Page 55 of Delayed Offsides

I do, all the way admiring her sense of style for someone forced to wear scrubs for a living. I personally find scrubs crazy comfortable. Had a few pairs myself that I’d stolen from an ER doctor I slept with two years ago. I broke my hand punching a fan who’d made fun of Leo at a Blackhawks game.

We walk down the hall, and she stops at a counter, handing me a plastic cup with a green lid. My eyes drop to the cup and then her nails. They’re artfully designed with hot pink splatter paint. And then I focus on the cup. “I’m sure you know what to do here, sweetie, but we just need a little tinkle.”

Is she five? Who is she talking to? Me?

I even look around to see if there’s a toddler at my feet.

Without saying anything more, I take the cup and head into the bathroom to my left.

“Just leave the cup in the window and meet me in the room on the right.” She points down the hall over her shoulder, her nose buried in the iPad, typing away on it.

Flashing a smile, I disappear into the bathroom and lock the door behind me to tinkle. For a moment, I stand there with my back pressed against the cool hard wood, wondering if this is really happening. Am I about to pee in a cup and determine my fate?

I know my fate. Without a doubt I know I’m pregnant, and this doesn’t change anything.

So why am I nervous here?

Because it will be official then.

It takes me a few minutes to pee. It’s like I have stage fright. I’m not sure how difficult peeing in a cup is for men, but it isn’t easy for girls. I always seem to miss a little and manage to soak my hand in the process.

After getting some in the cup, I wash my hands, put my tinkle in the window and make my way to the room. Ms. Tinkle does all the standard exam procedures, blood pressure, heartbeat check, and then has me get into a gown before the doctor arrives.

“Oh—” She pauses at the door. “I forgot. I have a few questions before the doctor comes in.” Holding the iPad in her hand, she takes a seat.

“Shoot.” My eyes drop to my bare legs, knowing what these questions will be.

“When was your last period?” Her eyes never lift from the iPad.

“December fifteenth… I think. Not exactly positive, but the Blackhawks had a home game that night.”

Ms. Tinkle glances up and then down again, probably wondering why the fuck I’m associating my period with the Blackhawks schedule. “And how many years have you been sexually active?”

“Nine years.” Her eyes drop. She’s more than likely looking at my age of twenty-three and thinking, slut. Certifiable slut. I, however, never saw it that way. I refuse to call myself that. Men can sleep with whomever they want and don’t get the dreadedS. I don’t deserve that either.

“All right.” Tucking her iPad to her chest, she smiles. “And the father… is he present?”

“Well, he’s not here… is he?” I wink at her, giving her a fake smile. I no longer like her.

“I suppose not.”

Was that rude of me? When she closes the door behind her, I scan the walls with the pregnancy posters on babies in the womb and how they develop over time. The one at six weeks catches my attention because it actually looks like a little shrimp, tiny eyes, and a tail.

Thankfully, the doctor isn’t far behind and is in my room before I can escape. Believe me, I think about leaving. Maybe do this au naturel and avoid doctors altogether. At least then, I won’t be judged.

“Good morning, Ms. Pratt,” he says, greeting me with a smile. I miss my usual gynecologist already. Silently, I curse her for moving to New York and accepting a position at a fancy medical school teaching soon-to-be doctors all the parts of the female anatomy. Now I’m stuck with this guy and his tinkle nurse, who clearly thinks I’m a slut. “I’m Dr. Sadie.” He reaches out to shake my hand. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Nope. First time.” I shake his hand, noticing he has really soft hands for a man. “I’m Callie.”

“Well…” He looks down at the iPad in his hands. “I see you’re expecting. Your urine test came back positive.”

Shit. “I guess I am.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So, this wasn’t planned?”

“No. Spontaneous drunk New Year’s sex without a condom. And I’m on the pill.”

He smiles. “I’ve heard that one before. Actually, a girl this morning.”

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