The dude eyeballs me before making eye contact with Darla. “Am I missing something?” he asks. I can almost see the spinning hamster wheel in his brain.
She shakes her head as she runs her hand down my arm, searching for a good vein. Her touch feels really good. I cannot resist the temptation to curl my fingers so I can brush her arm. A nice tingly feeling circulates through my body. She peeks at me through a strand of hair that has escaped her ponytail. I cock an eyebrow. Perhaps she feels it too, even through her gloves.
When she finally says something, she makes it obvious that she’s reading my name off of my newly printed ID badge. “This may hurt a bit, Doctor… Patootie.” She adds that last word under her breath.
“I’m a big boy. I’ve been pricking my finger at least five times a day since I was seven.”
The dude giggles at the word “prick.”
“Oh yeah, I remember.” She fingers my MedicAlert bracelet before she checks out the insulin pump clipped onto my belt. “I see you got a new pump.”
“The count is up to five now. I really should buy stock in the company that makes them.”
She wipes my arm down with an alcohol pad. The tourniquet she applied makes my bicep muscle flex more than it normally would. I love that she can’t seem to tear her eyes away. When she sticks the needle in my arm, I don’t even notice because I’m so used to having blood drawn, checking my blood sugar, and giving myself insulin shots. Except now it’s Darla sticking me. She’s going to make my sugar level spike so much, I’m going to need ten units of Novolog, stat.
She gives the dude a stare down. He has a funny, confused, puppy-dog expression on his face, flip-flopping his attention from me to her, and finally landing on me.
I shrug. “We knew each other in college,” I say in the most nonchalant voice I can muster.
“No, we didn’t,” she replies, her voice ending in a high-pitched squeak.
Denial. “Did too.”
She finishes with the first tube and inserts the second one into the needle. She inverts the first tube before handing it off to the guy. I notice his name tag says Isaac.
“We met in college,” she clarifies to him. “We did not know each other.”
“Wow. That’s all it was?” Could have fooled me.
“Yep.”
“I disagree.”
She snorts. “We remember things quite differently, don’t we?”
Isaac seems as if he’s watching a tennis match. He stares at me, waiting for me to reply.
I can’t help the impish grin that I am sure is plastered all over my face.
She steels her eyes on me. “Don’t go there.”
“Go where?” I’m not good at playing dumb. “I was going to say… never mind.” My Southern gentleman manners kick in. If she’s not comfortable sharing our private time, I’m good with that.
Isaac gasps. “Juliet, have you been holding out on me?”
Her ears transform into a deep sunburn color in two seconds flat. They almost match the color I’m sure is smeared across my face.
“I think we’re done here.” She hands Isaac the second tube, removes the needle, and slaps a gauze pad on the blood draw site before applying medical tape to my arm. She did it so fast, she really should think about roping calves in a rodeo. The thought of strapping pink Coban tape around a calf’s legs makes me chuckle.
“Your results will be ready no later than tomorrow. You can pull them up online.”
She removes her gloves and throws them in the waste container. She ducks her head low, hoping her hair covers the grin growing on her face, but she’s not successful. When she musters the nerve, her eyes lock on mine. I’m doomed. She nibbles on her bottom lip, and her eyes jet away from my gaze. She may be done with me, but I’m not letting her go that easily, not by a long shot. We’ll finish this when there are fewer prying eyes.
She starts packing up her supplies.
The girl who barged in on us in the bathroom stops at the table. “I think we’re about finished, thank God. How’s it going over here?”
“We’re real good,” Isaac says. “I’ve been having the nicest conversation with two star-crossed lovers.”
I bust out a loud laugh and fist-bump Isaac as I get up to leave.
Darla groans in frustration.
The girl regards me, glances over at Darla, then looks back at me. “Wait, what?”
Chapter Six
Darla
I can tell Isaac is about to bust a gut, wanting to know all the details. All the way back across the hospital property to the fitness center, he keeps giving me thumbs-up. If he does that one more time, I think I might twist that thumb right off his hand.
Shelby smacks Isaac’s hands. “What’s that all about? Did you find a hot doc today?”
Isaac gives me his toothpaste-commercial smile. “Please, please, please.”
“Fine,” I say. Sometimes, Isaac makes me feel as if I have another child. Actually, it feels that way all the time.
Isaac bounces up and down. “Darla had sex with Dr. Hotness.”
Shelby stops in her tracks. “Today?”
“No! Of course not,” I reply, peering around to see if anyone in the parking lot can overhear this humiliating conversation.
Isaac bends over, laughing as he wipes tears from his eyes. I’m glad somebody’s getting some enjoyment out of this.
“Apparently, our little darling Darla and Dr. Hot Ass did the nasty when they were in college.”
“No way,” Shelby yells. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Isaac shoots his hand into the air like a second grader. “Oh, please, please, let me tell the story,” he begs.
I roll my eyes. “Go ahead. You’re enjoying this way more than I am.”
Isaac skips over to Shelby in the middle of the parking lot. “Apparently, they didn’t exchange names. This is Juliet.” He waves his arm toward me as if he’s a showcase model on a game show.
Shelby collapses onto the curb, right next to someone’s Range Rover. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Nope,” Isaac says. “Dr. Hot Stuff is Romeo.”
Shelby lies flat on the grass. Her whole body quivers with laughter. I let them rollick in their merriment as I stroll toward the building where the fitness center is located. I leave all the equipment for Isaac to haul back to work, and I hope he gets a hernia.
“That was a long time ago. We all have a past, Mr. Popularity.”
Shelby holds out a hand for Isaac to help her up off the curb. “At least Darla has good taste. Damn, girl. He’s hot in a boy-next-door kind of way. You should have hung on to him.”
I tried.
Tears blur my vision, but they aren’t from humiliation. I have to admit the PG version of the story sounds funny, but the part they don’t know hurts like hell.
Instead of heading back to the fitness center, I make a beeline to my car. I am not in the mood to listen to any more Dr. Hotness stories, and I’m certainly not ready to divulge any more of my past. I text Shelby as soon as I get to my car.
Not feeling well. C U tomorrow.
I lay my head on the steering wheel. The horn blares, making me jump about a foot out of my seat, ramming my head into the car roof. Stella’s father is back in Nashville. He’s cuter now than he was back in the day, and I made a complete fool of myself. Ugh.
And he had the nerve to act as though he didn’t know my name. For Pete’s sake, I was on the group email Mallory sent out, proclaiming the love of her life to her closest friends. She couldn’t wait to introduce everyone to Theo, the medical student.
I should thank Mallory. At least after that, I had a name and an email address. And when I finally got up the nerve, I wrote and told him everything. There’s no way I could forget
the email I carefully worded as I chewed all ten nails down to their nubs while rubbing my belly that was growing from the “I’ve gained a few pounds” stage to the “yep, there’s no hiding it now, I’m five months pregnant” stage.
I will especially never forget his one and only reply: “Leave me alone.”
It broke my heart. Now, I wish I could muster up the courage to scream, but I’m still too freaked out to even cry.
I have rehearsed this moment a thousand times. I had planned to go up to him and tell him he has the most beautiful daughter and he would be a fool not to welcome her into his life. Regardless of him flat-out refusing to have anything to do with us seven years ago, he would be remorseful and beg for forgiveness. Of course, he would scoop us both up, and we would live happily ever after. Either that or he would be a jerk, and I would go about my life as though he was another deadbeat asshole dad. But instead of all that, I got bitchy. It’ll be a miracle if he even wants to be associated with me ever again.
I hadn’t prepared myself to come face-to-face with the spitting image of my daughter any time soon. And I didn’t expect, after all this time, to still go weak in the knees when his face lights up. This is not how I thought my summer would start. But like it or not, he’s here, and I’ll have to face him at some point. And eventually, he’ll have to meet Stella. I have to come up with a plan for them to meet without getting her hopes up. If he breaks her heart like he did mine, I would never forgive myself.
I take out my phone and text Stella’s teacher. Jennifer has been such a good friend to me this year, always listening to me go on and on about any topic without issuing judgment. It has been a while since we’ve had one of our little impromptu parent-teacher conferences, otherwise known as an excuse to commiserate and enjoy ice cream. Boy, I sure could use her company right about now.
R U up for a conference after school?
I lean my head back on the seat, and immediately, my phone chimes.
You know I’d love to. Waiting on my bro to stop by. I’ll text back in a snig with est. time.
Love her word choices.
Sounds good. You know where I’ll be.
I crank my car and head to the best therapy session in town: Bobbie’s Dairy Dip.
Chapter Seven
Theo
Being inside Jennifer’s classroom takes me back to when we were little. The eldest kid in our family was born to be a teacher. She used to make us play school all the time when we were little. Tommy liked to trip her up with random facts, and Heather always got called into the principal’s office. I was happy hanging out with her, so I did whatever she wanted to do. She and I were two peas in a pod, even though we hardly pass for siblings. The only thing we really share are the God-awful dimples. She and Tommy have long, lanky legs and light-brown hair like our father. Heather and I got the crazy hair and the short genes in the family.
“Class, this is my brother, Dr. Theo.” Jennifer’s eyes light up when she speaks to her students.
The entire class of miniature humans stares at me, afraid to move. I wave to them, and a few dare to wave back. I’m not going to bite, especially first graders. That would be rude and certainly bad for business.
“He’s a pediatrician, and he also has a medical condition that you might find interesting.”
A little hand pops up.
“Yes, Kade?” she asks.
Kade pushes his thick glasses up on the bridge of his nose. I can tell he’s the kind of kid that loves to ask questions every chance he gets.
“Does he have chronic dry eye?”
I glance at Jennifer. They might give me a run for my money.
“No. No, he does not. At least, not that I know of.”
Another hand pops up.
“Molly?” Jennifer asks.
“Does he have a yeast infection?”
“Uh, no,” Jennifer replies.
I clench my teeth to keep the chuckle down that’s starting to spew through my throat. I stare at my shoes, hoping I can regain my composure. If not, I’m going to need a hefty dose of anti-giggle-biotics.
“What about erectile dysfunction?” another kid asks from the back of the room.
Tell me he didn’t ask me that. Grind, grind, grind. My molars are going to be little nubs before this is over. Dear Lord, please help me. Love, Theo.
“Okay, it’s obvious that you kids watch way too much television,” Jennifer says.
“Ask your doctor if it’s right for you,” another one quotes.
“He is a doctor,” says another kid.
Oh God, here comes the chuckle. Please make these kids stop. I do an about-face and stare at the whiteboard that’s covered with math problems. I try to think of something terrible—lost kittens, hunger, war. My body trembles as the laugh escapes.
Jennifer elbows me in the ribs. “Why don’t we let Dr. Theo tell us?”
I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and count to three before I have the courage to face the kids again. I silently give her the “you owe me big time” message. She shrugs.
I clap my hands to get myself psyched up for the conversation. “Okay. Would it be all right if we sit on the rug over there?” I point to an old latch rug in the corner of the room.
“Sure,” Jennifer says. “Everybody head over to the story-time station.”
“Yeah!” they scream as they rush over to find their place on a huge smiley face rug. I’m pretty sure that rug was in Jennifer’s bedroom when we were little, because who else would have a grape juice stain in between the eyes of the face?
“You can sit by me,” a little boy says.
I kneel down. “Well, thank you.”
“Crisscross, apple sauce,” a little girl says, smiling.
I nod and try to crisscross my legs under me. I reach into my pocket to retrieve a piece of candy. “Can anyone tell me what this is?”
“Candy!” they all yell.
“And what is candy made of?”
“Sugar!”
“Yep. Did you know that all the food we eat ends up as a type of sugar? But not like the sugar in this candy. It’s a sugar called glucose. Can you say glucose?”
“Glucose!” they eagerly reply. I could say Armageddon, and they would gleefully chant it back to me. I should try it.
On second thought, I’d better not.
I take the piece of candy and pretend to eat it. “Now, when I eat it, it goes down my throat into my stomach. What happens next?”
“It makes poop,” a red-headed girl says.
Okay, so I set myself up for that one. I should be more specific next time. I sort of remember being six, and I loved to say poop too, so I can’t fault them for that.
“Not yet. What’s your name?”
“Camille,” she replies.
“Well, Camille, it does end up as poop, but there’s something before that.”
Camille giggles and nudges Kade. “He said poop.”
The class sniggers. Using the word “poop” never ceases to be funny. I’m a doctor, and I’m supposed to be all adult-acting, but bathroom humor still brings out a chuckle in me. Jennifer would argue that I have a mental capacity only slightly higher than most of her class, and she’s being generous with her assessment.
Jennifer stands. “Guys, this is all fun, but let’s calm down, okay?”
“What happens before it becomes poop?” I ask, trying to get them back on target. I am going to write the director of the school system and insist that my sister get a raise. This is one tough job.
“Pee?” a little boy asks.
“Nope, but good guess. What happens between the stomach and making poop?”
There is silence. Jennifer hides her amused expression behind her hand as she sits back to enjoy the show. Finally, after wh
at seems like forever, a little girl with messy light-blond hair raises her hand.
I point to her. “Yes. What’s your name?”
“Stella,” she replies.
I fix my eyes on Jennifer, and my eyebrows shoot up. The only other person I even know with that name is my mother. I take another gander at the little girl. The name seems to suit her. She is too cute for words.
“Okay, Stella. Do you know?”
She cringes as she says, “Digestion?” Her pretty green eyes beg me to tell her she’s right.
“Yes!” I give her a high five. “Digestion is what happens to our food from the time we put it in our mouths until the time we…”
“Poop,” the entire class yells.
Facepalm.
“I think we’re all clear about that,” Jennifer says, interrupting the cheers about poop and pee. “Let Dr. Theo continue. I’m sure he has a point somewhere.”
“Yes, I do.” I condense my ten-minute adult lecture about what diabetes is and how I have to manage it to a thirty-second, first-grade version. They’ll be more interested in the blood-and-guts stuff, anyway.
I wrap up my talk by pointing at my monitor. “And I tell the machine how much insulin I need.”
“How do you know how much?” a little girl asks.
“Good question.” I take out my Accu-Chek glucose machine from my backpack. “I need a volunteer.”
Twenty hands shoot up into the air.
“Um, you. Stella Bella. Come here, and you get to check my blood sugar.”
“My mommy calls me that.”
“Your mommy has good taste in names.”
She giggles as I give her an alcohol wipe packet. “Open that and wipe my finger with the alcohol.” I point to my ring finger.
She does exactly as I tell her with the most serious expression.
I put gloves on her that swallow her tiny hands before I give her a safety lancet. “Don’t touch that blue button yet.” I press the “on” button on my Accu-Chek machine and insert a test strip. “Ready?”
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