Checked Again (16 page)

I
slide my right hand down to my waist to release my seatbelt. My left hand
raises to guide the belt back into its spot, making sure it doesn’t
accidentally fly out of control and hit the hand in front of me. His hand.

Okay.
Done. Done awkwardly, but done.

Moving
on…

One.
Two. Three.

I
shift my body slowly to the left, very careful not to brush my face or arm
against his hand. I pick up my left foot and let it hang outside of the car.
Right beside his leg.

And
now…now I pause for a moment. His hand is still in front of me. Still blocking
my way. If I continue to push myself out of the car, I’m going to run into his
fingers.

But
if I just sit here like this, well, I don’t know. That would just be
ridiculous.

Okay.
One. Two. Three.

Praying
for some miraculous situation where my body is somehow miniature enough to fit
in the space in front of his hand without touching him, I begin my escape. I
turn my entire lower half in a strange, almost gymnastic move and push my right
leg out of the car door. Slowly, I begin to turn my shoulders, trying to
squeeze into a ball of nothing and—

And
that is when my miracle happens.

Just
as my shoulders are about to graze his fingers, he pulls back, slowly removing
his hand from the car as I (even more slowly) push my body up and out.

Both
feet on the ground. Body starting to stretch, to lengthen to a standing
position. And—

And
shit.

I
should have planned this out more carefully.

As
I finish bringing myself to a standing position, I realize we are now
body-to-body, inches apart. And there’s not much I can do about that right now
as my shoulders straighten, my neck lifts up, my face meets his.

Inches
apart. Body-to-body. Face-to-face.

I
can’t help myself. I look up. Up. Up. Click. Eyes to eyes now.

{Damien
gets louder. And louder.}

Blue,
blue eyes. Sad blue eyes. Concerned. Questioning. Anxious. Maybe a little
confused. But mostly sad.

My
neck, now numb…useless…falls back a little, but my eyes don’t move. Can’t move.
He exhales slowly. His warm breath lands on my cheek, my chin, my mouth.

My
face starts to tingle…so does my stomach…and then my hands…and my legs… 

His
eyes are changing…burning now. Just like when we—

“Dr.
Blake?” A loud voice snaps away the moment, the burning.

He
quickly turns around toward the voice. But we are still inches apart.
Body-to-body. Face to tense, rigid back…tight shoulders.

 “Yes,
Annie?”

Annie
leans out of the office door, her red hair flying a little with the wind. She
starts yelling again. “You have another call from the hospital. They think
you’d better go in. Now.”

I
watch the back of his head as he nods twice. Up and down. Up and down.

“Tell
them I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And cancel my afternoon appointments.
I’ll have you reschedule Miss Royce’s appointment later.” He motions back to me
with his hand as he says “Miss Royce.”

And
Annie just nods, head and hair. Then she disappears, the office door closing
behind her. I wonder what she thinks about the fact that he is standing so
close to me. Maybe she thinks I’m so mentally messed up that I can’t even stand
up on my own without someone spotting me. Or maybe she realizes that—

He
sighs, a long slow sigh.

His
back is still inches in front of me. He doesn’t turn around. I stand completely
still. No idea what I’m supposed to do.

{A
Great Big World and Christina Aguilera offer up some advice with
“Say Something
.
”
}

We
keep standing. And standing.

And
then he softly inhales. Still not facing me, he speaks. Quietly. “I didn’t tell
Mandy that you broke things off with me.” He pauses. “I didn’t tell her who
ended it.” He pauses again. “I didn’t know what you told her, what you told
your family. What you wanted them to know.” A long, long pause. “I didn’t know
what you knew. If you even remembered me coming in to see you in the hospital.”

I
watch as he lowers his head, looks down at the ground. “I still don’t know.”

I
don’t say anything. I still don’t understand exactly what he said to Mandy. I
listen for more words.

“So
I told Mandy that you needed a break from me. That I wasn’t helping you.” He
pauses. “And that wasn’t a lie.”

But
that’s not why you left. That’s—

{A
Great Big World and Christina keep singing, keep pleading with me. It works.}

The
words fall out of me in a jumble. “But that’s not why you…you didn’t leave
because…when you came into my hospital room, you said…you talked about the
similarities...with your mother…”

I
stop there. Upon mentioning his mother. Upon, I’m sure, putting another
miserable look in his perpetually sad eyes.

He
is silent for a moment. Then he starts talking again. “I know. I know how I
left—why I left.” He pauses. “But I didn’t really ever explain it all to you…I
didn’t tell you about Mom’s, um, last days in the hospital.” He pauses again.
“So I didn’t really want to get into all of it with Mandy.”

Oh.

Of
course he didn’t want to bring it all up with Mandy, with someone he barely
knows. It took him forever just to tell me that his mother died…I don’t know if
he ever planned…plans…to tell me how she died. Why she died.

I
don’t know if he wants me to know. I don’t know if he would want me to tell him
that I already know…

What
I do know, however, is that his eyes are probably really sad again…and that I
helped make them that way. Again.

And
that realization makes my stomach hurt. Makes my throat dry. Makes my head
pound.
{A Great Big World and Christina keep singing, pushing me once again
to speak.}

“I
understand,” I whisper. To his back. “I’m sorry about my email.”

Slowly,
his body begins to turn around. His eyes find mine…and, yes…they are sad. He’s
sad. He speaks. “Don’t be. I deserved it. I didn’t let Mandy know that I left
you in the hospital when you couldn’t even open your eyes, let alone speak. I
didn’t let Mandy know what a dick I was. Am.”

Completely
surprised by his choice of words (word…), my mouth starts to smile. I can’t
stop it. I also can’t stop the words that start to fall out of me. “A dick, Dr.
Blake? Is that a fancy clinical label?”

Unbelievably,
miraculously, his eyebrows lift up in surprise, and the edges of his mouth turn
up into a somewhat smile.

“Yes,
Callie, I believe it is.”

I
feel my smile getting bigger, spreading further across my—

“Dr.
Blake?” Annie again.

He
doesn’t turn away from me immediately this time. He leaves the tiny smile on
his face for a beat and then scrunches his nose a little…as though he’s annoyed
that we’re being interrupted.

It’s
adorable.

Callie!

He
slowly steals his eyes from mine and turns back to Annie, who is again standing
in the office doorway.

“I
know, I know. I’m leaving in a minute, Annie.”

Annie
shakes her head and goes back into the office. She has to wonder what is going—

He
turns back to me, his eyes somewhat serious again.

“You
still have to have an appointment.”

Before
I can respond, he goes on. “And we have to talk about your conference.” He
raises his eyebrows. “I heard you told Mandy that she couldn’t go with you.”

What?

“You
ruined all of the work I had to do to get her to clear her class and sorority
schedule. That girl is so busy that—”

“What?”
I interrupt.
{I don’t even need the encouragement that I’m still getting
from A Great Big World and Christina.}

He
smiles at me. Even his eyes smile this time. “I have to go now.”

“But—”

“We
will talk soon.” He nods his head once, firmly, and turns away from me to walk
back to the main office door.

I
watch him until he disappears, until the door closes behind him. Then, with
variations of the question “What the hell?” storming through my head, I turn
back to my car and get in. Then I head back home. The radio plays the entire
time.
{But all I hear now is Damien.}

MANDY’S
CAR ISN’T IN HER spot when I get back home. Of course it’s not. She does have a
very busy schedule, after all…as I was just reminded.

I
go inside, spray my shoes, wash my hands, and head upstairs to read a little
Zen
and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
. I read a few chapters, but my powers
of concentration are not the best right now. I’m probably going to have to do a
lot of rereading before I write my paper on this one. That, or earn a B on a
sub-par essay (I will
not
earn a B. I
will
reread. Later. When my
mind is more in order…if that is a description that can ever be used for my
mind).

The
afternoon moves along. I continue to attempt to read and take some crappy, not
really usable, notes as I go along. I tear off all of my nail polish. I eat two
hundred calories of fruit, a few hundred calories of soup, and a hundred
calories of yogurt (I’m behind on my calories today due to pre-appointment
nerves). And I think. And think. And I replay today, our little scene in the
parking lot, over and over and over.

Over.
And over. And over. And—

I
see the clock on my dresser. 5:14 p.m.
Shit.
I’ve gotta get moving. Now.

I
haven’t even left myself enough time to repaint my nails.
Ugh.

I
put my Kindle down and get to work.

5:45
p.m. Leaving-the-house checks done. Coat on. Out the door. Three handle twists.
On my way to class.

6:00
p.m. Professional Writing Lab. In my seat. Ready to think about teen pregnancy
for three hours (NOT).

Melanie’s
pregnancy test pops into my head. Then my pregnancy test pops in. And then I
start to think about the last conversation I had about that test. The only
conversation I’ve ever had about that test. With
him
.

And
then, well, then I waste a lot of class time thinking about other conversations
with him, other moments with him, other things not really in any way connected
with teen pregnancy. Fortunately, Dr. Harper doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too
busy walking around and answering questions from my classmates…the people
around me who are actually doing their work…who are researching perhaps less
STD-infested topics.

I
wonder briefly what other topics have been assigned. I wonder if my other classmates
have to do research that basically overflows with information about diseases. I
wonder—

Wait.

Wait.
Wait.

I
can spin this differently.

Dr.
Harper never said that this paper has to address a specific part of teen
pregnancy…and Dr. Harper never said that I need to give a full overview of the
topic.

I
pick up my pen as a fresh blast of ideas bounces through my mind.
{Alicia
Keys bounces in as well with
“Girl on Fire
.
”
}
I write down
some notes, the first notes I’ve written today…and they are a mess, but they
look something like this:

Teen
Pregnancy’s place in our culture today:

Teen
Mom
—struggling girls, failed relationships…

Other
TV shows about teen pregnancy? Soap operas?

Movies
with pregnant teens? Look up.

Hmm…songs
about teen pregnancy…

Songs
about pregnancy…

“
With
Arms Wide Open
”
by Creed (About teens? Hmm…I don’t know.)

“
Papa
Don’t Preach
”
by Madonna (Maybe about a teen? Gotta check.)

“
All
that She Wants
”
by Ace of Base (I don’t think it’s about a teenager.)

“
Accidental
Babies
”
by Damien Rice…

{Damien
Rice…he starts singing. But he doesn’t sing
“Accidental Babies
.
”
}

Before
I know it, class ends. I close my notebook, pretty pleased that I at least did
some class-related work.

9:02
p.m. I get in my car and drive home.

9:15
p.m. Home. Mandy’s home too. So after I spray my shoes and wash my hands, I
head right to her room to talk to her. I lean in the door and see her sprawled
out on her bed, a sandwich in one hand and her cell phone (which is up by her
ear) in her other.