Page 12 of The Doctor's Twins

“Meet me at the club.”

Pedro and I got each other. He wasn’t a pussy like Gabriel. Pedro was a man’s man, like me. We knew how to keep our women in line.

I met Pedro in a private room at the club. We gambled there often without any hassles. My friend’s position in the police force did come in handy—no one fucked with us.

“What a night,” I said and sat down at the poker table.

“What’s wrong, mi amigo?”

“Fucking women. They’re all the same. Put a ring on their finger and they turn into fucking incubators.”

“I’m sorry to hear of your troubles, Mateo.”

“Yeah, me too. Anyway, let’s play.”

The dealer, a pretty blonde with small tits, shuffled the cards and dealt Pedro and me each a hand. I was feeling better already. I would deal with my marital problems later.

After we gambled until 2 am, Pedro and I paid a visit to our favorite spot, Club Hermosas Damas, where Cindy and her entourage entertained us, the way that real women were meant to do for their men.

I went straight from there to my office where I had a shower and changed my clothes. I spent the day at my desk, making money. It was 4 pm when I called it a day and drove home. Peyton wasn’t there. I imagined she was keeping herself busy at the hospital.

It was hot out, so I had a swim. Afterward, I poured myself a drink and flicked through the sport’s channels. I’d worked up a decent hunger by the time Peyton arrived at 6 pm.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked as she set her bag down.

“I’m not hungry.”

Was she looking for a fight?

“I didn't ask if you were hungry. I asked what’s for dinner.”

“I’m not feeling great, Mateo. Would you mind ordering in?”

“You’d feel a whole lot better if you got rid of that parasite you’re carrying.”

“I’m going to bed,” she said and walked toward the stairs.

“I’m seeing the gynecologist tomorrow for my first scan. Please, come with me, Mateo.”

“I’m busy.”

“Please, babe,” she said again, but I turned up the volume on the TV to drown out her whining.

I had a good mind to drag her by the hair and drown her in the pool. It was lucky for her I’d had too much to drink on an empty stomach.

* * *

“Good morning. I’m Peyton Garcia, here to see Dr. Mendes.”

The reception area was full of expectant couples. Happy faces and hands resting across swollen abdomens. I forced down the growing lump in my throat as I watched one husband kissing his wife’s cheek tenderly.

“Yes, please, take a seat, Mrs. Garcia, and fill out this form.”

“Dr. Garcia,” I mumbled.

The receptionist gave me an apologetic smile. She was right to ignore my credentials. After all, what kind of professional was I when I allowed my husband to use me as a punching bag? I didn’t deserve the recognition or the respect. A swift kick in the pants would have been a more fitting course of action.

I completed the questionnaire and handed the papers back to her. Then, I sat down and waited for my turn. The doctor was running behind, which gave me more time than I needed to contemplate my dire situation.

---