One Size Fits All

by Courtney Cole

  I let the phone buzz and buzz and buzz until the sound turns into a muted noise below the silence of the cars driving down the alley behind our building.

  Kate and Lori both stick their heads into my room. "Did you have another episode?" Lori asks.

  "I don't want to talk about it," I say, suffocating myself with my pillow.

  "Well, I think you brought some of the smell home with you."

  "What?" I pop up. "What are you talking about?"

  "Yeah, you kind of brought a waft of shit in with you." It doesn't happen often but this time, it does. I cry because I'm the kind of girl who would never pass gas in front of a man. I'm the kind of girl who would pretend that girls don't poop. But in reality, I'm the kind of girl who constantly shits herself while in the presence of others.

  "This is why I took a year hiatus," I croak out. "This is why I didn't want to date."

  "Because you have stomach issues? Lots of people have stomach issues. Did you eat something bad?" Lori asks. "I mean I know when people have certain foods, it can just be like whoa...So maybe you just need to change your diet."

  She acts like I haven't tried this. Like I haven't gone to ten different doctors in the past year alone. I've had every test done and everything has come back inconclusive. Basically, I'm just screwed. "Do you remember my all green diet a few months ago?" I tell her.

  "Yeah, sure, how could we forget? You were PMSing for two months," Kate says, leaning back against my wall.

  "Well, that didn't work." My ass is an ass, bottom line.

  "I'm sorry," Kate offers.

  "Me too," Lori says. "What did you eat tonight? It smells like skunk."

  My God! "Get out, please," I tell them both.

  "No," Kate says, flipping my light on. "You're going to come have wine and cheese, and watch Greys reruns with us."

  "Just don't cut the cheese, please," Lori says through laughter. The only reason they're both joking about this is because they're constantly trying to get me to lighten up about it, but when it comes to dating it's mortifying, and it makes me want to commit to a single life forever just so I can avoid the embarrassment of another hot man being around this situation.

  "She's not having it tonight," Kate tells Lori. "Get your sweats on and burn that outfit, then come out to the living room."

  That was already my plan--the burning of my clothes part, anyway. They walk out, closing the door behind them and I slip my dress off to toss it into the hamper. I don't smell anything, but maybe it's one of those situations where you don't smell your own scent...if that's an actual thing. I pull my sweats out of my drawer and step into them, topping myself off with an extra-large t-shirt.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror as I walk toward the door, seeing the white wash across my cheeks. I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself. Maybe this is just who I'll always be. Maybe I need to get over myself and assume no one cares about this as much as I do. Or maybe they do. Who wants a girl who has this issue all of the time?

  My phone buzzes again as if it's answering my question but this ship has sailed. I can't face him again, especially since I ran off. Crossing Officer Anders off my list. Crossing dating sites off my list too.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Where are you heading out to so early today? I thought you didn't have to work," Lori asks, as she touches up her lipstick in the hanging mirror beside the front door.

  "Another doctor's appointment," I tell her. "That's why I have today off."

  "Geez, all day?" she asks.

  "They have to sedate me today," I sigh.

  "Oh my God. How are you going to get home?" she asks.

  "Uber?"

  "Are you out of your mind?" she asks, puckering lips. "I'll take you and pick you up. I have to meet with that new couple downtown anyway. Today they're picking out their balloons..." She rolls her eyes and throws her lipstick into her purse.

  "Balloons?" I repeat.

  "Yeah, suddenly a two-hundred-thousand-dollar wedding isn't complete without yellow balloons. It's like Big Bird is sponsoring this shin-dig. I'm going to try and talk them out of it."

  "Yeah, that sounds..."

  "I mean, The Knot is supposed to be at this wedding to take pictures for their featured post in June, and I can guarantee you it won't be featured if they go with balloons." The thought of a huge expensive wedding with yellow balloons doesn't sound like the most horrifying thing in the world to me, but clearly, it's a no-no in wedding-planner world.

  "The Knot?" I ask. "What's that? Some nautical magazine?"

  Lori gasps and slaps her hand over her mouth, all while still being careful not to smudge her lipstick. "Shut your face. How do you not know what The Knot is? Any woman between the ages of twenty-two and forty know what The Knot is. It's only the best wedding magazine/website out there for brides. My God, Syd, get with the program."

  You meant to specify women who plan to get married someday. Those women in that age group would know what The Knot is. Getting married in a white dress makes me want to laugh. My wedding day would be that scene from Bridesmaids when Maya Rudolph was squatting in the middle of the street in her dress. While everyone was laughing during that scene, I'm pretty sure I lost a few tears over it. "I'm not getting married, so there's no use in me searching through The Knot," I remind her.

  Lori rolls her eyes at me, grabs her Louis Vuitton trench coat, and slips on her Christian Louboutins. "Do I look okay?" she asks.

  "You look like an expensive wedding planner," I answer as she flips her long, blonde waves over her shoulders. It's ten in the morning and her lashes are fake, her bronzer is very bronze, and her lipstick is whatever this season's color is...I can't remember the name, but I'll call it red, just not out loud or she'll have a hissy. "Where's Kate today?"

  "She's joining me at the meeting. Nine o'clock Pedi this morning." Lori and Kate work together. Partners for Legally Bound Wedding planners. "You know you can still join us, right?" After we graduated college, the three of us had this big, great plan of running a company, but to start off after college as an entrepreneur was not exactly the most fruitful idea with the mound of school loan debt I accrued. I felt like a secure job would be set me up for more success. The Joke was on me. The two of them each make at least three hundred thousand in salary a year and I'm scraping in fifty.

  "I know, but I'm not like you guys. I wouldn't fit in." Jumping in now would be awkward and hard on our friendship. I'm not like them. My confidence is not what it used to be, and I dress like I work at a doctor's office, not in clothes that cost more than our rent.

  "You always say that, but your reason is kind of dumb. All you'd have to do is exchange your scrubs for a few nice outfits. Oh, and you'd need to smile more. No one probably knows this, but you do have perfect teeth."

  "Okay, okay, I get it," I tell her. I do, but it doesn't make it easier to smile. Currently, my life sucks. End of story.

  "Ready to get moving?" she asks, dropping her sunglasses into her purse.

  "Unfortunately," I reply. I love getting cameras shoved up my ass by an old, grumpy man who has a black unibrow and calloused hands that I can feel through medical gloves. This isn't my first colonoscopy by him. Sedated or not, I remember things.

  I follow Lori out to her candy red Land Rover and slide in onto her shimmering black leather seats. Her car is spotless, which is funny considering the way she used to live when we were roommates in college. Kate and I were always cleaning up after her.

  "Do you think you'd be up for some entertainment tonight?" she asks as she turns the ignition.

  "What do you mean?" And why would I want any form of entertainment tonight after being probed today?

  "This new photography company Kate and I partnered up with want to take us out for dinner and drinks to sign the papers."

  "I don't think it would be appropriate for me to be there if this is a business dinner," I tell her, looking out the window as we pass the restaurant from last
night. I can almost see the perfect scene where I crashed into Anders, straight out of a romance book. Girl crashes into the man of her dreams, and they live happily ever after, or the girl shits herself on their first date and runs like hell. Same story, different ending.

  "Okay, I lied," she says with a grin. "We met them at a wedding expo, and they asked us out. But there's three of them, and we sort of told them it was perfect since there was three of us. Plus, we really do want to sign a deal with them for their photography services."

  "No," I say quickly. Flatly. Definitively.

  "Yes," she responds. "Or I'll leave you at the hospital."

  "I can Uber it," I remind her.

  "Come on, Syd, don't be a stick in the mud," she whines, looking over at me as her cheeks lift higher against her smile. Laughter comes next and she realizes her "stick in the mud" joke is so not funny right this second. "Get it?"

  "Yeah, you're so funny," I tell her.

  "You're coming, and you'll forget all about a stick being stuck in your mud today."

  I don't say no, but I didn't say yes, which means I'm now officially going.

  We pull up to the front sliding door to the hospital, and I hop out of the car as I look down at my watch. "It's probably going to be three hours. I'll text you when it's over. And it's fine if I need to call Uber, really."

  "I'll be here, Sydney." She blows me a kiss, and I close the door.

  The familiar knot in my stomach aches as I take the long ass elevator ride up to the tenth floor where the specialized offices are. I walk into Dr. Simon's office, smelling the bleach and ammonia, a scent I wish I was used to after working at a doctor's office for so long. I hate this smell more than I hate the smell of shit. Honestly. I walk up to the front desk, finding a new receptionist--a woman my age, looking a little frazzled as she puts calls on hold and types all the wrong keys into the system before deleting it all. I give her a minute, knowing what it feels like when things get crazy at the office. "I'm so sorryyyyyyyyy, just oneeeee sec," she says, typing in the last word. "It's my first week. Blah." She looks up with her big, blood-shot red eyes, telling me she probably hasn't slept all week as she learns whatever software they use.

  "No worries. I'm Sydney Pratt, here for Dr. Simon." She types my name into the computer and runs her finger down the screen. "Okay, he'll be with you in a few minutes." I take my debit card out to pay my co-pay and place it down on the counter. "Oh, we have a resident here today, he's shadowing Dr. Simon. Is it okay if he scrubs in on the procedure?"

  "A resident?" I ask for clarification. I know what a resident is, but...really? During this humiliating procedure.

  "Yeah, he's going to be opening his own practice soon but needs to finish up his residency first. Honestly, between you and me, I think he'll end up taking over Dr. Simon's practice. It's the rumor going around since Dr. Simon is retiring at the end of this year. But you didn't hear that from me," she winks.

  I grin, a fake grin because I hate switching doctors, even though I don't care for Dr. Simon, especially since after five years he still isn't any closer to figuring out what is wrong with me. Regardless, I don't want to deal with a change of ass guards right now.

  It's twenty minutes passes before I'm called into the preparation room. Another twenty minutes before I'm called into another preparation room, and now I'm sitting in a beautiful blue johnny with my legs dangling from a table.

  Dr. Simon finally raps his fist against the door once and walks in. "Good morning, Sidney. How are we today?"

  "Awesome," I tell him, feeling a draft from the open door blow up the johnny. I'm waiting for Dr. Simon to close the door since um...I'm in a johnny, but he doesn't. Why? Because a man who looks like Channing fucking Tatum walks in behind him with a scrubs on. No. Don't you do this to me, Universe. Don't do this.

  "Hi, I'm Dr. Freeman," he says, reaching his hand out to shake mine. Why do you have to look the way you do, Dr. Freeman? You're about to see my asshole, which is just fantastic, but I think I'd rather shit myself in front of you. "We'll get through this quickly today and hopefully we'll have some answers for you soon."

  "Thanks," I mumble, looking down at his brand new Nike's, the expensive kind that makes a man's feet look hot…however that works. My God, he has big feet. Ugh. Go away, inappropriate thoughts.

  "When is the last flare you had?" Dr. Freeman asks, typing a few things into the computer while Dr. Simon washes his hands.

  Really? Do you want to know how my date went last night too? Can I cry? "Last night," I tell him. Let me guess, you can still smell it on me too?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The last time I was sedated here, I felt everything, and it was horrible. Right now, I feel like I'm sliding down rainbow-colored candy canes made of warmed massage oil. It doesn't hurt that I'm staring at Channing Freeman. Is that his name? Does it matter? Newp. His hand is resting on my hip as I'm being probed with a camera. Take away the camera and I could think of worse things to be going through. Maybe it's strange that he's smiling at me with his perfect teeth. Maybe he should be more focused on the TV screen displaying the inner workings of my asshole, but I suppose I would rather look elsewhere too. "Is there any pain?" he asks, though his words are a bit slurred.

  "No," I sigh. "But your hand is warm and nice." Oh shit. Did I just say that out loud? This is why I should never be sedated. Crap like this comes out of my mouth instead of my ass.

  Dr. Freeman removes his nice, warm, cozy schmozy hand from my thigh and disappointment replaces the warmth. Why did I have to open my mouth? It's the first time any man has touched me in years, since this situation began, since Toby, my ex--my what was supposed to be my forever--broke up with me. The "situation" got to be too much for him to handle and he was embarrassed for me, which is always nice. He ended up being a douche. I think I can leave it at that. Douche. That's such a funny word. Why would a woman call a man by a product that flushes pretty scented water up a hoohah? Speaking of douches, I'm pretty sure that's what's happening down yonder right now but not in my hoohah. Channing is cleaning out my asshole.

  Instead of watching the big TV or hottie-mc-hottie, I'm going to watch the clock, watching it tick slowly as my life passes by with a camera and a hose up my tushy.

  A warm hand on my forehead forces me to push my heavy eyelids open. Not sure when they closed but I have definitely been asleep. Oh and I'm not in the procedure room anymore. I'm in a bed, in a small office, and the hand belongs to Channing Freeman. "Channing," I croak. "Did you Channing my Tatum." A snorty laughter rumbles through my throat as I consider the nonsense humor in my statement.

  "Who? What?" he asks, his brows arching toward each other. His name is not Channing. I made that up. He might have been confused at first, but now he's chuckling. "Funny. I'm Noah Freeman." He reaches his hand out to me, and I do my best to lift my hand, but it won't move. I'm so tired. I'd like to go back to sleep but only if he places his hand back over my head.

  "Nice to meet you," I say through a slur of words.

  "I know how much this sucks," he offers. "I suffered from something similar for years. It's one of the reasons why I'm in the industry now. I don't want to watch anyone go through what I went through." With as confident as Channing has been, he's not making eye contact as he says all of this. Instead, he's looking down toward his steepled fingers. "It's mortifying and can put a damper on your life, that's for sure." Now I'm looking at his hands, noticing there is no ring on his finger. Not that that means anything. Not that I should be even thinking anything about that. He's a doctor, I'm a patient, and he just looked up my ass for three hours. "As soon as we get the results back, I'm hoping we will have some better answers and possible solutions for you."

  "We haven't found one yet," I say, noticing the slur of my words becoming less prominent.

  "You haven't worked with me yet," he says. The confidence is back. "And yes, I know, I'm just a resident, but I've devoted the last eight years of my life to researc
h." So did Dr. Simon, at some point, regardless of it being in the nineteen forties probably.

  "I'll keep my fingers crossed," I tell him.

  "Legs too," he chuckles, nudging me with the back of his fist. "A little shitty humor for you from one sufferer to another."

  "I thought you were better now?" I ask.

  "I am, but once a sufferer always a sufferer. I still have to relive those days in my nightmares. Do you know how many chicks I scared away in college? Who would have thought women would be so turned off by uncontrolled bowel issues." Coming from him, this sounds funny. When I say this stuff, I just want to cry.

  "I can understand that," I tell him.

  He stands up from the edge of the bed I'm lying on and types a few things into the computer across the room. "Do you have anyone coming to pick you up?"

  "Yeah, I just have to call my roommate, Lori, to pick me up." He looks around the room before spotting my purse. He grabs it and places it down next to me. "Thank you." I slip my phone out of the side pocket and scroll through my contacts for Lori's name and press call. With the phone up to my ear, I let it ring six times before her voice message goes off. I don't bother with a message, though. I'm fine with calling an Uber. I'm sure she's still in with her client, and I don't want to bug her.

  "No answer?"

  "No, it's fine. I'm going to call an Uber." I thumb through my pages of apps until I come to the Uber app, but by time I have it opened, Channing has taken the phone from my hand.

  "You don't want to do that."

  "What? Why not?"

  "It'll be a bumpy ride and you need a slow, smooth ride home--you know to avoid nausea and all that. Plus, you never know what other side effects might strike after a colonoscopy." There is no smile on his face. There's no joking behind his words. He is as serious as a shit leak. He opens the exam room door and pokes his head out, looking in both directions. "I'll take you home myself."