mine {h.s.} | {b3}

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

— CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE —

august, year three.

Something feels different.

All day, the words circulate around my brain. Different, different, different. Early in the morning, I attribute it to the fact that Ruth is the first person awake. With school starting for Zana, Ruth is the one to make sure that the little girl is up in the morning, dressed, has eaten, and is ready to go to school. Even knowing this, it makes it no less jarring to see Ruth as the first person awake and ready in the morning. Still, memories from our intern year plague me of the nightmare that was Ruth Ramirez during the mornings.

But when the feeling persists throughout the lunch hour—myself and Fitzy the only people at home, the both of us having the day off—I give the feeling more merit. With the weather being forgiving, we decide to take Edie to the park. Neither of us wanted to waste such pleasant weather, and I think the both of us were going a little stir crazy in the least. Either way, I figured that there would be no harm in capitalizing on quality time spent with my daughter. Fitzy felt the same.

Throughout our visit at the park, the feeling heightened. Something just felt different. Impossible for me to pinpoint and even harder to explain, I sat with the feeling, slightly dismayed by the fact that not even the fresh air is helping, I bury myself in distractions. We play with the toys that we'd brought to the park. Fitzy chases Edie around, her chubby, wobbly legs uncertain on the uneven ground beneath her. I laugh, taking pictures as I watch them, wanting to remember the moments like this. The moments that aren't planned or scripted.

All too soon, the excursion comes to an end.

Fitzy had promised to be home to collect Zana from the bus since Ruth wouldn't be home from school. Edie throws a small tantrum at the notion of having to go home, but Fitzy stops it before it starts by throwing the giggling girl up on his shoulders and swinging her around while I move our blanket and other activities over to where we had parked the car. By the time that I am ready to slide into the driver's seat, Edie is happy as can be in the back seat of the car, singing along to some of the songs that Fitzy had put on the radio.

Halfway through the ride, a small voice calls, "Waffles!"

"What, honey?" I ask, looking at my daughter through the rear view mirror. She's dancing in the backseat, her dimples spread wide as she waves her little fists to the rhythm of the song.

"Want waffles!"

I look to Fitzy and he shakes his head once. We don't have the necessary ingredients at home. Fitzy and Harry are the ones who do the most cooking and grocery shopping, and are most familiar with the amount of food that sits in our household. "We can make waffles for dinner," I slowly inform her, chewing on my lip as I look at the time. "There's a grocery store up ahead. If I run in quick you can stay in here with her. We should still make it on time."

"Pull off," Fitzy agrees, nodding his head.

"Thanks," I squeeze his hand and say a quick be right back to my daughter while I walk at a pace that Raven Vargas would be proud of through the store, pulling off the necessary ingredients from the shelves. I stop to add on some chocolate chips and some fruits to sprinkle on the top, even a can of whipped cream that I know my daughter and her father will love.

Making my way to the front of the store to check out, my eyes catch on a pregnancy test.

The voice in the back of my head is there again. Different, different, different. Something about me in this moment feels different. Something that I hadn't been able to articulate, though, the feeling itself something familiar to me. Distant and vague, but something that I know. Before I even know what I'm doing, I reach over to grab the Clear Blue packaging, dropping it on the top of the basket while waiting for my turn in the line. Nervously, I shuffle my wedding ring back and forth on my left hand. Married and into my thirties—entirely disregarding the fact that I am a surgeon specializing in OB/GYN surgery—I still fear the judgment of being a single woman buying a pregnancy test, comical as it may be.