Jenna swung her legs from her seat on the parchment covered table. Nostalgia was overwhelming her—she had had many visits in this room, some better than others—but something was missing. She tried to pinpoint what it was as she sat there, reminiscing over the things she had done upon the very table where she was seated. Like when Jim had held the stirrups and every vein on his arms stood out in fresh relief as she kissed her way down his stomach—
Two knocks on the door shook her from her reverie. The door opened, and Jim entered.
"What are you doing here?" Jenna recoiled.
"I know, I know, this seems crazy." Jim held his hands up in an innocent expression. "I didn't plan on this, but Dr. Laughlin caught a cold and isn't in today, and Dr. Henry and I were going to split her appointments but then he was called out on a birth, so it's just me. I understand if you don't want me—or I mean, to see me, I guess. I can reschedule you. I promise, my feelings won't be hurt." He looked away awkwardly, in that way he did where Jenna couldn't necessarily tell if he was serious or joking.
She felt the corners of her mouth twinge with a half-smile, harkening back to the first time he'd said that. The first time they'd met.
"Oh!" She exclaimed.
"What?" Jim asked in alarm, looking around in fright for what could have caused her reaction.
"I had the strangest feeling when I got here that I forgot something, and I just realized what it is!"
"Was it Lulu? It's normal in the first few months of motherhood to feel like you've forgotten something when you're away from your baby—"
"No!" Jenna interrupted. "A pie! Jeez, I haven't baked one in ages. Not since before Lulu, I guess, now that I'm thinking about it."
"You haven't baked for over two months?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Huh. I didn't even think about it til now."
"Are you not back to work yet either?"
"No. That's just maternity leave though. Probably why I haven't baked either."
"I thought you loved baking."
"Oh I do. But with the move and all that, I've just been so busy. It doesn't really matter anyways. Why did you want to see me? Or I mean, why did you book me for an appointment? I told you I'm fine."
"Well, with that Dr. Goldstein being your OB, you know, you can never be too sure. But back to your baking—you're staying with your friends, right? Do they not have a kitchen? Could you not bake there?"
"Well they do, obviously."
"So why haven't you?"
"You sure seem to care a lot about my pies, huh? Upset I didn't bring you one?" Jenna half-smiled again, poking fun at him. His expression remained serious, however, and she sobered up quickly enough. "I haven't really wanted to bake. I've been so tired with the baby and all that."
"Are you the only one caring for her? I mean, are your friends helping?"
"She's my baby." Jenna replied. "I mean, it's my job to take care of her. Not theirs."
"Well of course you're the primary, but usually a baby has two parents. It's ok to need a little help—parenting wasn't designed to be done alone."
"I'm more than capable, Dr. Pomatter." Jenna's tone edged into anger again.
"I'm not saying you're not, but you seem overly exhausted."
"Are you serious?" Jenna guffawed. "I have a newborn. Of course I'm exhausted."
"Yes, and we would expect that, but your movements and demeanor are, well, how do I say this? We have markers for the typical exhaustion levels we see in new parents and you're well above the threshold. The fact that you've given up baking is also worrisome. And I know you probably don't want me to mention this, but the tears I saw yesterday were deeply concerning as well."
"I pushed a human out of me two months ago, cut me a break! It's normal to be a little hormonal."
"Jenna, I'm not trying to attack you here."
"Well then what are you trying to do? Because I've got a child waiting at home and I never wanted to book this appointment in the first place, so I'd appreciate you telling me what your goddamn problem is before you waste any more of my time!" She stood and tugged her purse over her shoulder, ready to flee. Jim stood up too, standing in front of the door and blocking her exit. They paused like that, both caught in surprise at her outburst. It was Jim who broke the silence first, his voice measured, as though scared he could spook her into running.
"You're displaying multiple markers for postpartum depression," he said evenly. "And I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to about it, but I can give you a counselor's number and a referral for some appointments, so you don't have to pay a penny. Please, Jenna." His voice cracked on her name.
They stood there for a moment, eyes locked in a silent war. When had his eyes become so sad? He looked on the verge of tears. Were those grey hairs sprouting near his temples? Even the smile lines next to his eyes looked deepened and withered. Jenn winced. Why had she been so cruel to him? He was a doctor, just trying to do his job. She took a deep breath.
"Why are you divorcing Francine?" She didn't realize she had asked the question until the words were out of her mouth, hanging in the air between them. They stood there for a moment, both surprised. Now that she had asked though, she wanted to know.
"I just. . ." he began, trailing off and hanging his head. She waited for him to finish his sentence, but he just sighed. Seconds ticked by as Jenna waited, Jim's head hung low, avoiding her gaze. When he looked back up, his expression was completely defeated, powerless, even pained.
"I realized after us—you and me, I mean—that it wasn't enough. We would talk about being doctors and work out and all that was nice. It was great, even. But what I felt for you just made it seem. . ." He cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes. Jenna felt a thickening in her chest. She wouldn't cry, not now.
Another pregnant pause as Jenna waited for him to speak. He didn't say anything else. What was there to say?
"I'll take that referral," she whispered. Silently, he crossed the room to the counter, scrawling a number on a slip of paper and ripping it from the pad. In a moment he was back in front of her, closer this time, close enough that she could smell his deodorant. He held out the little slip of paper with shaking fingers and she took it, careful not to touch his hand. She noticed her own was trembling too.
They stood there again, neither willing to look at each other or break the silence, neither willing to leave. She couldn't say how long it lasted—that terrible feeling of finality, of loss and longing.
After what seemed like hours, Jim lifted his arm towards her—he wasn't reaching for her, just showing her something. Jenna examined the hand, clean and slightly calloused—she didn't know what from—with its muscular forearm, dusted with dark hairs, a few scars darkening the skin in spots. She could see the purple veins on the inside of his wrist, different veins raised under the skin on the back of his palm.
It was a peace offering. She wanted so badly to raise her hand, to trail her fingers along his palm and encase his hand in her own. She could almost feel it. Slowly, tentatively, she raised her hand, hovering inches away from his own. They both stood there for a moment, feeling the air in between them—they weren't touching, but some sort of magnetic force between them made it feel as though they were. After a minute, it was Jenna who relented.
"I should go."
Immediately their hands dropped, the spell broken. The air felt five degrees cooler, a shiver spreading gooseflesh over Jenna's arms. "I mean, Lulu's at home, and Dawn has work. . ."
"Of course. Sorry."
He moved out of the way, letting her through the door. She paused once more, her hand on the knob. They looked at each other. Had he felt it too?
She wanted to rub her hand over the stubble on his cheek, flatten his hair and crook her finger under his chin, lift it and tell him the sadness in his eyes had no place there. She wanted to press herself against him and rest her head on his chest and rock in his arms, not saying a word, just knowing—she shook her head, trying to clear the thought from her mind. She couldn't do this, not to herself, not to him.
"Bye, Jim," she finally whispered. He waved, rolling his fingers half-heartedly at her. Then it was over.
