Good In Bed Part 23

"Why don't we step into my office," said Dr. K.

We did. He sat behind his desk, I took the chair opposite, not realizing until I'd sat down that I wasn't just tired, I was completely exhausted.

"It's good to see you," he said again, looking at me expectantly.

I took a deep breath. Get through this, I told myself. Get through this, and you'll be able to go home and go to sleep.

"I'm going to, um... stay pregnant. So I have to drop out of the program," I told him. He nodded, as if this was what he'd been waiting to hear.

"I'll make arrangements for the department to send you a check," he said. "And we'll be starting new studies next fall, if you're still interested."

"I don't think I'm going to have a lot of free time," I said.

He nodded. "Well, we'll miss you in cla.s.s. You really bring a certain something."

"Oh, you're just saying that"

"No, I'm not. That imitation of the female fat cell you did two weeks ago... you really should think about stand-up."

I sighed. "Stand-up's hard. And I've got... a lot of things to think about right now."

Dr. K. reached for a notebook and a pen. "You know, I actually think we might have some kind of nutrition workshop for expectant mothers," he said, clearing books and papers away, locating his telephone directory. "I mean, since you've paid already, you might as well get something... Or, of course, if you just want a refund, we can definitely do that"

He was being so nice. Why was he being so nice to me? "No, that's okay. I just wanted to say that I had to drop out, and that I'm sorry"

I took a deep breath, looking at him looking at me from across the desk, his eyes so kind. And then I was crying again. What was it about this room, and this poor man, that every time I sat across from him I wound up in tears?

He handed me the Kleenex. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'll be okay I'm sorry"

And then I was crying so hard that I couldn't speak. "I'm sorry," I said again. "I think this is one of the first-trimester things, where everything makes you cry." I patted my purse. "I've got a list in here somewhere... things you're supposed to take, things you're supposed to feel..."

He was reaching over me, pulling a white lab coat off the coat rack.

"Stand up," he said. I stood up, and he draped the coat over my shoulders. "I want to show you something," he said. "Come with me."

He led me into an elevator, then down a hall, through a door marked "Staff Only" and "Keep Out," through another door marked "Emergency Only! Alarm Will Sound!" But the alarm didn't sound as he pushed open the door. And suddenly we were outside, on the roof, with the city spilled out beneath our feet.

I could see City Hall. I was practically at eye level with the statue of Billy Penn on top. There was the PECO building, studded with glistening lights... the twin towers of Liberty Place, shining silver... tiny cars, inching down infinitesimal streets. The rows of Christmas lights and neon wreaths marching down Market Street to the waterfront. The Blue Cross RiverRink, with tiny skaters moving in slow circles. And then the Delaware River, and Camden. New Jersey. Bruce. It all looked very far away.

"What do you think?" Dr. K. asked. I think I must have jumped when he finally started talking. For a moment, I'd forgotten him... forgotten everything. I was so wrapped up in the view.

"I've never seen the city like this," I told him. "It's amazing."

He leaned against the door and smiled. "I think you'd have to pay a pretty hefty rent in one of the Rittenhouse Square high-rises to get a view like this," he said.

I turned toward the river again, feeling the wind blow cool on my face. The air tasted delicious. All day long- or at least since Dr. Patel had given me the pamphlet listing Common Complaints of the First Trimester- I'd noticed that I could smell everything, and that most of what I could smell made me feel sick. Car exhaust... a whiff of dog c.r.a.p from a trash can... gasoline... even things I normally enjoyed, like the scent of coffee wafting out of the Starbucks on South Street came to me at ten times their normal intensity. But up here the air smelled like nothing, as if it had been specially filtered for me. Well, me and whatever rich balcony-lined-penthouse-dwellers were lucky enough to have regular access.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Dr. K. sat down, cross-legged, and motioned for me to join him. Being careful not to sit on his lab coat, I did.

"Do you feel like talking about it?"

I shot him a quick sideways glance. "Do you want to listen?"

He looked embarra.s.sed. "I don't mean to pry I know it's not any of my business"

"Oh, no, no, it's not that. I just don't want to bore you." I sighed. "It's the oldest story in the world, I guess. Girl meets boy, girl loves boy, girl dumps boy for reasons she still doesn't really understand, boy's father dies, girl goes to try to comfort him, girl winds up pregnant and alone."

"Ah," he said carefully.

I rolled my eyes at him. "What, you thought it was someone else?"

He didn't say anything, but in reflected light from the streets below, I thought he looked abashed. I hunkered around until I was sitting facing him.

"No, c'mon, really. You thought I found another guy that fast? Please," I snorted. "Give me a little less credit."

"I guess I thought... well, I guess I really hadn't thought about it."

"Well, believe me, it takes a lot longer than a few months before I meet someone who likes me, and who wants to see me naked, and before I get comfortable enough to actually let them." I looked at him sideways again. What if he thought I was flirting? "Just FYI," I added lamely.

"I'll file that away," he said somberly. He seemed so serious, I had to laugh.

"Tell me something... how do people know when you're kidding? Because you always sort of sound the same way."

"Which is what? Nerdy?" He spent a long time saying the word nerdy, which, of course, made him sound... a little nerdy.

"Not exactly. Just serious all the time."

"Well, I'm not." He actually appeared to be offended. "I actually have a very fine sense of humor."

"Which I'm just somehow managing to completely miss," I teased.

"Well, considering that the handful of times we've spoken, you've been having some extravagant life crisis, I haven't been at my funniest."

Now he was definitely sounding offended.

"Point taken," I said. "I'm sure you're very funny."

He looked at me suspiciously, thick brows furrowed. "How do you know?"

"Because you said you were. People who are funny know that they're funny. People who aren't funny will say, 'My friends say I've got a great sense of humor.' Or 'My mother says I've got a great sense of humor.' That's when you know you're in trouble."

"Oh," he said. "So if you were to describe yourself, you'd say you were funny?" "No," I sighed, looking out at the night sky. "At this point, I'd say that I was f.u.c.ked."

We sat in silence for a minute. I watched the skaters turn.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?" he finally asked. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to"

"No, no. I don't mind. I've only figured a few things out, really. I know that I'm going to keep it, even though it's probably not the most practical thing, and I know I'm going to cut back my schedule when the baby comes. Oh, and I know I'm going to maybe start looking for a new place to live, and see if my sister will be my birth coach."

Laid out like that, like a losing hand of cards fanned out on a table, it didn't seem like much.

"What about Bruce?" he asked.

"See, that's the part I haven't figured out yet," I said. "We haven't talked in weeks, and he's seeing someone else."

"Seriously?" "Seriously enough for him to tell me about it. And to write about it."

The doctor considered this. "Well, that might not mean anything. He might just be trying to get back at you... or make you jealous."

"Yeah, well, it's working."

"But a baby... well, that changes everything."

"Oh, you read that pamphlet, too?" I hugged my knees into my chest. "After we broke up... after his father died, when I felt so miserable, and I wanted him back, and all, my friends kept telling me, 'You broke up with him, and you must have done it for a reason.' And I know that it's true. I think I did know, deep down, that we probably weren't supposed to be, you know, together for the rest of our lives. And it was probably my fault I mean, I've got this whole theory about my father, and my parents, and why I don't trust love. So I think that maybe even if he was perfect... or, you know, not perfect, but a good fit for me... that maybe I wouldn't have been able to see it, or I'd have tried to talk myself out of it. Or whatever."

"Or maybe he wasn't the right guy for you. They always taught us in medical school, when you hear hoofbeats..."

"... don't look for zebras."

He grinned at me. "They said that in your medical school, too?"

I shook my head. "No. My father was a doctor. He used to say that all the time. But I don't know. I think this might actually be a zebra. I mean, I know how much I miss him, and how awful I felt when I found out he had somebody else, and I think that I blew it... that he was actually supposed to have been the love of my life, my husband." I swallowed hard, my throat closing around that word. "But now..."

"Now what?"

"I miss him all the time." I shook my head, disgusted at my own mopiness. "It's like being haunted or something. And I don't have the luxury of being haunted right now. I need to think about myself, and the baby, and how I'm going to plan and get ready."

I looked at him. He'd taken off his gla.s.ses and was watching me intently.

"Can I ask you a question?" I said.

He nodded.

"I need a male perspective. Do you have any children?"

"None that I... I mean, no."

"See, you were going to say, 'None that I know of,' right?"

"I was, but I stopped myself," he said. "Well, almost."

"Okay. So no kids. How would you feel, if you'd been with someone, and then you weren't with her, and she came to you and said, 'Guess what? I'm having your baby!' Would you even want to know?"

"If it were me," he said, thoughtfully. "Well, yes. If it were me I'd want to know. I would want to be a part of the child's life."

"Even if you weren't with the mother anymore?"

"I think children deserve to have two parents involved with them, and who they become, even if the parents live apart. It's hard enough to grow up in this world. I think kids need all the help they can get."

That, of course, was not what I'd wanted to hear. What I'd wanted to hear was, You can do this, Cannie! You can go it alone! If I was going to be apart from Bruce- and there was ample evidence that I would- I wanted every a.s.surance that a single parent was a fine and proper thing to be. "So you think I should tell him."

"If it were me," he said thoughtfully, "I would want to be told. And no matter what you do, or what he wants, you're still the one who ultimately gets to decide. What's the worst thing that can happen?"

"He and his mother sue me for custody and try to get the baby for themselves?"

"Wasn't that on Oprah?" he asked.

"Sally Jessy," I said. It was getting colder. I pulled the lab coat tight around me.

"Do you know who you remind me of?" he asked.

"If you say Janeane Garofalo, I'll jump," I warned him. I was forever getting Janeane Garofalo.

"No," he said.

"Your mother?" I asked.

"Not my mother."

"That guy on Jerry Springer who was so fat that the paramedics had to cut a hole in his house to get him out of it?"

He was smiling and trying not to. "Be serious!" he scolded me.

"Okay. Who?"

"My sister."

"Oh." I thought about it for a minute. "Is she..." And then I didn't know what to say. Is she fat? Is she funny? Did she get knocked up by her ex-boyfriend?

"She looked a little bit like you," he said. He reached out, his fingertip almost brushing my face. "She had cheeks like yours, and a smile like yours."

I asked the first thing I could think of. "Was she older or younger?"

"She was older," he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. "She died when I was nine."

"Oh."

"A lot of my patients when they meet me want to know why I got into this line of medicine. I mean, there's no obvious connection. I'm not a woman, I've never had a weight problem..."

"Oh, sure. Rub it in," I said. "So your sister was... heavy?"

"No, not really. But it made her crazy." I could only see the side of his face as he smiled. "She was always on these diets... hard-boiled eggs one week, watermelon the next."