Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Sure thing, but if we get disconnected, you’ll have to call back,” she replies, making sense. Time is money, and money is time.
“No problem.” I cover the mouth piece.
“Is everything okay?” I question, feeling the lines in my forehead furrow.
“Yes, I’ll do the class tomorrow. I’m not working at the vet clinic. You’re in a pinch, and I’m available. Use me, and if you can’t find anyone to pick up Blair’s shifts, I’m sure I can. Please, allow me to do this. I’m so bored that I’ve been tempted to ask Jagger for a job.” Her hands come up in a praying manner, and as much as I’d like to say no, I can’t; not only because she’s Lyric Skye, almost Steele, but she’s also genuinely sweet.
“Are you sure? I mean, this is a big favor, and of course, I’ll pay you.” There’s a reason I’m hoping Lyric will pull through. I’ve had my period for longer than normal, above normal, really. It started happening a couple of months ago. The normal three-to-five-day menstrual cycle went to two weeks. I let it roll off my back, figuring stress could have caused it. When it ended, I put the notes in my period tracker app and went about my day. Then the damn thing came back a week later. I called the gynecologist immediately, and with the clashing of schedules, this has been the first available appointment.
“Yes, now, tell the nice lady on the phone that you’ll be there tomorrow.” I do as Lyric says, breathing a sigh of relief when it’s all said and done.
“Hi, sorry about the wait.” I wait for her to respond.
“No problem. Do we need to reschedule your appointment,” she questions.
“Nope, I’ll be there.” We say our goodbyes and hang up, then I immediately return my attention to Lyric. “Thank you. Are you looking for a job?” She laughs. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, because I’m being one hundred percent serious.
“Kind of. Maybe. But”—she puts her finger up in the air—“I don’t want full-time. I especially don’t want later in the evening or weekends. God, I sound like a brat.” This time, it’s me who laughs.
“Well, we can see how you like tomorrow and go from there. The mommy and me classes are during the day, so you wouldn’t work late evenings, plus we don’t have them on weekends, either.” Lyric probably knows the schedule backward and forward; she’s been here enough times with Winnie and Sebastian. Especially when we run our summer program and all the moms are looking to get the littles out of the heat while still burning off their energy.
“I can totally do this. I mean, it’s basically coordinated chaos. But show me the ropes just in case. That way, we’re not rushing tomorrow, and you won’t feel overwhelmed to get out the door.” The reason I’m seeing Doctor Gallo in the first place is from her recommendation to begin with. I’d bled through my tampon, making a mess of my light-colored leggings. Lyric mentioned it before I could notice, being the type of real friend everyone wants, and then I proceeded to break down on her.
“Exactly that. Come on, I’ll show you everything and grab you a shirt. The bottoms are up to you, seriously, leggings, shorts, or joggers are fine.” My clothes are mainly athleisure wear, and today is no different. I’m wearing a pair of dark teal leggings and matching tank top.
“Are biker shorts okay?”
“Definitely.” I have another thirty minutes before the next class, enough time to show Lyric the ins and outs, hand over an application in case she decides to join the employee side of LITHE, and take care of my womanhood problem that’s slowly trying to kill me.
“Perfect.” She tosses her cup in the trash on the way to the back before we get into what I’ll be paying her tomorrow and the rates she could potentially make if she comes to work for me on a more permanent basis.
“How much longer until you go on maternity leave?” I ask the next day while following Lennie through the halls of the gynecologist office. It’s nice to see a face I’m already familiar with; it helps calm my otherwise haywire nerves. When I told my mom I had an appointment today, she asked the usual of what, when where, and why. We went down the list, and she hummed for a moment before telling me to keep her posted. I was already more than aware my mother had a hysterectomy two days after giving birth to Coralynn at the age of twenty-eight.
“This is my last week. I wanted to work until my delivery date, but Asher isn’t having any of that,” she says, holding the door open to my exam room. We’ve already been through the intake forms, my weight, a urine sample, and now she’ll finish the rest of what I’m sure is taking my pulse, temperature, and blood pressure once inside.