Page 38 of The Single Dad's Guide to Recreation

“Did you…” It takes me a moment to find words. “Um… need something?”

“Just for you to get your head out of your ass,” Leia says.

Daisy swats our boss before adding, “We’re worried about you. You’ve been staring at that computer without moving all afternoon.”

I didn’t cry when the doctor explained how the misdiagnosis might have happened. I didn’t cry when she explained that because the doctor removed both fallopian tubes, it’s true that I can’t get pregnant without IVF treatments, even though I still get periods. I didn’t cry on the way back to CPR, even as the losses tallied up, all because a doctor made assumptions about my sex life. But now, looking at my two friends’ concerned faces, a sob bursts out of me.

Before I know it, my office door is closed, Daisy’s got an arm wrapped around my shoulders and Leia’s asking what’s wrong.

“I can’t,” I manage between sobs, “talk about it here.”

Leia pulls out her phone and punches buttons, while Daisy rubs my back, murmurs something vaguely soothing, and hands me one tissue after another.

“Travis will take the twins this evening.” Leia tucks her phone in her back pocket. “They’ll swing by and bring your parents dinner,” she says to me before pointing at Daisy. “Then they’ll feed your dog.”

Leia crosses her arms and nods her head sharply. “We’re going to Come Again.”

The name of Climax’s townie bar is endlessly hilarious to horny teenagers. But to a full-fledged adult—especially one who hasn’t had sex in over three years—it’s just annoying. Come Again does have a few things going for it, however: excellent draft beer and cider, low prices, and a back patio for when you don’t want to deal with the pool-and-darts-playing, small-town-gossiping crowd indoors.

My friends offer to buy me a drink while I stake out seating. I score the firepit with the most stable Adirondack chairs and light the kindling as I try to decide how much of my embarrassing past to share with my friends.

I’ve carried around the shame of my breakup with Peter like the weighted backpack the teacher doled out for the health class unit meant to show young teens how much of a pain in the tuchus it is to have to take care of a baby. But as I go over everything I learned in this afternoon’s appointment, I realize I have nothing to be ashamed of, unless I count the fact that I believed everything the doctor said and let Peter gaslight me into thinking it was all my fault.

How could I not have asked more questions? Gotten a second opinion? Or at least consulted Dr. Google?

Anger begins to devour all that useless shame. By the time the flames flickering in front of me have burned through the twigs and started on the logs, I’m flat out mad. Problem is, I’m as mad at myself as I am at the doctor. I’m also mad at all the people who can have kids but don’t want them. I’m even mad at the fucking sheep and cows in all those farms surrounding Climax, with their adorable lambs and baby cows.

Oh shit. I said the f-word in my head.

“Did you just swear?” Daisy asks.

My friends stare at me from the other side of the fire. “Um. Maybe?”

“Start from the beginning,” Leia says, handing me a frosty glass of Afternoon Delight, a Peak Finish Cidery favorite. “If you talk it out, you’ll at least feel better.”

I take a sip of the crisp apple cider to give myself a moment to settle, focusing on its blend of sweet and acid on my tongue. Come Again may be a bit of a dive, but they support all the local breweries and cideries.

Daisy clinks my glass with hers. “Whatever it is, we’ve got you.”

I take in her kind eyes, and then Leia’s, which only show concern. We work alongside each other every day, we’ve known each other forever, but I’m beginning to wonder if, like me, my closest friends keep some things to themselves. Maybe I’m not the only one with shadows in my past. Maybe sharing my ugly story will make it easier for them to trust me with theirs. So I set down my glass and clear my throat.

“I’m going to skip the gory details. Long story short, three years ago I was on an evening shift at the hotel down in Atlanta, and I suddenly felt really bad. Like I had a stomach flu. But when I went to the bathroom and got up from the toilet, there was blood in the bowl. Like, a lot of blood.”

Daisy gasps. “Oh my god.”

“It was pretty scary.” I take a breath, doing my best to stay calm, even though just thinking about it has the fear gripping my gut. “Peter was out with friends, so a co-worker took me to the emergency room. I don’t remember the exact sequence of things after that, but I was basically rushed into surgery.”

Leia—the most undemonstrative person I know—takes my hand and squeezes it, which gives me exactly what I need to finish.

“When I woke up, I was told that I’d had an ectopic pregnancy and that it had ruptured.”

My friends are silent, but when I take in their faces, there’s no judgment. Only concern.

“That must have been awful,” Leia says softly.

“Did you know you were pregnant?” Daisy asks.

I shake my head. “Nope. I was on the pill.”

---