Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Anyway,” she said, stepping back over to me, “what are we doing today? Botox? Filler? We could do under-eye filler. It makes everyone look like they’re in their twenties. We also have light therapy for your face. Though I’ve seen you without makeup, and you’re flawless.”
“That’s what happens when your mother insists on a skin-care routine before you turn twelve.”
“Well, she’s smart. Everyone should do that.” Whitley’s eyes flicked to my chest. “Your boob job is incredible, too. You have a killer rack. I’m a little pissed that I didn’t do it.”
“Thanks. They were a present to myself.”
“If they make you happy—and they should… fuck, look at them—that’s all that matters.”
I actually was pretty proud of my boob job. It had cost a fortune but was worth every single penny. I fucking loved my fake boobs. I didn’t care what anyone else said. Sometimes, people tried to infer that having fake breasts made me somehow less of a woman or slutty or something. I didn’t understand the connection. All it meant was that I had silicone in my body and I’d have perky breasts… forever.
“So, where should we start?” Whitley asked eagerly.
“Actually, I kind of came for something else.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Butt implants? You really could use a bigger ass.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh. “No. No, not butt implants. I like having a small ass, thank you. It’s actually, um… a more serious matter.”
“Lark didn’t tell me what this was about.”
“I asked her not to.” I looked down at my hands. Fuck, I was not looking forward to explaining this. I’d had levity with Whitley to get me into this chair. Now, I had to tell her something almost no one else knew about me.
“You look scared shitless. Do I need to sit down?” Whitley asked, putting on her doctor voice for me. “Should we both sit over here?”
I shook my head. “No. I can tell you. I just… haven’t told anyone this before who wasn’t there at the time.”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality. Anything you say to me here will never leave this room.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Right. Okay. So, during high school, a lot of shit went down with my father when he was arrested, and then… well, my brother disappeared, and my mom became a zombie. I kind of took the brunt of it all, and to cope, I started trying to be perfect.”
Whitley nodded encouragingly. I could already see the sympathy in her eyes, as if she knew where this was going.
“Long story short, I was hospitalized and told that I had anorexia. I was there for six weeks until they got me back on my feet. I attended group therapy for the next year and therapy for years after.”
“That’s good that you got help,” she said. “Are you worried that you have it again? Your weight is… low. Lower than I thought it would be.”
“I, um… no, I think I’m good. I’m working with a nutritionist and trying to stay on top of it.”
Whitley frowned. “Maybe you should start therapy again, just in case.”
“I’m worried I’m infertile,” I blurted out.
“Okay,” she said, completely serious.
This wasn’t Whitley Bowen, the bisexual flirt who ran her love interests in circles. The pixie who did shots until she kicked her shoes off and danced her heart out. This wasn’t story time. She was a doctor.
“I see. Tell me why you think this. You and Camden have been trying, I assume. How long have you been trying? How long have you been off birth control?”
“Um, no, I’m still on birth control.”
She furrowed her brow. “I’m confused.”
“We’re not trying, but we’re talking about it. I just… I saw a girl that I knew who had found out she was infertile, and it freaked me out. I wanted to… I don’t know… do a test to see if I am.”
“You’re not even trying yet? Why do you think you would be then? When was your last menstrual cycle?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t have one on the birth control I use.”
“Did you lose you period for more than three months when you were underweight?”
I nodded, feeling sick. “For almost a year.”
“Did it come back after you were a healthy weight again?”
“Yes. It was slow to come back, and then I got on birth control. But I just… want to get tested. I need to know,” I insisted. “Lark said you could help.”
“Katherine,” Whitley said gently, “there are plenty of tests for this. Do you want my professional opinion or what I really think?”
“Um… both?”
“Professional opinion: go to a fertility doctor. I can recommend one. She’s the best in the business and a friend. She’s discreet.”
“Okay.”
Whitley sank into her hip and gave me a look that I recognized as, Here it comes. “What I really think is, you need to throw out your birth control, go home, and fuck your husband.” I opened my mouth to object, but she kept going, “Fuck him a lot. Fuck him all the time. Download an ovulation app, if you haven’t already, and figure out when you can conceive. Fuck all day on those days. Take off work and fuck day and night. The practice is the fun part. If you don’t get pregnant in three months, come back and see me.”