Chapter 14 Indie

Chapter 14

Indie

Turns out finding a doctor that would see me on short notice without requiring me to sell a kidney on the black market was a tall order. Lara was incredibly understanding when I texted her asking if we could move our meeting to this morning to accommodate the appointment I was able to get due to a cancellation.

Not that I have any immediate plans that require birth control, but my prescription lapsed, which means I’m also due for my annual exam. And given my family history, I need to get it taken care of quickly. Luckily, the free women’s health clinic is in the same neighborhood as Buns you’ll love her. He set you two up?” Her brows furrow.

“He introduced us,” I hedge, thrown off by her wording. “Said she was well connected in the nonprofit space.”

“That makes sense. Sorry, I think my husband fucked a few brain cells out of me this morning.” Laughter puffs out of her and she adds, “She’ll be a great resource for you. She knows everyone.”

Before I can push for any more information, the door chimes.

Lilah’s eyes brighten as she waves the tall blonde woman over. Standing from her spot she wraps her arms around the chicly dressed woman in the same greeting she gave me. “Indie was just telling me you were coming in. It’s so good to see you again, Lara,” Lilah gushes.

“Likewise. It’s been too long. It’s been all stuffy political events with my dad’s reelection. Those are nowhere near as fun as having fancy dinners with you and the guys for a worthwhile cause.” Even her laughter is refined as she jokes with Lilah .

Tightness creeps up my spine when she steps back from the hug. Lara is stunning and commands the kind of graceful poise that only the most self-assured seem to possess.

“Lara, this is my friend Indie. I think you’ll love the ideas she has to help our local nonprofit organizations. You two are going to work so well together. I’m jealous he gets the credit for pairing you two up.”

Crystal blue eyes sweep over me appraisingly. “Any friend of Dom’s is a friend of mine.”

Lilah leaves us to finish her baking and Lara gets right down to business. As much as I wanted to dislike her on sight—a feeling I’m not ready to dig too deep into—I can’t. She’s a fucking delight. Professional, clever, and has brilliant ideas that only compliment what I’m trying to do. Her immediate passion for helping me achieve my goals is invigorating. Knowing that I owe Dom for this introduction is the only dark spot in an otherwise bright morning.

We leave Buns for meeting with me today, the directions and the lead. Really. This whole idea—moving across the country and taking a risk on a career outside of the corporate hamster wheel—it’s a little daunting. But it just feels right, you know?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the vision, the drive, and an unmatched devotion to the cause,” she adds softly, laying her palm on my arm. “And I’m here if you need anything.”

My eyes drop to her hand and then slice back to her face. There’s a tilt to her hand, the distinct look of interest that goes beyond working together. Delilah’s confusion over why we were meeting crystallizes into understanding. I’m an idiot. Lara’s not interested in Dom. The uncomfortable jealousy that was plaguing me earlier is long gone with the realization that Lara is queer. It’s a piece of evidence I don’t want to look too closely at for fear of what I’ll find.

The walk to the clinic is short, but with the summer heat, my skin is sticky by the time I step into the air-conditioned building. Waving my hand in front of my face I step up to the desk to check in.

Glancing around the waiting room I notice the touches the staff has added to make the space more comforting. For a lot of patients, me included, being here probably feels a little overwhelming. Soft neutral tones and low, calming music help to make this all feel a little less harrowing.

Over the course of my life, I’ve always been privileged enough to have access to exceptional health care, and I’ve seen firsthand the difference that can make through my mom. The extra time we got with her as a result is a gift I will always cherish.

I just hope that by working with organizations like this one, I can play a small role in giving that same gift to other families. But that isn’t what brought me here today.

“Indie Moreno.” A slim man in dark scrubs calls out from where he’s standing by the open doorway leading to the back.

“That’s me.” The vinyl creaks when I stand from the chair and cross the waiting room.

He gives me a warm smile and makes small talk as we weave through the hallways to a small examination room .

“Is it a requirement that all clinics are set up like mazes when they are built?” Nerves get the best of me, and I let out an awkward chuckle.

“It sure seems that way,” he says, before running through my personal and family history. Asking some additional questions when we get to my mom’s diagnosis.

“The doctor will be in to see you shortly.” It’s the kind smile, like the one he’s giving me now, that emanates compassion and warmth that always makes my hands clammy. Especially in a medical setting. Does he feel sorry for me? Is he calculating the difference in my age now and when my mom was diagnosed?

Sixteen years, seven months, thirteen days. A fact I desperately wish didn’t taunt me each day that ticks away.

Clocks in doctor’s offices always seem to move slower than anywhere else. And right now it’s painfully obvious. I fidget with the gown that doesn’t cover nearly enough of me, tugging at the paper to keep the cool air circulating through the office from making me chilled. Eight minutes feels like a lifetime.

Finally, there’s a soft knock at the door that practically has me jumping off the exam table.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Dr. Maryann Smith.”

“Of course you are.” To her, I’m sure the strangled laugh that comes out of me sounds deranged. I cover my face with my hand, not even sure how my invigorating and productive morning has turned into this. The woman I’m supposed to talk to in a professional capacity is about to be knuckles deep in my vagina. “Sorry. Nice to meet you. I’m Indie.”

“What brings you in today, Indie?” Maryann asks, her soft gray curls are barely contained by the chignon she has her hair twisted into. Crinkles around her eyes deepen when she tilts her lips up in a polite smile.

“You’re not what I expected.” Coughing to cover her laugh, she waits for me to recover. “Oh god. I’m so screwing this all up. Do you know Lara Preston? She and I met this morning, and she told me I should speak with you if I saw you today about a project I wanted to partner on. I just didn’t expect this . . .” My hand sweeps down my paper covered body towards the stirrups, which are already extended out. It’s only a small miracle that my heels aren’t in them yet. “ I planned to find you after my appointment, fully dressed and not all amped up on pre appointment jitters.”

“Ah. Yes, Lara is wonderful. She helped us fund a trans health equity program. But why don’t we start with those nerves around your visit? Then, when you are dressed, we can talk about everything else.”

“Yeah, I think I can handle that. I always think better with my pants on.”

“Don’t we all. Nobody really likes these visits, but I’m glad you came in. Looking at your family history they’re critical for you. I’d like to do a mammogram after your exam today. Have you had one yet?”

“Nope, not yet. But I have a feeling today is my lucky day. My previous doctor and I had discussed starting them before I moved.”

“And that’s okay. Your mom was diagnosed at forty, so this is when we would typically start them for someone with your history. Before I do your exam, I noticed you’re also looking for birth control options. Are you using something currently?”

“With the move, my prescription lapsed, and my previous provider encouraged me to take it because of the potentially reduced risk of developing ovarian cancer. But I’m also newly single and conventionally unemployed, and not in a place to be raising a tiny, needy human. So all around, a good idea.” As if being nearly naked with nothing more than a paper tablecloth draped over me isn’t humbling enough, the man who has no business being in this room with me is filling up all the space in my brain that isn’t currently being used for rambling. I push away the thoughts of his hands on my body and the way he looked hovering over me, his shoulders straining, because now is definitely not the time for a stroll down memory lane. It’s just that he was the last partner I had that I needed to worry about any of this with.

“Let’s get you back on oral contraceptives, just to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say as she washes her hands at the sink before taking her spot at my feet.

When she’s done, she steps out for a moment, allowing me to dress. A few minutes pass before she slips back into the room; a sample pack of birth control in hand .

“This will get you started and we can get you a prescription moving forward. Remember to use a backup form of birth control until these are gone. Now that you have pants on, we have a few other things to discuss, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to start by talking about genetic testing.”

Dread creeps up my spine, making my neck straighten and the muscles snap tight. “Dr. Smith, you’re wasting your time. I know everything there is to know about brCA gene testing. I’ve gone over every single pro and con annually since I was eighteen. Each year I come up with the same answer: testing isn’t going to keep me from getting sick. Nothing will. Not even daily appointments with you. The emotional toll of testing has never been worth it for me.”

“Tell me something. Have you done your annual review of it this year?”

“No.”

Her hand disappears into a coat pocket, and she pulls out a pamphlet. “There’s a support group that meets here once a week. Come to one meeting and just listen. It’s a mix of some women, like you, who have chosen not to get tested, and others who’ve gone through testing and received results on both sides of the spectrum.”

“I don’t know.” The thin paper feels like a heavy weight in my hand.

“No one is going to pressure you either way. But you’ll have a community of people who know exactly what you’re going through no matter what you decide.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her honestly.

“Now, onto the fun stuff. Whatever you and Lara have up your sleeve, I’m sure it’ll be wildly successful because she’s a powerhouse and, well . . .” She tilts her head to the side, considering me for a moment. “I just have a feeling about you.”

When I get home from my doctor’s appointment, there’s a gravitational pull centering around my couch trying to drag my tired body towards it, but my mind just won’t quit. Unfortunately for me, it’s the worst possible circumstance. Mia and Poppy are traveling together for a book event. Lilah was alone at the store today and Willa is in class. The support system I moved here for is MIA and I don’t blame them, like at all . But I need to get out of this apartment and do something before I lose my shit.

It only takes me minutes to grab my gear and ride my bike to the nearby trailhead. Starting off slow I pick an easier trail since I’m unfamiliar with the terrain and do a few shorter loops.

The more miles I ride, the more I think. Rationally, I know the support group Dr. Smith referred me to is harmless. It certainly won’t change my mind, but maybe knowing I spoke to others in the same boat will dull the inevitable guilt that gnaws at me when I tell my dad and Poppy that I’m not getting tested this year.

With a renewed sense of resolution and pliant muscles, I veer off, following a fork to a more difficult loop. On my second time through, my confidence has me riding a little harder. Out of the saddle, with my weight back, I sail through a downhill section, letting the thrill of the ride push me harder. All the icky vibes from earlier drain from my body with each stroke of the pedal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of brown fur. The distraction is just enough for me to take my eyes off the trail for a split second.

“Shit!” I yell as my back tire skids across the dirt kicking up dust when I try to correct and make the corner. But it’s too late, or maybe it’s just too much. I can’t be sure with the trees whipping by and the ground getting closer.

Pain radiates through my whole body, but it’s the worst in my ankle. When I crack open an eye, two things are clear. I’m no longer on my bike, and I fucking hate squirrels. Especially that one. Slowly, I push up on my elbows, rocks digging sharply into my skin. Above me, the reason for my current situation is clinging to the tree looking at me upside down like I’m the problem here.

Where the hell is my bike?

Before I can figure that out, my watch is going off .

Dad.

“Double shit,” I groan out loud, laying back down and accepting the call. “I guess the crash detection works.”

“Please tell me you threw your watch against a wall to test it and not yourself.”

“It wasn’t my fault, it was that stupid squirrel. Do you think squirrels taste good in soup?”

With that, the little fucker scampers off, but not before dropping the spit covered acorn he was carrying right between my eyes.

“I’m going to eat you for lunch, you fucking menace.” Dirt stings my eyes when I reach up to rub my forehead.

“Indie, did you hit your head? You’re not making any sense.” Concern laces my dad’s deep voice.

“No, my head is fine.” I think. My ankle is fucked, but a quick check of all my limbs tells me everything else is okay.

“Where are you?” My dad’s voice borders on too loud for the pounding in my head.

“You’re probably not going to like the answer.”

“Indie, I swear I’ll get on a plane right now and scour the whole state.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll call—” My mind runs through all the options as I sit on the ground, caked in dirt, my ankle throbbing. There’s no one to call. The girls are all gone or occupied. The Bandits flew home late last night from an away series and play again tonight. Hendrix naps with his phone off and even if I could get in touch with him, his first call would be to Poppy, who’d probably freak out and fly home. “I’ll call a friend .” I finally sigh, resigned to my fate. When I hang up with my dad, I swipe through my contact list and find him under, “Yours.”