A nurse hands Dr. Wong some papers, which she looks over. “You’re in perfect health,” she says, then explains what each item means.
I listen, but they don’t mean much to me. All I know—all that matters—is that the results are good.
She adds, “There’s no reason for you to restrict your activities, including intercourse, as long as they aren’t overly vigorous or tiring. If you don’t feel well, you should contact me anytime.”
“Thank you.” I smile, relieved. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with me, but it’s good to have a doctor confirm it. It should give Nate some peace of mind, too.
And he can lay off the one-sex-session-a-day rule, my lusty hormones whisper.
“Wait a minute, doc,” Nate says, raising a finger. “If she’s fine, why did she faint on Saturday?”
She turns to me. “You fainted?”
“I think it was the shock of realizing I was pregnant,” I say hurriedly, hating feeling like I’ve been some naughty, information-concealing gnome. “I didn’t even know I was, and before I could make an official announcement, Nate’s nephew just blurted it out in front of everyone. Besides, the doctor who came by said it was just some dehydration.”
She purses her lips. “I see. Well, avoid stress as much as you can, drink plenty of fluids and remember that you’re eating for two now. A healthy mom makes a healthy baby.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say meekly, even though I secretly think the doctor and Nate are being a little too coddling.
“But otherwise, really, you’re fine.” She turns to Nate. “She’s fine.”
Thank you.
She asks me to come back in a month, reiterating that I should call if I notice anything unusual or have any questions. I put it on my calendar, and Nate and I leave together.
“All clear,” I say with a huge smile as we’re talking toward the parking lot. “Now you don’t have to worry about anything.”
He nods once. “That’s true.”
“And we don’t have to, you know, limit ourselves.”
He laughs, the sound throaty and hot. “Yes, but remember what she said about no stress and eating well.”
“You’ll make someone a great mom,” I tease.
Nate drives us to Sterling & Wilson’s Los Angeles building. Although my body’s still humming from the earlier orgasm and the doctor’s good news, I try to focus on work once we’re inside the office. What Nate does is so much more important than just making money. He is actually making a difference in the world. And I’m proud to be part of that.
While Nate’s on a call, I get a padded envelope delivered to me personally from somebody named Miles Wellington in Arlington, Virginia. What’s this about? There’s a medical center funded by the family in Virginia, but I don’t know anybody named Miles Wellington there, and his address isn’t the medical center’s either.
I open the package and a note falls out.
I thought it prudent to return this to you.
–M.W.
Thinking, Return what? I shake the envelope loose.
The thong that went missing in Vegas lands on my desk, and my heart stops for a moment. The underwear is sealed in some kind of clear plastic wrap, but it’s obvious that it’s been laundered, pressed and folded.
Oh, crap. How the hell did it end up with… Who is this guy again? Miles Wellington?
I lost the damn thong in Vegas. I just don’t understand how it ended up in Virginia. And how did this man I’ve never even heard of know where to send it?
My face flames. Did he sniff it? Maybe wrap it up around his hot dog down there? Is that why he had to launder it before returning it to me?
No. That doesn’t make any sense. Besides, why would a pervert return his plaything?
Then my brain finally kicks in, and I realize, I have my thong on my desk at work. Shit. I shove it back into the envelope and drop everything into the bottom drawer, then look around, wondering if anybody saw anything. Seems like I’m okay. Nobody’s acting like they just witnessed scandalously embarrassing lingerie.