The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill

Thirty

Kendall

Whether it was my subconscious nerves, or perhaps the heat of the late afternoon sun, that had my stomach doing aerial acrobatics while I was chatting with Zeke and Marek, I was feeling a little dizzy and found the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and neck.

As I finish up in the restroom, I check my reflection in the mirror and see that the makeup under my eyes is slightly smudged from my earlier tears.

The minute I closed the bathroom door behind me, I had burst into tears. I know I’m overreacting to a situation I have yet to confirm as positive or negative, but my emotions are all over the board and it feels like I’m in a no-win situation.

On one hand, I want so badly to be pregnant. To experience the glow of pregnancy. To watch my belly grow with a child of my own. I wistfully place my palm over my flat core, turning sideways to stares at my profile. If I am indeed pregnant, I’m not more than a few months. There’s no visible sign of it, yet my heart squeezes with hope.

But then on the other hand, if I am pregnant and tell Zeke, he might not want to have a baby with me. Our relationship is still new. He’s been adamant about not wanting children. He might think I’m trying to trap him into being a father. I can’t do that to him. Especially if he’s reluctant about the idea of ever being a father in the first place.

A light, but urgent, knock on the door jerks me from my thoughts.

“Just a minute,” I call out, quickly drying my hands before swinging the door open to find a beautiful young woman standing outside the door. Her wavy sunflower blonde hair cascades over her shoulders like a mermaid.

She looks up at with terrified blue eyes. “Excuse me…I’m sorry, but…”

I’m just about to say hello when she bolts past me, rushing to the toilet. I gape in surprise at her presumptuous entrance, but then a wave of compassion hits me when she drops to her knees to barely make it over the bowl in time.

Without a second thought, I grab one of the hand towels from the basket on the counter, engraved with gold-leaf initials of MT, and wet it under the sink. Turning back around, I scoop up her loose hair that’s fallen around her face and pull it out of the way.

The woman retches several times, quietly sobbing in both agony and relief. Finally, when the convulsions stop, she falls back onto her heels with a quiet groan. I offer her the wet towel to clean herself off.

She slowly lifts her head up toward me, accepting it with a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you,” she says weakly, dabbing at her mouth. I notice her cheeks are now a rosy pink, instead of the green that colored them when she flew through the door.

“You’re welcome. Can I get you some water?” I offer, gesturing toward the doorway. But she grabs hold of my wrist and plops down on her butt with her back against the wall, her head thudding against the tile décor.

“No, I’ll be okay. My husband should be here any minute. He dropped me off, but had to find parking when I knew I couldn’t make it.”

I take the towel from her hands and rinse it out in the sink, wetting the other end for her to blot against the sweat beads that formed over her forehead and neck.

“Are you ill?” I ask cautiously, hoping not to pry, but wanting to offer what assistance I can.

She lets out a choked laugh and smiles brightly. “Nope. Just pregnant.”

She drops her chin to her chest and rubs at her belly, which bulges with a barely-there baby bump underneath the material of her loose-fitting dress.

A sudden pang hits me in my own gut, my eyes misting over at her news. Good grief, I’m an emotional wreck.

“Oh, wow, that’s wonderful,” I coo. “Well, not about the havoc it’s wreaking on your body, but the baby. Congratulations.”

The woman looks at me again with tears in her own eyes, sparkling with a shimmering blue full of hope and happiness.

“Thank you. We are so excited.”

A knock on the door interrupts our conversation and both our gazes swing to the door.

“Logan, baby? Are you in here?” The male voice is desperate and anxious.

“I’m in here, Carver. Come in.”

The door swings wide and in steps one of my former patients, Carver Edwards. Our eyes lock momentarily—his startled and completely devoid of recognition—and then they move to his wife’s as he rushes in and falls to the floor in front of her.

“Baby, are you okay?” He cups her cheeks in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Lo. I shouldn’t have made you come today. It was stupid of me.”

The tenderness he offers her does something weird inside my chest. Twisting and squeezing at my heart over the love they share between them.

“Carver, I’m fine. I just need a few Saltines and some Ginger Ale.”

As if he’s just been given his mission, he jumps to his feet, scanning the small powder room as if they’ll magically appear out of thin air.

“I’m on it.” The crazed look in his eyes has me stifling a laugh.

The sound of my chuckle must reach into his muddled head and seems to switch him back to ‘on’ mode, flipping on the lightbulb of acknowledgment and recognition.

“Dr. Rush? Wait, what are you doing here?” Carver asks, his gaze connecting once again with mine, bouncing between me and his wife.

Logan’s mouth opens and she tilts her head toward me.

I smile at them both, the oddity of this situation like something out of a comedic TV show.

“Well, this is a little awkward,” I say, flattening my palms in the air before giving a one-handed wave. “Hello, Carver. And hello Logan, nice to meet you.”

I turn to Logan, who sits next to me with an embarrassed expression. Leaning over, I gently bump her shoulder with mine in solidarity and sympathy.

Logan lowers her eyes, thumping her forehead in her hand, and then shakes her head, soft, stray strands of blonde hair covering her sweet face.

“Oh, my God, this is so humiliating,” she whimpers, hiding her face in her hands.

I reach out and lay a hand on top of her knee. “Logan, this is nothing to be embarrassed about. What you’re going through is natural and, sadly, sometimes part of the pregnancy cycle. You can’t help the way your body responds to the life you’re carrying inside you.”

Logan’s face lights up in response, a sweet blush sweeping over her high cheekbones and neck. “That’s sweet of you to say. It still doesn’t make it any less embarrassing, but thank you so much for your help. You probably thought I was just a wasted party-girl who couldn’t hold her liquor.”

Laughter rings out between the three of us as Carver helps his wife to her feet and I stand up on my own. Once he has her steadied on her feet, he gives her a hug. I watch him bury his face in her neck, the love so clearly evident between him and his wife.

I remember him telling me the story of how they met a few years ago when he began counseling with me. They were teenagers at the time, attending a camp in Canada. He said he fell madly in love with Logan, and it was love at first sight. But life and circumstances pulled them apart and they missed out on four years while he was away in college. As fate would have it, though, they reconnected, mended fences, and have been together ever since.

It’s news to me that they’re planning to expand their family. During his therapy sessions with me, we discussed the guilt he carried for years and his reluctance to forgive his own father for making Logan keep it a secret from him.

Things seem to have ended in a happily ever after for them, after all. After getting back together, he and Logan were able to find the adoptive parents of their son and they’ve forged a unique bond with their son. As for Carver’s father, I encouraged Carver to reach out, work on letting go of that pain he held on to for years, and give his father an opportunity to rectify his past mistakes.

Dusting off the pleats of my sundress, I shake my head at Logan’s comment.

“I hadn’t even considered that. I was surprised, of course, but that thought didn’t even occur to me. In fact, I was about to ask you if I should avoid the shrimp cocktail.”

Logan laughs at my lame attempt to make light of what just happened and the three of us turn toward the door when another knock comes from the hallway.

Carver makes a face and then waggles his brows. “Whoever is out there is going to think I just got really lucky in here with you two.”

And when the door opens, Zeke stands there, wearing a very strange expression. His wrinkled forehead is a sign he’s thinking exactly the same thing.

We all burst into laughter as Carver pats his friend and teammate on the shoulder and we each head out into the hallway.

“Great party, man,” Carver teases, draping one arm around his wife and the other around me, peering over his shoulder at Zeke. “Plenty of fun to be had.”