Ororo sat in her office finishing a proposal for a prospective client. She had been feeling fatigued lately but assumed it was due to the long hours she spent working. She struggled to concentrate on typing. Her stomach churned mightily though she hadn't eaten breakfast. Jean entered holding a loaded file. "Ready for the conference call with that boutique bed and breakfast?" she asked gleefully, happy that her bestfriend's anger with her dissipated.
Ororo sat rigidly shaking her head with her eyes shut. "No? Need me to give you the rundown?" Jean asked a bit bewildered. Her friend was always thorough when it came with her work… Everything in her life really. Ororo's head swiveled quicker while her mouth watered as bile forced its way up, burning her throat. She briskly grabbed her wastebasket and regurgitated, thankful her lengthy ashen hair was pulled back in a bun. Once she was finished she used a tissue to wipe her mouth, tears of pain and embarrassment moistened her eyes. Jean speedily left the office and returned with cool water in a paper cup, urging Ororo to drink. "I'm going to call my doctor's office and see if they can squeeze you in. The last thing we need is a virus spreading through the office," Jean said as she dialed.
After vomiting four more times and filing out a never ending stack of forms Ororo sat uncomfortably wearing a loose backless teal gown in the sterile looking examination room. Dr. Maddicks entered, introducing himself as he extended his hand. He was an older man, no younger than sixy with bushy slate hair. He was not one for niceties, strictly in the business of diagnosing and healing. After asking for her symptoms, taking her weight, temperature, and blood pressure he at last asked, "Have you been sexually active recently?"
Ororo began to say no out of habit when she recalled the night she spent with that gentleman a few weeks ago. "Yes," she nodded.
"Do you mind if we conducted and a pregnancy and STD screening? Just as a precaution."
"I guess not," she shrugged though she was certain the tests were pointless.
Ororo sat in the office once again after submitting blood and urine, both of which she disliked entirely. At least she was fully dressed again in her black slacks and neatly pressed matching blouse. Nausea resurfaced, much to her annoyance. Why couldn't he just give me antibiotics for my stomach flu already?
Dr. Maddicks returned while reviewing a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. "Well, Ms. Monroe the pregnancy test results are in," he started then sat down on the short black stool in front of her. Matter of fact like he stated, "They came back positive. You're pregnant."
Ororo sat silently, completely void of expression. She was numb. Her mind was blank, unable to process what was just heard. "I can refer you to an excellent obstetrician if you'd like," Dr. Maddicks offered. She instinctually nodded, still nil of understanding.
She spent the rest of the week going through the motions of life when she wasn't sobbing uncontrollably. She continuously mentally berated herself for being so stupid, so careless. Did we even use protection? I can't believe I was so reckless! She broke from reprimanding herself only to wonder what to do, where to start, how this would impact her. I ruined my life…
At the end of the week she was informed that her transmitted disease results all came back negative, much to her relief. For the time being there was only one thing to do. She scrolled through her contact list, grateful she hadn't deleted his number.
Remy had just returned home after receiving payment for a priceless antique though he priced the job at $55,000. Another satisfied costumer, another bundle of cash in his possession.
His iPhone vibrated in the inner right pocket of his duster, his personal use cell. He reached in with his left hand and examined the number that illuminated on it. 347 area code? Who could dat be? He answered uncertainly.
"Remy? This is Ororo, from a few weeks ago."
A smile flashed on to his face. He remembered her quite fondly. She was the kind of beauty you'd never forget. She was a lore you would share with your friends who would never believe you, something that gorgeous was a thing of mythology. After a couple of weeks he was beginning to think he'd never hear from her again. But after all he was The Remy LeBeau. It was only a matter of time until she came back around.
"Qui, Remy remembers. How ya been belle?" His smile was audible.
"Good, thanks. Look I was hoping we could get together soon." She was anxious and felt the threat of nausea creeping up her throat again.
"Sho' chere. I'm free ta'nigh' if ya are." Remy couldn't believe his good fortune. This day just kept getting better.
"All right. Tonight sounds fine," she agreed, relieved that in the matter of hours she'd be able to confront him.
"How 'bout we meet up at Rousseau's fo' a drink?" he suggested.
"No, I'd prefer somewhere more private. Perhaps your place?" she asked. The last thing she needed was the added stress of a possibly melodramatic scene in public.
The situation was almost surreal. The saints must be on his side today. "All righ'. Come over 'round nine. I'll text ya da directions."
Remy had to spruce up his house and prep for tonight. He was positive she'd stay for breakfast.
Ororo was surprised when she arrived to Remy's house. For a bachelor his age his house was sprawling. Well, he did say he was a broker. It wasn't in a well to do neighborhood but nice all the same. The house was a bit aged but well kept. She rang the doorbell and twiddled her thumbs nervously as she waited for the door to open.
Remy swung the door open with a welcoming smile. He wore designer jeans and a plain black shirt. He was cleanly shaven and a portion of his auburn hair hung in his face. If you searched the word handsome in the dictionary his picture would be next to it, winking at you as an example. He stepped aside, allowing her in.
His roamed her frame clad in dark denim jeans and a baby blue tank top that enhanced her sapphire irises inlaid in almond shaped eyes. She was just as alluring in casual clothes as she was in a mini skirt. If she was dawning make up Remy couldn't tell. Her wavy pearly locks was pulled back in a high ponytail and ended at the mid of her back. He was looking forward to pulling on it while he pounded into her from behind.
He took her hand gently and kissed her knuckles. "Welcome, petite." She followed him into his living room. It was spacious but sparsely furnished, all in dark shades of brown. A large flat screen television nearly took up an entire wall, only leaving the remaining blank space for a gold and ebony banner that read "Who Dat!" It was very much a man's dwelling.
Remy gestured towards the sofa, indicating for her to sit as he ventured into the kitchen. She sat tapping her right foot unconsciously. He sauntered over with two wine glasses and a bottle of merlot in hand. He sat and began to pour. "None for me please," she waved away.
Awkward silence settled between them. He observed her. Her foot kept tapping rapidly and she gnawed on that pouty bottom lip of hers. She really should have a glass.
He watched her discomfort for a moment. "So… Glad ya called belle. Remy was hopin' ta see ya again. Had a real good time befo'e," he charmed, determined to set his spell over Ororo once more. Although she scolded herself nonstop the whole week she had to admit, even though she should have been more controlled she understood why she gave in. It was like being in the presence of a demigod. If she wasn't so worked up over the news she was about to share she might have swooned.
"Um," she began, ringing her fingers, "Look, I have to tell you something and I'm not sure how to go about saying it." Her heart felt twenty times too large for her chest as it thudded forcefully against her rib cage.
Wha' would she got ta tell me? Her anxiety was palpable, so much so that he was beginning to feel antsy himself. "Whatcha got ta say?" he prompted.
She struggled against the gitters that caused her hands to tremble. Ororo's eyes met his imploring gaze. She had to say it, had to tell him. "Remy, I'm pregnant!"