Page 82 of Where She Belongs
Her candor startles a weak laugh from me.
“Whatever decision you made,” she continues gently, “unmake it. Explain what happened. Most reasonable people will understand medical panic, especially someone who cares about you.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say, though doubt gnaws at me. After the way I’ve treated Gabe—the cold email, the ignored calls and texts—would he even be willing to listen?
The consultation continues, Dr. Reyes discussing hormone balance, recommending supplements, scheduling follow-up appointments. I nod in all the right places, make appropriate noises of understanding, but my mind is elsewhere—replaying every message I ignored, every call I declined, imagining Gabe’s confusion and hurt transforming to anger, to resentment, perhaps finally to indifference.
By the time I leave the medical center, clutching prescriptions and informational pamphlets, determination has replaced shock. I need to fix this, to explain, to apologize. Even if it’s too late for us romantically, Gabe deserves the truth, deserves to know my rejection wasn’t about him but about my own fears and insecurities.
Before I can start my car, my phone rings—Tristy, calling for what must be the sixth time this morning.
“Mom! Finally!” Her voice is sharp with worry when I answer. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days!”
“I’m sorry, honey,” I say, guilt washing over me anew. In my self-absorbed spiral, I hadn’t considered how my silence might worry my daughter. “I’ve been... dealing with some things.”
“What things? Are you sick? Gabe called me yesterday, completely panicked. He said you sent him some email breaking things off? What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath. “I got some preliminary test results that scared me, and I... overreacted. Badly.”
“What kind of results?” The fear in her voice makes my heart ache.
“Nothing serious, as it turns out. I just came from my follow-up appointment. It was a false alarm—some misleading initial readings that I catastrophized.”
“And you broke up with Gabe over this?” The disbelief in her voice is palpable. “Mom, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” I admit, starting my car. “I panicked. The results suggested fertility issues, and I convinced myself Gabe would be better off with someone younger, someone who could give him children if he wanted them.”
“Did you actually ask him if he wants children?”
The simple question lands like a blow. “No.”
“So you just decided for both of you, without even talking to him.” It’s not a question.
“I know it was wrong,” I say quietly. “I’m going to fix it. I’m driving to Taos right now to talk to him face-to-face.”
“Good.” Her tone softens slightly. “He loves you, Mom. And whatever these test results were, you know he’d stick by you no matter what, right?”
“I do know that,” I say, the truth of it settling in my chest. “Rationally. I just... got scared.”
After promising Tristy I’ll call her later, I have a similar conversation with my mother, whose worry quickly transforms to exasperation when I explain what happened.
“Anak, when will you stop pushing away people who want to help you?” she asks, her voice carrying decades of maternal concern. “You’ve always been this way—thinking you need to handle everything alone.”
“I know, Mom,” I say, merging onto the highway that will take me north to Taos. To Gabe. “I’m trying to change that.”
“Well, driving to see him is a good start,” she concedes. “That boy loves you. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
By the time I reach the outskirts of Taos three hours later, my stomach is in knots. What if he won’t see me? What if I’ve destroyed not just our nascent romance but our decade of friendship? What if the damage I’ve done in a moment of panic proves irreparable?
I call his clinic first, not wanting to ambush him.
“Vasquez Integrative Medicine,” a receptionist answers.
“This is Dr. Andrea Martin,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Is Dr. Vasquez available?”
“Oh, Dr. Martin!” Her tone warms immediately. “He’s just about to leave for a house call. Should I put you through to him?”
“Please.”
