Page 39 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

“First thing’s first.” She reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a cup. “Let’s get a urine sample, shall we? The bathroom is across the hall.”

I hesitate, looking at the cup.

“You can bring it right back in here and I’ll do it myself.”

I let out my breath and nod.

“I have another quick exam to do.” She spreads a paper towel on the counter. “Leave it here. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Thank you, Dr. Russo.”

I palm the cup and follow her out, going into the bathroom. I know I’ll be able to pee, I’ve been drinking more than usual in order to take all the tests.

After peeing in the cup and washing my hands, I make sure the coast is clear and go back across the hall, shutting the exam room door behind me. I set the cup with the pale-yellow liquid on the paper towel and stare at it for a full twenty minutes before the doctor returns.

Dr. Russo puts a test strip into my pee and turns to smile. “This is basically the same kind of test you took at home. We’llhave the results in a few minutes.” Her body blocks the cup as she faces me. “In the meantime, how are your mom and dad doing down in Florida? It’s been ages since I’ve seen them. Do they ever make it back here?”

Small talk. She wants to make small talk at a time when my life is turning upside down.

“They don’t like to make the long drive,” I say. “And ever since the pandemic, my mom swears she gets sick whenever she flies, so she avoids it whenever possible. I mostly see them when I go to Sarasota for a visit. Ryder, his wife, and I went down for Christmas last year.”

“That sounds heavenly. Christmas at the beach. Was it warm?”

I know she’s just trying to kill time. I see her glancing at her watch every so often. But the wait is killing me.

Finally, she claps a hand on her knee and says, “Let’s find out if you’re going to be a mother.”

Amother. The word stabs me right in the heart. But for a second, I feel it’s not a wound that would kill me. In fact—for one fraction of a second—it feels like something totally different. And the feeling takes my breath away.

“Well, there you go,” she says. “No need to worry yourself further. It’s negative, dear.”

“But… I’m late. And nauseous.”

“When did the nausea start?”

“Tuesday night when I realized I missed my period.”

“Nerves probably, at the thought of being pregnant.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Didn’t your friend, Maddie Calloway, recently have a baby?”

I nod.

“Sometimes our minds and bodies can play tricks on us, Regan.”

I scoff. “You think Iwantedto be pregnant?”

As soon as the words come out, however, that strange feeling hits me once again.

She looks at my chart. “I see you had a birthday recently. Thirty-five. For some women, that’s an age at which they believe they are running out of time to have a child. It’s not true, of course, women can be fertile well into their forties. But fertility does diminish. In fact, it starts to decline around age thirty.”

“But my period.”

Her head shakes. “As we age, we tend to become more irregular.”

I sigh. But for the first time, I’m just not sure it’s in relief. “I was so sure.” I look up. “Isn’t there a more definitive test?”

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