JENNIE

I'm uncomfortable, nervous, and a little cold, sitting here dressed in only a thin hospital gown, inside a small exam room that mirrors the others lining the hall. They should add some color in the rooms—just a little paint would do, or even a framed photograph like in every other exam room I've ever been inside. Except this one. This one is nothing but white. White walls, white desk, white floor.

I should have taken Kimberly up on her offer to accompany me today.

I'm fine on my own, but having a little support today, even just a little of Kimberly's humor, would have helped calm my nerves. I woke up this morning feeling much better than I deserve, no trace of a hangover present. I felt sort of good. I fell asleep with a wine-and-Lisa-influenced smile on my face, and I slept more peacefully than I have in weeks.

I keep going round and round in my head, as usual, when it comes to Lisa. Reading and rereading our playful conversation from last night hasn't failed to make me smile, no matter how many times I look through the messages.

I like this nice, patient, playful Lisa. I would love to get to know that Lisa better, but I'm afraid that she won't be around long enough to do so.

I won't be around long enough either. I'm leaving for New York with Jisoo, and the closer the date comes, the more restless the fluttering inside me becomes. I can't tell if it's a good flutter or bad, but it's out of control today, and in this moment it's multiplied.

My feet are dangling over the edge of this uncomfortable examination bed, and I can't decide whether I want to keep my legs crossed or not. It's a trivial decision, but it does the job at distracting me from the cold temperature and awkward butterflies attacking my stomach.

I pull my phone from my purse and type a message to Lisa—just to keep occupied while I wait, of course.

A simple hey is all I send and wait, while crossing and uncrossing my legs. I'm glad you text me because I was only going to wait another hour before I text you, he replies.

I smile at the screen; even though I shouldn't like the demand behind her words, I do. She's being so honest lately, and I'm loving it.

I'm at the doctor and I've been waiting a while. How are you today?

She responds quickly. Stop being so formal. Why are you at the doctor? Are you okay? You didn't tell me you were going. I'm okay, don't worry about that, though I am here with Jackson, who's trying to get me to hang out later. Like that'll happen.

I hate the way my chest aches at the thought of Lisa's hanging out with her old friends. It's none of my business what she does or who she spends her time with, but I can't shake the sick feeling that comes over me when thinking about the memories associated with them.

Seconds later: Not that you needed to tell me, but you could have. I would have come with you?

It's okay. I'm okay alone. I find myself wishing I would have given her the option.

You've been alone too much since I've met you.

Not really. I don't know what else to say because my head is fuzzy, and I'm feeling sort of happy that she's concerned for me and being so open.

The word Liar is paired with a pair of jeans and a ball of fire. I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the noise as the doctor enters the exam room.

Doctor is here, I'll text you later.

Let me know if he doesn't keep his hands to himself.

I tuck my phone away and try to wipe the giddy smile from my face as Dr. West pulls a latex glove over each of his hands.

"How have you been?"

How have I been? He doesn't want to know the answer to that, nor does he have the time to listen. He's a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist.

"Good," I reply, cringing at the thought of small talk as he positions himself to examine me.

"I ran the blood work from your last appointment, but there wasn't anything triggering concern there."

I let out a breath of relief.

"However," he says ominously, and pauses.

I should have known there would be a however.

"As I looked over the images from your exam, I concluded that your cervix is very narrow, and from what I can see, very short. I'd like to show you what I mean, if that's okay?"

Dr. West adjusts his glasses and I nod in agreement. Short and narrow cervix. I did enough research online to know what that means.

Ten long minutes later, he's shown me in great detail the things I already knew. I've known what he would conclude with. I knew the moment that I left his office two and a half weeks ago. As I get myself dressed, his words play on repeat through my mind:

"Not impossible, but highly unlikely."

"There are other options—adoption is a route many people choose to go."

"You're still really young. As you get older, you and your partner can explore the best options for you."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kim."

Without thinking, I dial Lisa's number on the way to my car. I'm greeted by her voicemail three times before I force myself to put my phone away.

I don't need her, or anyone, right now. I can deal with this on my own.

I already knew this. I have already dealt with this in my mind and filed it away.

It doesn't matter that Lisa didn't answer the phone. I'm fine. Who cares if I can't get pregnant? I'm only nineteen, and all of the other plans I've made have fallen through so far anyway. It's only fitting that this last piece of my ultimate plan is blown to pieces, too.

The drive back to Kimberly's is long because of congested traffic again. I hate driving, I've decided. I hate people who have road rage. I hate the way it always rains here. I hate the way young girls blare loud music with their windows rolled down, even in the rain. Just roll your windows up!

I hate the way I'm trying to stay positive and not turn into the pathetic Jennie I was last week. I hate that it's so hard to think of anything except that my body betrayed me in the most final and intimate way.

I was born this way, Dr. West says. Of course I was. Just like my mother, no matter how perfect I try to be, it will never happen. There is a silver lining here, a sick one, in that at least I won't pass any of the traits I got from her to a child. I suppose I can't blame my mother for my faulty cervix, but I want to. I want to blame someone or something, but I can't.

This is the way the world works: if you want something bad enough, it gets stripped away and held out of reach. Just the way Lisa is. No Lisa and no babies. The two would never have mixed anyway, but it was nice to pretend I could have the luxury of both.

As I walk into Christian's house, I'm relieved to find I'm home alone.

Not home, but here. Without checking my phone, I strip down and get into the shower. I don't know how long I stay in there, watching the water circle the drain over and over. The water is cold when I finally climb out and dress myself in the T-shirt of Lisa's that she left for me in my suitcase, when she sent me away in Thailand.

I'm just lying here now, in this empty bed, and by the time I start to wish Kimberly were home, I get a text from her saying she and Christian are staying overnight downtown and Smith will be at the sitter's all night. I have the entire house to myself and nothing to do, no one to talk to. No one now, not even a little baby later to care for and love.

I keep pitying myself and I know it's ridiculous, but I can't seem to stop it.

Have some wine and rent a movie, our treat! Kimberly responds to my text wishing her fun for the night.

My phone starts to ring as soon as I send my thanks to her. Lisa's number flashes on the screen, and I debate whether to answer.

By the time I reach the wine fridge in the kitchen, she's routed to my voicemail, and I've reserved a ticket to Pity Party Central.

A bottle of wine later, I'm in the living room halfway through a terrible action film that I rented about a marine turned nanny turned mighty alien hunter. It seemed to be the only movie on the list that had nothing to do with love, babies, or anything happy.

When did I become such a downer? I take another drink of wine, straight from the bottle. I gave up on the wineglass five blown-up spaceships ago.

My phone rings again, and this time, as I look at the screen, my drunken thumbs accidently answer for me.