Page 142 of Set Me On Fire

“Just look at me.”

My eyes flicked up obediently, staring into her eyes, and in some ways, that was a mistake. I saw the worry there, and if she was freaking out, that had me losing the goddamn plot, because nothing scared Mum. Well, there was that time we all rode our bikes off the balcony and into the pool, but… She was always this calm, strong presence in my life, and to see that fracture did something to me. The Pandora’s box of anxiety that was rattling around in my chest popped out, letting all my fears run free.

“Everything will be OK because you’re my little girl. You’ll come through the test fine, and then you’ll know.” She patted my hand. “You’ll know what we already do, that you’ve got a healthy, beautiful baby growing inside you. So what’re you hoping for?”

I knew what she was doing, redirecting my focus to my great and glorious future, and away from what I needed to do today. Was this adulthood? Seeing through the strategies your parents always used and seeing the person, not the parent, behind them. I smiled then, just a small thing, but it was genuine. Mum needed as much reassuring as I did, and knowing that, doing that, helped me see how I’d become a mother myself.

“Healthy,” I told her, my smile widening. “Not twins.”

“Healthy and not twins.” She nodded slowly. “Sounds perfectly reasonable. OK, put your seatbelt on because we need to get going if we’re going to get there in time.”

I did as I was told, relegated back to the role of daughter, right up until I walked into the operating room.

For some reason,I thought it would be much like getting blood taken at a pathology clinic. Rather than wrap a tourniquet around my arm, somehow it would wrap around my stomach? Instead, I walked into a sterile operating room, feeling the bright lights beaming down on me. Everyone else in the room was rendered anonymous by the blue surgical gowns and masks, even Mum. I saw her eyes though, too wide, too alert, but then crinkling at the edges in a masked smile as I laid down on the gurney.

The procedure itself was a blur. The doctor talked to me about something, then there was a swab that left my skin feeling cold before the needle was produced. I dimly thought about calling off the whole thing right before the doctor checked in with me, making sure I wanted to proceed. I nodded rather than shook my head.

I didn’t remember feeling any pain, just the weird sensation of all my stomach muscles contracting. My hand clamped down on Mum’s and held it tight until finally it was done. The sample was retrieved, we were sent out of the room to recover for a minute, and the nurse told me how long I would need to wait for the results. She double checked my email and I dimly told her what it was. We needed to know, that’s what I told myself, over and over, on the drive back home. We needed to know about my child’s genetic makeup.

And weeks later, the results arrived.

I wasat work when my inbox had my phone pinging. My eyes slid sideways for just a second, expecting to see a notification from a stupid spam site or something, but when the name of the hospital popped up, I went still. It could be something else, I told myself. I’d had other tests, more routine ones, to check my blood sugar, iron levels, thyroid. Somehow, I knew that wasn’t it, though. I went from moving steadily through the pile of paperwork on my desk to alert in seconds.

I was like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights, or a deer quivering in the thicket, hiding from a wolf. Danger, that’s what my heart beat. I was in danger. We were in danger, I quickly amended, my hand sliding under my desk to touch my stomach. I’d been forced to invest in a looser fitting wardrobe, hoping to hide my condition under voluminous folds, so for just a moment, I acknowledged my bump.

“Millie.” My head snapped up, my hand was shoved away as Brent’s door swung open. “Have we got those quarterly reports? Head office is asking for them.”

“On it,” I said, bending my head over my laptop. Anything to stop him from seeing the terrified expression on my face. With a few clicks, I navigated over to our reporting module and then sent what he was after to the printer as well as to his email.

“Good girl.” He moved closer, flicking through the printed pages. “Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

“Just feeling a little under the weather.” I shot him a weak smile. “My immune system is terrible. I catch every bug known to man.”

“You don’t need a day off?” Brent the station commander was shoved aside and Daddy Brent replaced him. “You’ve got sick leave. No point in just letting it accrue.”

Except I’d need it for a much more long-lasting condition.

“Just need to go to the loo and splash some water on my face,” I told him.

“Alright, you let me know if you start feeling worse. You’re on top of everything. Taking a half day won’t hurt.”

I might need to do just that. When he was safely back in his office, I was clicking over to the internet on my computer. A phone screen wouldn’t be big enough to display the information I needed to see. I logged in, my arm feeling numb, the mouse barely making a dent in my fingers as I opened up my email. Test results, said the email topic line. I clicked on it and opened it up, ready to skim it when?—

“Brent in?”

God dammit fucking Dave walked in the door, barely giving me a nod before walking towards the boss’ office.

“He is, but he asked not to be disturbed,” I told him with a frown.

“He want to be disturbed for this,” Dave said, that oily smile of his spreading.

Ugh, I had more than enough to deal with without being Brent’s door bitch. The boss would tear strips off Dave far more effectively than I could. My fingers released my mouse and I got up, knowing I needed to get in control of myself before I looked at the email. A quick walk, go to the loo and wash my face, something to settle me back down. If it was bad news, I’d need to be able to hold it together before I made a run for my car, driving and driving until I could get the results out of my head.

It could be fine, I told myself. The baby is probably just as healthy as it was the last doctor’s visit. My positive self-talk was a babble inside my head, forcing me back into the chair. I clicked on the email, then the attached PDF, and there it was: my baby’s genetic profile.

A girl…

Nope, I’d grossly overestimated my ability to cope because there were tears in my eyes seconds later. “Come in!” Brent shouted at Dave. Having him here, in the same room as I triedto digest this information just felt wrong, because he couldn’t co-exist around her.

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