Page 49 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
The question is a sucker punch. I keep my eyes on the wall, trace the outline of the sticker residue near the sink. “I…I don’t think so. I’m on the pill.”
“When was your last cycle?”
I have to think. I count backward, picturing the calendar in my office, the black marks for training days and games, the gaps where my period should be, and I frown. It’s been a while. “I skipped a month, but that happens sometimes.”
She’s nodding, already making another note.
“I’ve been under a lot of stress,” I say, voice thin. “We’re coming up on playoffs, I’ve been working late.”
She doesn’t challenge it. “Any changes in the way your clothes fit? Weight gain, bloating?”
I glance down at my shirt, the way it’s pulled tight over my hips. “A little. Nothing major.”
She finishes the physical, then says, “I’d like to run a quick blood panel. We’ll do a urine test, and just to rule things out, I’ll order an ultrasound.”
The words bounce around the room, too large for the space. My hands crumple the exam table paper, the sound louder than my own voice.
“Is that really necessary?” I say, but I already know the answer.
She gives me a practiced smile. “Just protocol. Easier to know than to guess.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her. The room is instantly twice as quiet. I stare at the ceiling, count the holes in the acoustic tile. Forty-six. Forty-seven.
It’s just a precaution. Just the flu, or the playoffs, or the fact that I haven’t eaten a meal in three days that stayed down.
The words echo in my head, every time a little less convincing.
The waiting is the worst part. There’s nothing to do but sit there and wonder if every little shift in my body is something new growing, or just the same old damage repeating.
When the nurse finally comes back, she’s carrying a cup and a plastic-wrapped kit. “Right this way,” she says.
I follow her to the bathroom, the inside of my head ringing.
I pee in the cup and try not to look at my own reflection in the silvered plastic of the hand dryer.
After handing the cup back, I move to a new room for the ultrasound—darker, quieter, walls painted a soft, patronizing yellow. The tech introduces herself, but the only detail I clock is the cartoon otter on her scrub top, floating in a navy sea. Shedims the lights, adjusts the computer, and rolls a tissue-paper sheet over the edge of the exam table.
“Sorry, it’s cold,” she says, as the gel hits my belly. The sensation makes me flinch, and she gives a soft, practiced laugh like she’s seen this a thousand times.
I keep my eyes on the acoustic tile, counting the divots and imagining each as a little lunar crater. The wand moves in slow arcs, pressing harder in some places, then releasing. There’s a wet, slippery sound as she navigates. The machine’s screen is angled away, but I can see the edge reflected in the plexiglass window of the cabinet behind her. It’s an X-ray negative, flickering gray and black and white.
“So, what are we looking for?” the tech asks. Her tone is conversational, as if we’re waiting for an Uber together.
“Nothing,” I say, because it’s the only word I can find. “Just ruling things out.”
She nods, eyes on the screen. “Could be a cyst, sometimes it’s just stress. You’d be surprised how much the body holds onto.”
I don’t reply. I’m trying not to puke. The cold is spreading, the jelly seeping past my waistband, and I wish I could disappear into the table itself. I want to call Mia, ask her to come sit with me, but I’m not a kid, and this isn’t the kind of problem anyone else can fix.
The tech hums a little tune under her breath, tapping the wand against my skin in rhythm. She clicks the keyboard a few times, then slows down, eyes narrowing. The hum stops.
There’s a silence, the kind that means something.
She drags the wand up, then down again, more careful this time. “Did they have you drink water before you came in?”
I shake my head, eyes glued to the ceiling.
“That’s fine,” she says. “You’re easy to image, anyway.” She bites her lip, leans in close to the monitor. Her fingers startflying over the keys, capturing stills, measuring with on-screen calipers.
