“Thanks.” As uncomfortable as this conversation has been, it was necessary. Mom’s right, I need to be on the pill. The idea of an unexpected pregnancy is terrifying. If there’s anything that could make this situation worse, that would be it.
A topic change seems to be in order. “Did you want help cooking dinner before I leave?”
A smile lifts her lips as the concern pinching her expression gradually fades. She looks more like herself than she has in a while, and it’s a relief to see. “Sure, that would be great.”
I go to the fridge and open the doors before peering inside. Austin picked up a few groceries last night, but not nearly enough to stock it. She stands beside me as we rifle through the contents.
It’s slim pickings.
“Hmmm.” Her brows furrow. “What would you say to ordering a pizza?”
That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in a long time. When my belly growls, I realize I’ve barely eaten anything all day. And just like that, I’m famished. It feels like I could easily wolf down three pizzas by myself. “Sure, I could get onboard with that.”
“Perfect. I’ll grab my phone and make the call.”
A few hours later, I pull the door to our house closed before heading over to the Rothchild Mansion. For the first time in days, I’m hopeful we’ll find a way out of this mess. I just have to hang on a bit longer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Thanks for coming with me,” I whisper, filling out a ream of paperwork at the physician’s office. Usually Mom completes all the forms, but I told her I could take care of it myself. It’s like they want to document my entire life story. I’m ten minutes away from a carpal tunnel diagnosis.
“No problem.” Everly says, scrolling through her Insta. “It’s not like I had anything else to do. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I don’t exactly have a social life here in Hawthorne.”
“Do you miss New York?” I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I haven’t even thought to ask. It wasn’t all that long ago I was in her shoes. The town of Hawthorne isn’t an easy place to fit in. And the prep school is even less so.
“Kind of.” She shrugs, eyes growing distant. “We lived on the Upper East Side, so there was always a ton of stuff going on.”
I know what she means. It was the same in Chicago. There were museums, malls, movie theaters, major league sporting events, and concerts. We were constantly on the go. I have no idea what people do in Hawthorne for fun.
Tip cows?
Party in a cornfield?
It remains a mystery.
By the time I sign the last page, my hand is cramping up. I shake it out before taking the clipboard to the front desk.
The receptionist shifts the sliding glass partition and gives the documents a cursory glance before flashing a smile. “Great. They’ll call you back shortly.”
With a nod, I return to the chair I’ve been camped out in. After ten minutes of fidgeting, a door opens to the inner sanctum and a woman in scrubs glances at the chart in her hand before calling out my name.
I pop to my feet, more than ready to get this over with. “Hi.”
“Good afternoon, Summer. I’m Colleen, one of the doctor’s nurses. I’ll get you started.”
She holds the door open for me before stopping at a scale. “Let’s check your weight.”
I step on the metal contraption and am surprised to discover that I’ve lost ten pounds since I moved to Hawthorne. I had suspected it would be a few, but that seems excessive. The nurse jots down the number and then we’re moving through a long narrow hallway dotted with college and medical school diplomas.
“We’ll be going to room eight,” she says as we pass by a cluster of desks.
Once inside the compact space, she takes my blood pressure and temperature. So far, everything is normal. She settles at a tiny desk with a laptop and types in the information before glancing at me. “So, tell me what brings you in today.”
“Um,” my gaze skitters away as embarrassment licks at my cheeks, “I’m interested in birth control. Maybe the pill?”
“All right.” She types in a few more things. “The doctor will go over all of your options after the exam.”
I jerk my head and blow out a steady breath. I’ve never been to an OB-GYN. There was never a reason. Now there is. I’m not exactly sure what to expect, and that sends anxiety spiraling through me.
“What was the first day of your last menstruation?”
Hmmm, good question. I should probably know the answer to that. My brow creases as I mentally trip over the previous month. The days and weeks have blended together to become more of a blur. A prickle of unease grows in the pit of my belly. My periods have always been unpredictable. From what I’ve read online, the pill can help regulate that.