Beaufort, South Carolina
January 11
Twitch filled out the patient information form with greater care than usual. She was nearly an hour early for her first visit to her new ObGyn and had time to kill. She stood and crossed the small lounge to return the clipboard to the nurse, a cherry-cheeked woman in her mid-fifties with a warm smile and a sap-thick accent.
“The appointment before you canceled, so I can take you on back, hun.”
Twitch grabbed a peppermint candy from a dish on the counter and followed.
“Twitch?”
Emily Bishop stood in the hallway leading to the exam rooms. Even three weeks post-partum, her best friend looked more stylish than Twitch looked on her best day. A chic bucket hat in the same violet color as her striking eyes covered her honey-blonde hair. The pumpkin seat in Emily’s hand held a pink-capped newborn sucking vigorously on a pacifier.
“Oh, hey Emily. Everything okay? Hi little Charlotte.” Twitch ran a finger over her namesake’s cheek. “How’s my goddaughter today? I’m just here for a check-up. Figured I better get it out of the way.” Twitch made a face as she rambled on. “Check it off my to-do list. Is everything okay with you? What did the doctor say? Peppermint?” Twitch held out the red and white candy in her palm.
Emily stood stock still and assessed her friend with eyes that saw too much. She cautiously accepted the candy, the crinkling of the wrapper breaking the silence.
Emily replied, “Everything looks good. Nobody tells you about all the post-delivery stuff.” She cringed.
“Hmm?” Twitch said.
“You asked if everything was okay. I’m answering your question while you’re off in the clouds solving some coding problem, ya goof.” Emily laughed.
“Sorry.”
The nurse pointed out the room and returned to her perch. Emily walked Twitch back. “I’ll wait for you. We can have lunch.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I have to get back to work.” Twitch paused for a moment then threw her arms around her friend.
If Emily was surprised by the action, she didn’t show it. Returning the embrace, Emily said, “I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Em.” Twitch reluctantly stepped back.
“You’re surrounded by tough guys all day. Their idea of communication involves fists and beer. We’re women. We’re evolved.” Emily winked, hiked the baby seat up, and left.
Forty minutes later, with a bottle of prenatal vitamins and several pregnancy pamphlets shoved in her messenger bag, Twitch scanned the waiting room, half-hoping her friend had ignored her rejection and had stayed. There was an older lady reading a home decor magazine, a pregnant woman scrolling on her phone, a young couple holding hands and talking softly, but no Emily.
Twitch exited the converted clapboard cottage and continued along the brick path to the gravel parking lot at the side of the building. She climbed into her yellow Mini and fished one of the pamphlets out of her bag. She was having Finn’s baby, and despite all the complications and heartache that orbited that, Twitch couldn’t seem to feel anything but joy.