The Girlfriend (The Boss)

by Abigail Barnette

  I looked over at Neil, and he gave me a closed-lip smile. He took my hand and squeezed it.

  “Okay, Sophie,” Dr. Jacobson said, seating herself on a stool. “Julie is going to administer the sedation, and then we’ll get your feet up.”

  Whatever sedative they gave me, it was effective, and fast. I’m not exactly sure how my feet got into the stirrups, but I did feel a weird second of panic once I was there. I’ve always hated that part of doctor visits, the feeling of being completely exposed and vulnerable. With the drugs working in my system, I no longer felt calm and sure of my decision, but paranoid and freaked out.

  “Neil?” I asked, and I sounded drunk.

  “Right here.” He lifted my hand to his lips.

  “Just relax, Sophie,” Dr. Jacobson said mildly, and her lack of concern calmed me. She sounded so blasé, it made me feel like this wasn’t a big deal after all.

  “Here’s the speculum,” she said, just an instant before the plastic touched me. My stomach turned over.

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” I mumbled, and in a blink Julie was there with an emesis basin. But I didn’t throw up after all. Embarrassed, I slurred, “Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

  “That’s okay, sometimes the drugs can make you a little sick to your stomach, too. You wouldn’t be the first person to throw up in the office,” Julie assured me. She handed the basin to Neil, and he took it with his free hand and held it in his lap.

  “That’s what you get. You helped put me here; you get to hold my vomit bucket.” I turned my head, and the room took a second to reorient itself. I had a vague, far off thought, You should never tell Holli about this stuff, because she’ll want to try it. “Promise you’ll still love me if I barf.”

  “I will even hold your hair back.” He lifted my hand and kissed it.

  I stared up at the ceiling, my eyes drifting closed under the effect of the sedative. Every minute seemed drawn out, but the initial confusion and panic had given way to an odd feeling of blankness. I was my own calm little center of the universe.

  “Okay, you’re going to feel a little pinch,” the doctor warned.

  My fingers crushed Neil’s, and I practically climbed off the table. Little pinch my ass!

  After that, I couldn’t feel anything. I gripped Neil’s hand super hard, and I heard myself saying things like, “ow,” but if anything hurt, it was news to me. I heard comforting words from Neil, and Julie and Dr. Jacobson telling me I was doing a good job and it was nearly finished, but mostly I just drifted in a weird pink sedative haze. Everything was happening over there, and everyone was making far too big a deal about it. But it did seem to take a long time.

  “All right,” I heard Dr. Jacobson say cheerfully. “You’re all finished, Sophie. Julie is going to help you to recovery.”

  Neil sat me up, and I leaned against him as I stepped into my panties. Julie got me a super huge sanitary pad and helped me to maneuver it into place— a job that really needed a woman’s touch, anyway— and Neil held me up as I shuffled drunkenly to another room, where a hospital bed waited.

  “Neil?” I asked, swimming above the medicine haze for a moment. And when I tried to remember what I was going to say, all I could do was cry. “Do you hate me?”

  He was beside me in an instant, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull me into his arms. “No, no. Never. I don’t want you to ever think that.”

  “Right now it’s the sedation,” Julie said with gentle authority. “But you’re gonna have mood swings like this for the next couple of days as your hormones even out.”

  “Thank you,” Neil told her, but I suspected he knew why I was upset. He held me while Julie took out my IV, a process I hated almost as much as having the damn thing put in, because I had to think about the tube coming out of my vein. When she left the room, I blinked up at Neil.

  “You’re not mad that I killed your baby?” Wow, you can take the girl out of Catholicism, but you can’t take the Catholicism out of the girl. It was almost like I was on drugs or something.

  “No, Sophie, I am not mad. Not about anything.”

  Neil half-sat, half-lay with me against the bed’s slightly elevated head. I leaned on him, ignoring my dry mouth and my swimming brain. I thought of all the women I’d helped harass outside of Planned Parenthood when I was in high school. I felt like such a hypocrite.

  “You know, I used to protest this shit,” I blurted. “I wasn’t on the right side. Pictures of dead babies, and... shouting at girls.”

  His arm tightened around me. “And I used to vote for the Conservative Party. We all do stupid things in our youth.”

  The doctor came in and gave us post op instructions— I was so grateful Neil was there for those, because I was too groggy to remember— then she checked my bleeding and sent us on our way. When I saw the clock on our way out, I realized we had only been there for three hours.

  “Wow, you can just have an abortion and go about your day,” I said drowsily, blinking up at the afternoon sunshine as Tony held the car door for me. Neil grimaced in a pained sort of way and I realized he probably hadn’t told his driver where we were going or why.

  In the back of the Maybach, I rested my head on the center console, feeling woozy all over again. “If I puke in your car, will you still love me?”

  “Of course I will,” Neil said lightly. “Although you might lose some esteem in Tony’s eyes.”

  “That’s a shame,” I managed. Then I totally threw up on the floor.

  * * * *

  I woke up in my own bed, with absolutely no idea how I’d gotten there. The bedside lamp was on, and the sliver of sky I could see from my window was dark.

  I groaned when I sat up. I was no stranger to cramps, but I wasn’t a fan of them either. Neither was I a huge fan of giant, diaper-like maxi-pads from the doctor’s office.

  Throwing back the covers, I saw that I was wearing my froggy pjs. Which meant Neil must have helped me put them on. Well, might as well destroy all the romance in a single day.

  When I shuffled out to the living room, I found Neil laying on the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV. I watched him for a moment, my heart swelling a little bit at how natural he looked in my apartment. He really felt at home in my space, even though it wasn’t a Fifth Avenue palace. When he saw me, he sat up. “How are you feeling?”

  “Um... pretty good.” I was still kind of groggy from the anesthetic, but overall, I felt fine. “A little crampy. Having my wisdom teeth out was worse.”

  “Oh?” He smiled, obviously relieved. “I was worried. To the casual observer, it seemed quite invasive.”

  “I think the worst part was the sedative. I feel hung-over.” I lay down beside him, curling my knees up.

  “Please don’t be furious with me for spending money on you, but I did stop and get you some pads and your prescription while you were sleeping in your own sick in the car. They’re in the bathroom.” He put one arm over my waist, drawing me gently against him.

  “Oh man. Pads and froggy pjs, all in the same day. We’re never having sex again,” I laughed. I played it off like it was no big, but inwardly I cringed from terminal embarrassment.

  “Oh, I highly doubt that. Although we do have to wait at least two weeks, doctor’s orders.” The arm draped over my waist sought out my hand and threaded our fingers together. “Do you really feel all right?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. Despite the feeling that I’ve lost time.” I squinted around the dim living room. “When are we?”

  “Nearly seven.” His lips brushed over my ear and he asked, “Do you want me to order something in for us, or are you still ill?”

  For the first time in weeks, I was able to think of food and not feel immediately nauseated. I vaguely remembered Dr. Jacobson saying pregnancy symptoms would only take a few days to disappear. It was a Christmas miracle. “Oh, do you know what sounds so good right now? A cheeseburger. And really greasy fries.”

  “Your wish is my command.” H
e sat up and reached for his phone. I sat up, too, and reached for the cigar box of Holli’s stash on the coffee table. I opened it and, finding it empty, made a “tch” of disappointment and slid it back into its place.

  Neil put his hand over the mic of his phone. “In my overnight bag.”

  What? The drugs must have still been working a little, because I didn’t understand what he was telling me. His wallet? His glasses? I got up and shuffled back to my bedroom, where Neil’s black leather bag sat at the end of the bed. I unzipped the top and, frowning and feeling like a snoop, dug around a little.

  My fingers encountered a plastic bag, and my nose caught a very familiar smell.

  Neil had brought weed.

  There was about an eighth of an ounce in a crisp plastic baggy. I snorted and carried it out to the living room, waiting patiently for Neil to finish his conversation with the delivery place.

  I held out the bag. “So, just to be clear... you can’t afford to buy more than an eighth at a time?”

  He dropped his phone onto the coffee table. “Are you going to smoke an entire eighth tonight?”

  I laughed. “You got this for me? You know I live with Holli, right?”

  “I do. And I also remembered that she is out of town. And this,” he gestured to the bag, “is very good.”

  I shook my head, smiling. My heart actually hurt from how freaking adorable and thoughtful he could be. “I love you.”

  “I know.” He stood and walked slowly toward me. “I have it on good authority that a hot bath works wonders for cramps. Why don’t you run one, I’ll roll this, and we can kill time until the takeout arrives. They estimated forty-five minutes; I think we made a mistake calling during the dinner rush.”

  A bath! That was such a good idea, and exactly what I needed at the moment. The scalding, welcoming arms of my perfect bathtub. Then a thought occurred to me. “Am I supposed to take a bath? Is that on the list of no-nos?”

  He reached for the sheet of post-op instructions and scanned it. “It says to avoid hot tubs and swimming pools, but nothing about baths. Would you like me to call her after-hours number?”

  I shuddered to think of what that would cost him. “No, if it’s not on the list, it’s probably fine. Besides, I’m going to be on an antibiotic anyway.”

  “Will that interfere with your birth control pills?” he asked anxiously. “I’m sorry if it’s too soon, but we really do need to make a plan to avoid this in the future. I have no objection to continuing our present method. It seems to be decision making that is our downfall.”

  “I hear ya. And I’ll look into something less prone to operator error. I’m really embarrassed about all this,” I admitted.

  “Don’t be. I’m a grown man. I already have one child. I know how it happens, and I took a risk, the same as you. We just have to be more cautious.”

  “Total agreement.” I stretched my arms and yawned. “Okay. I’ll do the bath, you do the dope.”

  I went into the bathroom and started the taps. My tub is nothing short of amazing. It’s gorgeous tarnished copper with a porcelain lining and a high back. I’ve always thought of it as Cinderella’s bathtub, if her bathtub had been designed after her missing shoe. It is romantic and perfect and if it were a man, I wouldn’t be with Neil.

  Okay, so Neil was pretty romantic and perfect, I had to admit. I was acutely aware that he could have walked away from this whole situation and left me to twist in the wind. No one would have judged him, because men with his kind of money could escape judgment in these situations. Not to mention the fact that most people would believe him justified if he had walked away; I’d harmed our trust with my bad handling of the Porteras thing. But he hadn’t stranded me. Not because he couldn’t, but because he wouldn’t. He just wasn’t that kind of man.

  I stripped out of my pajamas. Only once they were off did I realize how sweaty and gross they were. I’d slept all day under hot blankets in a sedated haze. No wonder Neil thought I should bathe.

  He knocked on the door before opening it a crack, and I quickly stuffed the gross pad from the doctor’s office into the trash.

  There really was no delicate way to put it, so I said, “Um, you might not want to come in here. It’s going to be kind of... well, did you ever see Carrie?”

  He snorted a laugh. “It takes more than a little blood to frighten me away. I watched Emma being born via c-section. Besides, I come bearing gifts.”

  He held out a beautiful, perfectly wrapped joint.

  I must have looked a little too impressed, because he rolled his eyes. “Oh, do give me a little credit. I went to a very expensive school.”

  I grinned and tested the water. Scalding hot. Bad for the skin, but so good for the soul.

  “You’ll cook yourself in there,” he warned, offering me a hand to step over the side.

  I sank in and rested my head on the tall, curved back, moaning obscenely in appreciation. “That’s the point. To feel like an overcooked noodle when you get out.”

  “This might be considered a hot tub,” he observed in a warning tone. He flipped down the toilet lid and sat, his knee bumping the bathtub in the claustrophobic confines of the room.

  “I think you enjoy worrying about me,” I mused, frowning slightly up at him. He gave me a surprisingly boyish, lopsided grin and lifted the joint to light it. He took a quick hit and held it in front of my mouth.

  “Your hands are all wet,” he explained, blue smoke rolling from his lips.

  “This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” I inhaled and sagged into the curve of the tub.

  He took another hit and pulled his phone from his pocket. “Music?”

  “Sure.” I gave him an okay sign and watched him. He held the joint perched on his lower lip as he scrolled the screen on his phone. I guess I’d never really thought about Neil doing normal human stuff in his past, like watching his kid being born or smoking weed in college, or even keeping music on his phone.

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  I shrugged, leaning over for another hit. I’d be sure not to overdo it, since I’d been on the sedative earlier. But now it had worn off, and I needed something to file down the edges on the sharp new reality between us. We’d just been through an experience that would either create deeper emotional intimacy, or ruin us entirely. I couldn’t take that kind of pressure right now, especially knowing that in a few days, we’d be living together. “Something soothing.”

  He picked Sigur Ros. I recognized the ethereal falsetto, and I grinned. “You’re like, a hipster Viking.”

  “They’re quite popular in England, as well,” he said defensively.

  The water was the perfect temp, the pot was amazing, and I didn’t even care if the tub looked like a shark attack in progress— although there was much less blood than I’d anticipated. Mild cramping aside, I’d never been so comfortable. “I don’t want to fall asleep,” I murmured.

  His voice was pinched as he tried not to exhale. “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll drown.” Although, drowning in a nice, hot bath while totally high was probably the least disturbing way I could think of to go.

  He stroked my steam-limp hair back. “You won’t. Sleep, if you’d like. I won’t let you drown.”

  My heart ached. He was going to spot me so I could sleep in a hot bath? That was just... insanity. I would never have even considered asking another human being to do something like that for me, it seemed so unreasonably selfish. Neil was offering to do it because he wanted to take care of me? That was just...

  And cue the waterworks. There were those hormones Dr. Jacobson had warned me about.

  In the past, Neil had always reacted to any sign of upset or tears on my part with a well-intentioned, but ultimately stifling, attempt to instantly make everything better. He didn’t do that now. He just sat beside me, holding my hand as I curled up in the tub and cried. We talked when I initiated the conversation, but for the most part Neil was content to sit in
silence with me.

  Half an hour was just long enough for the water to cool and my emotions to level out.

  “Feel better?” Neil asked after he helped me from the bath and wrapped me in a towel.

  I nodded. “I’ve just got a lot going on. I think the hormonal thing wouldn’t be so bad if everything else in my life was nice and calm right now.”

  “I don’t think unintended pregnancy is ever anyone’s idea of nice and calm, Sophie.” He tilted my head up and kissed me. From the other room, we heard the intercom buzz. “That will be the food. I’ll go while you get dried off.”

  Once I was all dressed and dried, with my hair combed, I felt way more normal than before. If what I’d just gone through was anything even remotely like pregnancy mood swings, I had made the right decision. I passed over pjs in favor of yoga pants and a long-sleeved tee, and bounded out to the living room.

  We sat on the couch to eat, me with my burger and fries, him with a salad. The takeout containers were super fancy, and I smiled to myself. He would never get some things quite “normal.”

  With pregnancy no longer looming in my mind, my thoughts turned to all the other stuff we had going on. We. It was a weird way to think about it, but we were pretty much moving in together. At least for a while. “Hey... What’s it like, living with you?”

  He took a swallow of water. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. According to my daughter, I’m very boring and have a terrible habit of entering rooms too quietly and startling people on purpose. You also might falsely accuse me of reading your diary.”

  I laughed and wiped my mouth on one of the sturdy napkins. “You never read her diary?”

  “Absolutely not. I was too damned busy trying to make sure she didn’t have anything interesting to write about in it.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know what it will be like for you to live with me. I’ve never had great success as far as cohabiting with romantic partners is concerned. I liked living with Valerie and with Elizabeth, but I like time to myself, as well. And I haven’t always been easy to work with in terms of renovations or new furnishings—”

  “Whoa, let me stop you right there.” I held up my greasy burger hands. “I’m not in the market to remodel your place or get new couches. I’m coming with you so I can be with you. I’m still keeping my place here. I’m not going to bring along my bed or demand a new walk-in closet.”