by Moss, Brooke
Don’t let her annoy you, I reminded myself.
“Mar, I’m so sorry.” My voice cracked.
There was no turning back now. Sure, I wanted Fletcher with all of my heart. But without Marisol’s forgiveness, it would never feel right. I had to at least try to right my wrong.
She leveled me with an icy gaze. “Are you, now?”
“I should have told you from the beginning that I had feelings for Fletcher.” I ran a shaky hand through my messed up hair. “I knew the first time I saw him that I liked him. I figured you were better for him, since you’re so beautiful and glamorous, and—”
“You see, that’s what ticks me off about you!” She threw up her hands and pushed herself out of the rocking chair. “You’re constantly putting yourself down, and sticking me on some sort of pedestal. It’s insane. And annoying. I mean, don’t you see yourself?”
I looked down at my stained tee shirt and the plastic hospital bracelets around my wrist. There were still sticky patches on the tops of my hands from my IV tape. “Um, yeah. Why?”
“You’re beautiful,” she thundered. My mother peeked around the corner, then disappeared. “You’ve got natural beauty I could never have. You can wear a pair of jeans and a fifteen-year-old tee shirt and still look hot, and I have to have laser treatments just to have two eyebrows. You make being attractive look effortless. Don’t you understand how hard it is to be friends with you? To work along side you? Of course Fletcher wants you and not me. I’m like a yippy poodle with manicured claws and a diamond-studded collar. You’re like a loyal golden retriever that fetches sticks and rolls over to let him pat your belly.”
“Whoa,” I said quickly. “We never slept—”
“That’s not what I meant.” Marisol frowned. “The point is, Fletcher isn’t a poodle kind of guy. He’s a golden retriever kind of guy. Have you seen that horse he calls a pet?”
“Libman is awesome.” I stood up from the couch, groaning when my stitches pulled. “I don’t even know what to say. I never knew you felt that way. You’re always so confident.”
Marisol stopped pacing and faced me. Her nose was red. “Don’t you get it? I’m not confident at all. I’m so petrified that nobody is going to notice me that I spend all of my time monopolizing all of the attention everywhere I go. You? You just walk into a room and people notice you. It’s effortless for you.”
“Mar—”
She made an odd whimpering sound and covered her mouth. I froze, unsure what to do. Seeing Marisol cry was like spotting a unicorn.
“Of course he wanted you,” she cried. “You two were made for each other.”
I put up a hand. “Okay stop right there.” When she silenced, I took a deep breath. “Everything your saying is shocking. But the bottom line is I screwed up. I did something wrong, and I should have known better. Whether we were made for each other or not, kissing him while you guys were dating was horrible. I want to be with Fletcher, more than anything. But not if it means losing your friendship.”
Marisol was crying now, her tears dragging her makeup down her pretty face. I bent down to put Ian in his cradle at the end of the couch, then reached for my friend’s hands. When she didn’t pull away, my heart did a victory dance. “I’ll never do anything like this to you again. I’m sorry.”
Marisol’s head sunk down onto my shoulder. “I forgive you,” she sputtered into my shirt. “But only if you forgive me.”
I put my arms around her and squeezed her tight. “What the hell for?”
She pulled back and looked at me. Her face was a hot mess for the first time in, well, ever. “For being so obnoxious. For making you feel inadequate. For sleeping with anything that walks. No, wait. I’m not sorry for that.”
“Stop. Okay. I forgive you.” I heard Ian starting to stir in his little bed, and a shockwave jolted straight through my body into my boobs. “I need to feed him, I—”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Marisol squeezed me even tighter. “You need to listen to me, Lex.”
I blinked at her. “W-what?”
“You freaking love him,” she said with conviction. “Go to him. Profess your feelings for him. Get freaky with him. Get on one knee and ask him to marry you, or something, for Pete’s sake! But don’t sit around ignoring him because of me.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Once Marisol and I finished having our “come to Jesus” moment, and I’d fed Ian—an act Marisol deemed both barbaric and utterly compelling at the same time—we sat down on my couch with steaming bowls of minestrone to plan out how I was going to woo Fletcher.
Sure, we’d already declared our love for one another, and experienced more together than most couples would go through within their first year. It felt like we’d been a couple for ages already, and we’d not even gone on our first date! Bloody, emergency C-sections followed by full-on family blowouts had a tendency to do that to a couple.
And then there was that little detail of my sending Fletcher away. And not wanting to see him. And not returning his calls. Or texts. It was especially inconsiderate of me since Fletcher had flowers sent to my apartment. Three times.
Yeah, it was no surprise to me that Marisol told me I needed to do something big.
“You’re gonna have to eat some crow, my dear,” my mother had said as she rocked Ian in the corner.
“Mmhm. She’s right.” Marisol nodded. “You’ve got to show Fletcher that you’re in and not going anywhere. Go big or go home.”
And so I spent the next few days planning.
Okay, fine. A week. But it wasn’t my fault.
Every time I walked past a mirror, my heart would crash into the bottom of my flabby stomach. My lips were covered in fever blisters, something I’d not had since junior high school, but the trauma of Ian’s delivery had unearthed them once again.
My skin, usually white as snow and perfectly clear, was covered in angry, red zits. And my boobs had taken on lives of their own. My breasts had grown to twice their size and now resembled overheated volleyballs, and my stomach wiggled like pudding when I did even the simplest things—you know, like breathing.
I wanted Fletcher to desire me. I wanted him to not only love what was inside of me, but I also wanted him to crave the outside, too.
I know, I know. I was putting the women’s movement back a few paces with my post-partum induced insecurities. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to be a sex goddess, but when I looked in the mirror, I saw Quasimodo with wet stains on my tee shirt where my nipples were.
“Get over yourself,” Candace said as she cradled Ian in her lap.
Marisol nodded in agreement from behind her compact mirror. They’d come to see me (i.e., the baby), and were none-to-pleased when Marisol jacked my phone and discovered no outgoing calls to Fletcher in my call log.
“You’re blowing it,” my cousin continued. “He’s called Brian every day since the delivery to check on you. Brian says he sounds terrible. He’s sick with worry. You’re killing him.”
“And look at these text messages!” Marisol piped in. “I see you’re still ignoring them. Seriously, I get the whole playing hard to get thing, but this is plain stupid.”
“I know.” I covered my paunchy middle with a throw pillow. “I’m just trying to get a grip on my hormones before I see him. Maybe drop a few pounds.”
Candace frowned at me. “Are you joking?”
I looked down at my lap.
“This is asinine. He loves you, Lexie.” Marisol gestured to the vases of roses, lilies, and tulips arranged around my living room. “And you’re ignoring him.”
“Have you seen me lately?” I adjusted one of the nursing pads in my bra. “The constellation of Orion is on my face, and my stomach looks like an angel food cake dough that didn’t cook long enough.”
Marisol rolled her eyes. “Listen, he may love you and all, but a guy like Fletcher isn’t going to wait around forever.”
Candace shot her a look. “Marisol—”
“No,
I’m serious.” She closed her compact with a click, and dropped it into her purse. She then held out her arms. “Okay, give me the kid, and I’ll explain what the hell I’m talking about.”
Candace stood up and placed Ian in Marisol’s waiting arms. She’d actually gotten pretty good at holding Ian. The first time she’d done it, he had been suspended in her hands at arms length away from her body. Now she actually cradled Ian close to her body—though she still faced him outward, in case he “exploded.” It’d only taken one spit-up incident to convince Marisol he was a ticking time bomb.
“There we go.” She started swaying slowly. “Listen, I’m not saying Fletcher’s going to replace you. He doesn’t seem the type. Frankly, he strikes me as the type who would just pine away for you for the rest of his life. He’s loyal like a bird dog, that one. But other women?” Marisol scoffed. “They’ll be on him like white on rice. No woman is going to leave a catch like Fletcher Haybee alone for long. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying it’s true.”
I let her words marinate for a few moments. I hated to say it, but Marisol was right. When it came to knowing the ins and outs of conniving women, it was definitely her wheelhouse. “I’ll call him as soon as I can get myself together,” I said. “As soon as I can shower on a daily basis.”
“Wait a minute.” Candace’s hand came down on the arm of the rocker. “Lex, he sees women in your current state all the time. Women who’ve just given birth and their skin is broken out. Women whose stomachs haven’t gone back to normal yet. He doesn’t care how you look right now. He cares how you’re doing.”
“I just…” My voice came out jagged, and I cleared my throat. “I want to be beautiful for Fletcher. I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“Good Lord, you are such a moron.” Marisol spoke so loud that Ian jolted in her arms. “Oh, sorry.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Lex, he saw your vagina with one of those speculum thingies in it.”
“Geez!” Candace leaned forward to cover the baby’s ears.
Marisol smirked. “Come on, you bled all over Fletcher’s office. He saw you with your abdomen cut open and your guts spilling out. He kissed you in your hospital room while you were so stoned you were practically drooling, and he’s practically beside himself waiting for you to contact him.”
A tug pulled in my heart. “I can’t even give Fletcher what I want to give him. I’m not even allowed yet. And if I were, all I have to do is think about Ian, and I leak all over the place like a deranged dairy cow.”
“So double up on the nursing pads,” Candace said.
“And everything makes me cry,” I continued. “Literally everything. Yesterday I realized I was out of butter and I cried for forty-five minutes. I can’t even imagine what an orgasm would make me do. I may never stop sobbing. And in case you haven’t figured it out, that’s not exactly sexy, guys.”
Marisol snorted. “You can say that again.”
“Hush.” Candace used one of Ian’s receiving blankets to swat at her. “Lexie, do you think that’s what this is all about? Sex?”
I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, before finally croaking, “Well, in part.”
“This isn’t just a lust thing. This isn’t just a romp.” Candace threw her hands up. “We’ve known him for a few years now, and never in that time has he expressed anything more than a passing interest in a woman. His focus has always been on his daughter and his practice. This is the first time we’ve ever heard him say he loves a woman. The first time we’ve seen him wrecked over a woman. When I had each of our kids, I was a mess. You know that. My hair fell out, I got terrible psoriasis on my shoulders and back. My entire body completely rebelled against me, and I looked like I’d been hit by a truck and then dragged for a few blocks.”
I nodded. “I remember.”
“So do I,” Marisol agreed, giggling. “You were a horror movie.”
“Gee, thanks.” Candace snapped. “What I’m trying to say is, Brian adored me. He treated me like the most beautiful woman in the world. He never complained that he wasn’t getting laid. He never griped because I wasn’t wearing fancy lingerie. We got to know each other more in those months than we had in the years we’d been together before. We got reacquainted in here.” She pointed to her head first, then tapped her chest. “And here. And that’s what you and Fletcher have the opportunity to do. Do you understand that?”
I got it. Deep inside of my heart, something slid into place with a satisfying click, and everything I’d been grappling with for weeks—months, if I wanted to be technical—made sense. Sure, it was unorthodox to fall in love with my obstetrician, a man who happened to be dating one of my friends. But now I’d been given the opportunity to pull the reins, to slow things down, to let mine and Fletcher’s feelings mature into something real, and grand, and permanent.
“Fine.” I reached out my hand and smiled at my two best friends through watery eyes. “My phone is next to you, Marisol. Will you please hand it to me?”
She shifted Ian to one arm. “Check it out. One hand.”
Candace closed her eyes. “Oh holy crap, no tricks. Just give her the phone.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She tossed my phone across the room. “Are you calling Fletcher?”
“No.” I offered them a smile. “I’m calling a travel agent.”
***
Fletcher’s receptionist looked up from her computer and smiled. “Lexie, how are you? I didn’t know you were on the schedule today.”
I put down Ian’s car seat, and tugged at my jacket. I’d dressed in my most forgiving clothes, and sported a lot of black in the hopes of disguising my still puffy exterior. Today it needed to be all about the inside. “I’m not actually.”
Her smile widened. “It’s good to see you. The last time we saw you, you were on a stretcher. I think your two-week post op appointment is tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” My stomach spun at the memory of all of the panic—and blood—in the office that day. “By the way, I’m sorry I scared you all.”
“It was actually pretty cool,” she admitted. “Usually we don’t get to see any excitement. That was the first time we’ve almost had an in-office delivery.”
“That’s me. The rule breaker.” I shuffled in place a bit. “I wondered if I could speak with Fletch, er, Dr. Haybee?”
“Well, he’s got back to back patients this afternoon, so—”
The receptionist was interrupted when Dr. Javornik came up behind her with a file folder. “Oh, hey there, Lexie! What a nice surprise. How are you feeling?”
“Hi.” I waved awkwardly. “Great, thanks.”
“How are the hormones? Feeling uneven?” She brushed a strand of her long grey hair back from her face.
Tears sprung in my eyes. Why? I didn’t know. Like I said, it didn’t take much.
“That’s normal, dear. They’ll fluctuate for a few months now.” Dr. Javornik nodded as she spoke, seemingly agreeing with herself. “How’s your flow? Slowing down? What about your incision area? Keeping it clean?
I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying. I really needed to get Fletcher out here, otherwise I was going to chicken. I’d already sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes before finding the guts to come inside.
“Lexie came to speak to Dr. Haybee,” the receptionist informed Dr. Javornik. “But since he’s busy, maybe you could see her, and—”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “You’d like to see Fletcher? Oh, let me go get him.”
Doubt started creeping up on me like an annoying shadow. “I can just come back.”
“No, no, no!” Dr. Javornik yelped, making Kelly jump. “He’ll be so happy to see you. I’ll tell him that you’re here.”
As she bustled off, I felt every set of eyes in the waiting room settle on me. Fixing my eyes on Ian’s car seat, I waited with my arms folded across my chest. Part of me wanted to run back to my car, where a box of tissues and a breast pump were waiting. But I r
efused. This was it. I had to put on my big girl panties and push forward.
I sat down on the edge of one of the leather chairs and swallowed down my fear. I loved Fletcher. He loved me. This should’ve been the most natural thing to do in the world.
So why did I feel the need to throw up?
Ian started to squirm and grunt in his car seat, and a couple of nurses peeked at me with excited grins. I could practically smell their anticipation, and sweat prickled underneath my arms. Good grief, was everybody in this place waiting for me to come talk to him? Nothing like trying to right a wrong with an audience.
Ian’s grunts started to morph into whines, so I rocked his car seat. “Shhhh…” I said quietly, trying to ignore the nurses gossiping in hushed voices about me.
…Apparently, he’s crazy over her…
…had me order flowers for her. Three times…
…broke his heart…
I leaned forward and put my face in my hands. This was a bad idea. Ian’s cries were getting louder, despite my rocking, and I could feel the all-to-familiar rush of warmth through my chest.
Oh, no, I thought. Not here.
“Shhh, it’s okay, honey,” I cooed.
Then the inevitable happened. My son released one of his freakishly high-pitched screams that cut right through me, deep down into the marrow in my bones. Before I even had time to process what was happening, two warm circles of wetness formed on my shirt.
“Oh, shit…” I hissed, opening my jacket and looking down. Sure enough, Bessie the cow had returned. Double breast pads, my ass!
“Lexie?”
The deep voice sent an electrical current through my body, right into my core.
Fletcher.
Pulling my jacket closed, I stood up and saw Fletcher striding towards me, his white jacket flapping out behind him. His worn, plaid button down was untucked, his jeans had a hole in the knee, and as always, his blonde hair was tousled to utter perfection. He was the only doctor I’d ever met who looked perpetually seventeen. Doogie Howser had nothing on Fletcher Haybee.
"Hi." My voice came out squeaky. Not that I was surprised. I'd just soaked through my bra, two breast pads, and my shirt right in front of a group of gaping onlookers. What was next? Peeing my pants?
