless he thinks of something else he wants from me.

  {Apocalyptica and Adam Gontier, all impassioned and intense, scream and sing “I Don’t Care.” But I don’t quite believe them. They clearly are not in the surprisingly healthy, not caring state that I am in when thinking about Tony. I feel bad for them…}

  Without really giving it much thought (or any counts of three), I forfeit my game with Tony. Then I look at my other game. My “sad” game.

  A hushed voice echoes through my head. His voice. “We will talk soon. We will talk soon. We will talk soon.”

  He wants to talk about the conference…the conference that is now only two days away.

  Two days away and I still have no concrete plan to get out of it…

  Dirty airplane seats and engine malfunctions and hotel sheets and hotel bathrooms and crowded conference areas begin to clog up my head.

  These thoughts don’t go away. I keep trying to push them out of my head, though. I turn on the television and get into bed, trying to transform the voices, the oven timers, the cooking sounds into a white buzzing sound. It just doesn’t work, though.

  My head pounds. Nervous twitches race around my stomach.

  I try to remember the relaxation techniques that Dr. Blake taught me…the ones I’m supposed to be using at times like this. I try to relax my stomach.