Author's Note: This story is not related to any of my other stories in any way. I want to thank Cori Falls and Trish for their advice and encouragement. And a special thanks to Trish for her suggestions and for proofreading for me. As always, I appreciate any reviews and helpful comments.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, but I do own the rights to this story.
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Misty Ketchum turned off the kitchen light, threw the dish towel into the laundry room as she passed by, and began to climb the stairs, along the way picking up a pair of sneakers, a baseball cap, a pink piece of something undoubtedly belonging to Barbie and/or friends, and a stuffed toy Charmander. The sneakers and baseball cap she deposited in Sammy's room, stopping to give her sleeping ten year-old son a tender kiss on his forehead. Named after Professor Oak, the boy had inherited his father's spiky black hair, and his mother's blue-green eyes. He would be leaving in a couple of months to begin his Pokemon journey, and she knew he would make his parents proud. "But oh, how I'm going to miss him," she whispered.
Giving him an extra kiss for good measure, she left his room to go peek in on her daughter. Seven year-old Laurel, who looked like a miniature version of her grandmother Delia, had kicked the covers off as usual. Misty laid the pink whatever and the Charmander on the dresser, then turned and pulled the sheet and blanket back up to the little girl's chin. 'I really shouldn't have yelled at her so much,' Misty thought, a rush of guilt settling in her stomach. 'It was only a little mud on the carpet, and it was easy to clean. It didn't even leave a stain.' Leaning down to kiss her daughter's cheek, she promised herself that she would apologize first thing in the morning.
She entered the master bedroom where her husband was lying in bed with his head propped up and his chin resting on his chest, a copy of Indigo League Monthly standing open in front of his face. "Anything interesting?" she asked as she took off her shoes and tossed them into the closet.
Ash answered from behind the magazine, "Yeah, the editorial is a jab at the people who don't want a new stadium built. It accuses them of being stuffy old codgers still living in the past and standing in the way of progress."
Misty turned from the closet to find him looking at her over the top of his reading glasses. Even though he was only 39, he'd been using the glasses for a few months now, ever since he'd discovered his arm wasn't long enough to hold printed material at the correct distance for focusing. The glasses and a smattering of gray hair were his only concessions to aging. He still maintained the lean, muscular build that he'd had as a young man. "I thought you felt the same way," she chided him.
He nodded, returning his attention to the article. "I do, but the editor doesn't have to be so rude about it."
"That's true," she said as she went into the adjoining bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and washed her face, applying a small dollop of moisturizer to her nose and forehead while her skin was still damp. She concluded her bedtime ritual by brushing her hair till her scalp tingled. No gray was visible among the bright-orange, shoulder-length strands, and except for a few extra pounds that were the result of bearing two children, she was still blessed with a figure that could turn heads. Returning to the bedroom, she retrieved a nightgown from her dresser drawer.
"Did you talk to James today?" she questioned Ash as she peeled off her socks and threw them onto the chair in the corner of the room.
"Uh-huh," he grunted, casually flipping through several pages of the periodical in his hands.
Misty watched his face, waiting for further exposition on the subject. When none came, she continued, "Did he say anything about Rose?"
He raised his eyes to hers. "No. Why? What's up with Rose?"
"Well, Jessie's really worried," she went on, taking off her jeans and folding them somewhat carelessly, then laying them across the chair with her socks. "That guy Rose is head over heels for seems to be a real low-life. Jessie thinks he drinks, and she's afraid he may even be on drugs. She's terrified that Rose is going to marry him, now that she's eighteen."
Ash narrowed his eyes. "Come to think of it, James did make some comment about the stubbornness of females. But I just assumed he was talking about Jessie."
"Very funny," Misty said, her sarcastic tone accompanied by a brief glare. Her expression turned melancholy, and she shook her head. "I'm just glad Laurel is still little. I'm not ready to deal with being the parent of a rebellious teenage daughter."
"You will be by the time it happens," he stated with confidence, before returning once more to his magazine.
"I hope so," she muttered, remembering the fear in Jessie's voice. She pulled her shirt off over her head and, noting the fatigue in her shoulders, stretched her fingertips toward the ceiling, trying to banish at least a couple of the kinks in her muscles. Taking off her bra, she rubbed the places where the torturous garment had bitten into her skin. Boy, was she glad this day was over! She had been ... wait a minute, what was that?
She ran her fingertips back over the upper outside part of her right breast. Was something there? No, of course not. She pressed all around the area. Well, maybe it was a bump of sorts. Probably just the usual irregularities common to breast tissue. She padded her fingers over her entire breast to prove this to herself. But the bump was only in one place and was about the size of a large grape.
She walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed beside her husband. He laid the magazine aside and wiggled his eyebrows at his wife when he saw her lack of attire.
"Behave!" she said sternly. She took his hand and placed his fingers on the spot on her breast. "Ash, do you feel anything here?"
Giving her a quizzical look, he moved his fingers in little circles, using just a bit of pressure. He frowned and placed his other hand underneath her breast to provide stability and pressed a little harder on the top. "Yeah, there's definitely something there. Is it unusual?"
"I don't know! You probably feel them more than I do!"
He glanced up at her. "Don't you do those regular exam things?"
She blushed a little. "Well, I do when I think of it ... but no, not regularly like I should."
He looked at the place covered by his fingers, then moved them and peered through his glasses, trying to see if he could see any swelling. "I think you should give Dr. Grant a call," he said, referring to her OB/GYN.
"I guess so." She stood and pulled her nightgown on, flipping off the lights, and sliding into bed. Scooting her back up against Ash's chest, she felt him put his arm around her and tuck her in even closer. Unable to close her eyes, she stared at the nightlight beside the bed. "I'll call her next week." Her voice was almost a whisper.
Ash lifted his head. "You'll call her tomorrow."
"But ... "
"Tomorrow." His tone indicated he would accept no dissent.
Misty sighed, "Alright." She didn't know where she was going to find the time, though. Tomorrow morning, both of the kids had swimming lessons, after which she had to run by the ballet studio to sign Laurel up for auditions for Raggedy Ann and Andy, pick up clothes from the dry cleaners, do the grocery shopping, and ... wasn't there something else? If so, she hoped it was written in her planner. A sudden stray thought made her speak up, "Ash, don't tell anybody, please?"
"Why not?"
"Because this is most likely nothing to worry about, and I'd just rather no one knew."
He squeezed her a bit tighter. "Okay, I won't say anything." Then he kissed the back of her head and said, "G'night. Love you."
"Love you, too." She closed her eyes resolutely, but it was a long time before sleep finally came.
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To be continued ...