Learning to Heal (13 page)

“Mason,” I say on a moan. “We need to slow down.” I hate saying those words because I don’t want to but now is not the time.

He kisses me one last time and then pulls away, exhaling and shaking his head. “Damn, I know it but I definitely don’t want to.”

I watch him blush like he can’t believe what he just said, but it makes me feel desired. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his nose before I turn and walk out my room smiling.

“So do you want to go out to get some food or something the next time I don’t have Grace?” Mason asks while walking behind me.

I stop and turn to stare at him. Biting my lip, I think about his question for a few seconds. Would that be more along the lines of a date thing or
friends
thing? We usually only hang out with other people, so I guess that would be a date if we went solo.

I look in his eyes and smile to soften the blow. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mason. It would feel more like a date instead of the FWB arrangement we agreed upon.” I see the disappointment in his eyes so I walk up and wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right.” Glancing up at him, I see his smiling face and cute dimples so he must be okay with it. “So when and how do you want to do this?”

The next few days fly by without Mason and I solidifying our newfound relationship. We haven’t really seen one another because he’s been working on some computer stuff and I’ve been busy with Christmas shopping and packing to head out to my parents’ tomorrow. The other night Mason asked me if he cooked one night would I come over and get to know his mom. I wanted to say “hell to the no,” but since he is my supposed sperm donor, I reluctantly agreed.

Today, however, is my dreaded appointment with my cardiologist. I haven’t told anyone about this appointment because the last thing I need is for everyone to treat me any differently. I had enough of that shit growing up.

I walk up to the receptionist and sign in. “Hello, my name is Jasmine Coleman and I have a two o’clock appointment with Dr. Whitney.”

I chose this particular doctor because he’s good friends with my dad and he knows my history. He was practicing at Sacred Heart in Pensacola for years before he moved out to Mobile. I know he won’t break any laws and tell my dad anything we discuss today either.
Thank you, HIPPA.
 

After I take my seat in the dark blue chair, I grab a magazine to try and take my nerves off this visit. I’ve been really tired lately and I know it’s a normal symptom with every pregnancy to an extent, but sometimes I don’t even hear my alarm sound. Usually I’m a ball of energy.

After about another forty-five minutes and a few levels of Candy Crush completed, I’m finally called to the back. I sit at a nurse’s desk while she takes my blood pressure and weight. “How are you today?”  

“I’m good. Just getting ready for the big ol’ fat man.” She looks at me funny and quirks her brow in my direction. Obviously she doesn’t get it. “Oh no! I mean Santa, not Dr. Whitney.” I laugh because let’s face it, it’s funny … especially with the face she’s giving me. I really needed that to help calm my nerves.

After that she leads me into an exam room. Its green floral wallpaper is outdated but the pictures and equipment look pretty new. Dad loved getting new heart models or charts when I was growing up. Every time one came in the mail he’d sit us down and explain how it works to push oxygen through our bodies. I loved his enthusiasm but definitely not the subject matter. It reminded me too much of what made me different. Jax on the other hand fell in love with the heart and chose cardiology as a career.

My eyes focus on the machine sitting in the corner and I know immediately I’m having another ultrasound. But this one is for my heart and not the baby’s.

“Put on this gown and leave it open in the front. Make sure you remove your bra and shirt but leave your pants on.” She hands me a hospital gown and walks out the door.

After I undress in the small changing nook, I look at myself in the mirror hanging on the wall and my eyes are immediately drawn to the scar that haunts me physically and emotionally. No matter how much I tan or apply those creams they advertise on TV it never changes or fades. Running my index finger down the center, I feel the thick tissue as it descends down and to the left. My first surgery was done swiftly and some mistakes were made, but only cosmetic damage was done. I remember the first time the look of it really affected my self-esteem.

Everyone was at the beach, including Brett. He was so cute and I couldn’t wait to show off my new bathing suit. Maybe he’d finally notice me. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, admiring my first bikini—a milestone for any thirteen-year-old girl. I practically had to beg Mom for it, but it was so worth it. It was bright lime green with teal blue polka dots and I wanted to turn heads. I puckered my lips and posed in the mirror, trying to do it like the models on the magazine covers. Maybe if I looked like that he’d ask me to be his girlfriend. A huge smile formed with that thought.

Brett had never noticed me before at school. He was always into the athletic girls and not … not me darn it! I knew I wasn’t allowed to date, but maybe … just maybe he’d take notice today and maybe even kiss me. I squealed and felt tingles in my belly from the thought.

“Wow, Jazz, that color looks so good on you. Especially with your tan and blond hair. Brett is going to flip.” I glanced up from posing in the mirror to see Julie—or Jewels as I liked to call her because it sounded so cool—standing there in her purple bikini, smiling with her braces shining. She was visiting from Kansas and her parents rented the beach house next door. We had hit it off right away and it didn’t hurt that her older sister had a crush on Jaxon so I was always invited over.

“Thanks,” I said beaming and turned around. “You ready to walk down. I really want to get there before the snob squad shows up and takes the good spot. Don’t want to miss watching the guys.”

I grabbed my bag off my bedroom floor and noticed she still hadn’t answered me. Looking in her direction, I observed her big, brown eyes staring at my chest and my stomach dropped. Suddenly, I felt filleted open.
Everyone will notice that I’m a freak.
Dropping my bag, I placed my hand in front of my newly developing chest, which forced her to look at my face.

She turned into a blurry purple blob as tears filled my eyes. I didn’t want her to see me cry. I didn’t want her to see my scar or anyone else to look at me like she just did. I was feeling normal a few minutes ago but it was ruined. I ran past her and went to the bathroom, wishing once again that I was normal.

The exam room door opens and brings me back, but I feel a wet tear running down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away and throw on the gown before I step out to see Doctor Whitney.

“Hello, Jasmine. How are you?” He shakes my hand and gives me a warm smile.

I sit on the exam table and try to get comfortable even though I know these things aren’t made for comfort. “I’m good.” Even though I’m not, it’s just the generic answer.

“Okay, so rumor has it you’re having a baby. Is that right?”

Instead of speaking, I reach into my handbag and pull out the first ultrasound picture of my jellybean. Licking my dry lips, I hand it over. He congratulates me and tells me that every case is different and most women have no complications. I just hope I’m a part of that majority. Unfortunately, my good mood is ruined during the echocardiogram when he sees a possible valve leak, but thankfully it looks minuscule. He further elaborates the disadvantages it could cause the farther along I get if the leak gets larger. I tell him I’m keeping the baby come hell or high water, and he finally ends his rant. He wants me to follow up every month to check my condition, but makes me promise if I feel any changes I’ll come in sooner. After I agree I head home, depressed once again.

Celebrating Christmas morning at home with Grace and Mom is great. Quiet is definitely not the word I’d use to describe it. With Grace’s new toys everywhere while she continues to shred every piece of wrapping paper and Mom blasting Christmas music, I feel as though my brain might explode. However, all the noise can’t drown out my thoughts of Jazz.

Yesterday I tried calling her so I could tell her Merry Christmas, but I only got her voicemail. Plus, I wanted to give her the gift I bought her. It’s not much but I spotted it a couple of weeks ago—a pair of sterling silver hoop earrings with different charms you can attach. I purchased two charms to start it out. One is the letter J and the other is January’s birthstone since her birthday is New Year’s Day. I’m sure she has jewelry out the ass and any other thing a girl could want with her money, but it drew me in when I saw it behind the display glass. It cost a little more than what I’d usually spend, but I’m hoping her reaction will make it worth every penny.

Watching Grace destroy the house and laughing while I sit on the couch, I see Mom sit down beside me. Glancing at her wide smile and the crinkled edges of her blue eyes, I become aware that I haven’t seen her this happy in a while. “Thanks for my earrings, Mason. You didn’t have to get me anything, but I do love them.”

“It’s the least I could do for you. If I could do more, Mom, you know I would,” I say, looking at the small cross earrings in her lobes. I can’t wait to rid her of the worry she’s always carrying on her shoulders.

She kisses my cheek before she starts to clean up the mess and begins to cook. I stand and text Jazz.

Me: Merry Christmas. Was Santa good to you?
I wait a few minutes and start to think she might still be avoiding me but then my phone vibrates and lights up.

Jazz: Merry Christmas. Hope it’s Gr8 for ur fam & u. Santa was okay. I think he’s still pissed at me. What bout u?

Me: He’ll get over it. He still luvs u. Mine is good. Grace is happy. I feel like sumthin is missing tho

Why did I just send that? It’s too soon. Shit! Too late, though. I rub my face hoping my forwardness doesn’t scare her away. Standing still, glancing at my phone for a few minutes, I hear a knock on the door. I realize she’s not answering my text and fear maybe I did just fuck up. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I go and answer the door and see Chanda standing there in her pajamas. I notice she’s colored her hair green and has a big smile on her face.

“Merry Christmas, Mason,” she says with her hands behind her back.