Page 13 of Geordie

“There’s something else that I called about. You remember Jody? She was a year behind us in school? The one who was in the drama club with you?”

I remember a shy girl who blossomed in those classes. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, she’s pregnant and having a gender-reveal party next week. I got an invite, but I’d like you to come with me. First, I thought I was going to need moral support to get through it, but now I think it’s going to be fun to be welcomed into the mommy club.”

“I’m not a mother and I’m not planning to be a mother, at least not right now.”

“Think of it as a peek inside the next chapter of your life. I can see you now with your child in one of those baby carriers, their little legs and arms sticking out while you stir a huge pot in your restaurant kitchen. Girl,People Magazinewill do a whole spread about you and how you’re doing it all. I know that photo will just go viral.”

Crazy me is envisioning it. A little Gerber baby type with a mop of brown hair, in one of those trendy baby carriers strapped to my chest. A cute baby with a look as intense as mine about cuisine as we stir that pot while I conquer the food community with my awesome culinary and motherhood skills. “What if I say no to going with you to the party? Would I be considered a terrible friend?”

“No, it wouldn’t matter, because you’d be dead to me.”

“Wait a minute, you said that this party is next week? I just remembered—“

“Do not play with me, Lily Ann Warren. We’ve been friends through thick and thin and I don’t ask for much. Seriously, I want you to be with me. Eddie is over the moon that we’re pregnant, but I want to share this experience with my best girlfriend.”

“All right,” I relent. “Send me the information and I’ll even drive us over there.”

“Perfect. I’ve got to go. Eddie is screaming for me to say goodbye before he leaves for work.”

I place my phone back on the coffee table and accidentally bump the stack of books the vase is sitting on. It releases a new round of scent from the sweet peas, and I sigh. It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m not going back to Stephen, and it’s not the right time to have a child.

Chapter seven

Potpourri

Geordie

Thismightbemylast day in the hospital. I've driven every nurse on each shift mad because I'm going a bit mad myself. It wouldn't surprise me if they petitioned the doctor to get me out of here; I've pestered them that much. I can't help it. There's no one to talk to, so I tried to engage everyone who came to check up on me in conversation to make them stay longer.

I was so desperate for company that when I heard a nurse talking to an LVN in Spanish, I spoke to her in that language, although I was speaking Castilian and not the kind spoken in the Americas. She kenned me well enough. I think she was flattered by my attempt to communicate, but when I became a wee bit flirtatious because she was that pretty, she realized I was trying to prolong my time with her. The LVN excused herself and fled. She probably warned the others about my behavior. Now when anyone visits, they give me a few answers, smile, and then leave, saying they have to take care of other patients.

One nurse caught me trying to get on the floor to do push-ups in my scants and hospital gown. It had to be the drugs they gave me for pain that I thought it might be a good idea to try. I’d already gotten my legs off the edge of the bed, trying to figure out how to unhook the machine attached to me that was monitoring my vitals, when the nurse came into the room. She let out a gasp, then sternly told me to get back into bed.

That wasn't a problem. I would've done it gladly if she’d get in bed with me. I almost spoke the joke out loud, until her face told me I might offend her. I did what she asked grudgingly, then propped myself on my pillow to count the hours until my release from this sterile prison.

I consider playing another round of Call of Duty on my phone when Doctor Richards, the surgeon who did my surgery appears at the door. “How are we this fine morning?” he says, stepping inside.

I abandon my phone and use the bed remote to sit up straighter. “I'll know what the day is like once I'm released. Does that happen today?”

“Yes,” he beams, and my stomach lurches with the anticipation of it. I pull the covers away, ready to make my escape before there's a change.

“Hold on, there's more. I can release you today with some stipulations. Your ankle and knee still need time to heal. You need to stay off of your ankle for at least six weeks. Keep it wrapped and elevated during that time. I want you in a walking boot to stabilize the leg, and they'll fit you with crutches.”

I don't enjoy having to manage the extra kit, but I agree anyway.

“Someone needs to pick you up and help you for a few weeks.”

“There's no one. I can call a rideshare.”

The doctor drags a chair closer to my bed, leans forward, his face serious. “The rideshare isn't good enough. You'll need help in and out of the vehicle. We can send you home by ambulance.”

I'm not happy for my neighbors to know I'm an invalid. “I'd rather not. I'm sure an Uber will be fine. If you'll give me my discharge, I'll sort out something.”

“You could talk to a social worker—”

“I'll be fine,” I assure him.

---