“And heroic,” Bruce added.
“That too.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Lauren said, lowering her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “Everyone knows Bruce is a baby.”
The doctor was done stapling. “I’m gonna check with my supervisor, okay?” she said. “Be right back.”
Be right back in emergency room lingo apparently meant when you’ve aged a good year, because it took hours for the senior doctor to come in. By this time, Bruce was gone, having given Lauren the next day off and orders to never bleed in his presence again.
“Is it possible you’re . . . you know. Pregnant?” Josh asked, that light in his eyes glowing.
“Anything’s possible,” she said, squeezing his hand. It had been a couple of months since that other pregnancy test, and she hadn’t been that religious with birth control.
“I hope you are.” There it was, his unguarded, unfiltered love. Her heart pushed against her ribs so hard she was surprised it didn’t fall into his lap.
“Well. I can toss the birth control anytime.”
He thought about that a minute, her serious husband. “Actually, I have a Christmas surprise in mind. Not that you being pregnant would cancel it out or anything.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a surprise. Don’t ask. Don’t look at me like that. Fine. You broke me. I’m taking you to Paris for Christmas.”
Her fatigue evaporated. “Paris! Oh, my God, Josh, really? Really?” He nodded, and she kissed him, threading her fingers through his silky hair, feeling him smile against her mouth.
Paris at Christmas! Oh, how stinking romantic! And classy! She’d bet there were no Frosty the Snowman inflatables in Paris, no sir.
“Excuse me,” came a voice. It was the senior doctor, the resident behind him, smiling. “We just wanted to take a listen to your chest. Your O2 sat is a little low.”
“I have asthma,” she said. “And bronchitis, on and off.”
“Mm,” he said, putting his stethoscope in his ears. “Breathe in and hold. Exhale. Breathe in. Again. Again. Now cough, and breathe in again. Really deep this time. Good.”
When he was done, he didn’t look at her. “I’d like you to see a pulmonologist to be on the safe side,” he said. “We can refer you to someone. Dr. Yoshi, get Kwana Bennett’s number.”
“Her inhalers never work for long,” Josh said. “And she has a dry cough. They said allergies first, then mold, on top of her asthma. She gets tired pretty easily.”
“Well, aren’t we full of complaints?” Lauren muttered.
“Right,” said the doctor, who was as warm and inviting as marble in the snow. “Give Dr. Bennett a call. Good to meet you. Take care.”
“Such charisma,” Lauren murmured as he left, and Dr. Yoshi, who was signing a tablet, snorted. Ah. An ally.
“Is there anything I should know?” Lauren asked the young woman.
“I’m really only treating your scalp wound, and I’m a first-year intern. Come back in ten days, and we’ll take those staples out.” She didn’t look at Lauren or Josh.
“Why did he listen to my lungs? Was there something weird?”
“Your O2 sat is low. It’s under ninety-five.”
“But ninety-three is good, right? I mean, it’s still an A.” Lauren smiled.
Dr. Yoshi didn’t smile back. “It’s a little low. It’s a good idea to see a pulmonologist, not just your regular doctor.” She paused. “If you’re on asthma meds, they should be doing better for you, so you probably just need them adjusted.”
There. Nothing to be scared of.
But a cold slither of fear twined around her ankles.
Josh looked uneasy, too. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.
But she felt fine the next day and the day after that, and any fear subsided. She called Dr. Bennett, got an appointment in three months’ time.
October was truly gorgeous, the yellow leaves and brilliant blue skies putting on quite a show. Thanksgiving was a loud, happy affair at Jen’s.
At Christmas, they did go to Paris, wandering the rainy, ancient streets, marveling at the architecture, the statues, the creperies. They rented bikes and rode in the cold air along the Seine, and looked at Notre-Dame’s reconstruction. She bought presents for Sarah, Jen and Asmaa on Boulevard Saint-Germain and a tie for Darius at Dior. They ate and made love in their lovely hotel room, drank coffee outside under heaters. The only downside was that France was unaware of the miracle invention known as half-and-half.
On their last night, they took a pedicab down through the Christmas village along the Champs-Élysées, delighting in the lights and smells, strategizing where to eat after they went up to the Arc de Triomphe. It was five or six flights of narrow, winding stairs, and Lauren felt a little winded and dizzy at the top. Asthma. Cold air.
But she didn’t want to think about that when the Eiffel Tower was glittering with lights, when the Christmas village stretched all the way back to the Tuileries, when they were young and in love and able to take a trip like this.
They stood there, looking out at the City of Light, arms around each other. “We’re so lucky,” Josh said.
Nearby, a young man dropped to one knee in front of a pretty woman and offered up a ring. She burst into tears and threw her arms around him. “Oui! Oui! Bien sûr!” she laughed.
“I hope they’re as happy as we are,” Lauren said, then kissed her husband. She had tears in her eyes. Tears of gratitude, that was all. Gratitude and awe at all life had to offer. She was going to ignore that little slither of anxiety. It would be wrong to let it into their golden life.
26
Joshua
Month ten
December
SARAH HAD DROPPED the December letter off early, because she was going to Arizona to visit her father and myriad half and stepsiblings for a week.
The task was a shock, and Joshua was not at all sure how to feel about it. For the first time, he questioned Lauren’s decision.
For one, it wasn’t her business.
For two, it might hurt his mother.
For three, it was a lot harder than any other month.
Hello, my darling!
I hope last month’s task went well and you are no longer a widower who hasn’t kissed anyone since the tragic death of his wife. (I hope it was great, for the record.)
So this month’s is on a very different note, and you might not like it, which is absolutely fine. So let’s cut right to it.