“Any moment with you is a date,” he says with a laugh, spouting one of the cheesy lines I’ve come to love. “But I’m more worried about you right now. You’re really sick. How long has this been going on?”
“A few days,” I admit, struggling to remember. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Doctor tomorrow,” he decides. “You need to get this checked out. You don’t want it to get worse.”
“I have a meeting tomorrow,” I protest.
“Reschedule it,” Lyle says firmly. “Hell, I’ll reschedule for you.”
I lean against Lyle’s shoulder weakly and allow him to take me to his car so he can drive me home, not even having the strength to worry about my own car.
I can think of everything later. Right now, I just really hope that this sickness goes away soon so I can continue enjoying my time with Lyle.
Chapter Ten
Amanda
I don’t know how he managed it, but Lyle got me a last-minute appointment the next day with a doctor in the city. He offered to take me, but I declined; I don’t feel as sick today, so I should be able to get there under my own steam, especially since Lyle and one of his friends went out to pick up my car last night.
Lyle is reluctant, but he nods his agreement and leaves, kissing me softly. The kiss makes my head spin for a completely different reason, and I’m still smiling as I get into my car to go to the doctor. My father wasn’t happy about me taking a day off work, but my mother called him and he backed off pretty quickly. I’d love to know what she said to him to get that reaction; maybe she’s holding something over him that I could use to finally force him to respect me.
In retrospect, that’s probably why she’s never told me what she has on him. My mother is a firm believer in the fact that respect needs to be earned, not manipulated.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you?” Lyle asks again, over the phone.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, a little exasperated. Who knew Lyle was such a worrywart? “I’m just getting in the car now. You do realize that, if they do blood tests, I won’t know for a few days, though, don’t you?”
“I know,” Lyle says hurriedly. “It was just scary seeing you so sick. This isn’t the sort of thing you’d ignore until it goes away.”
If I’m honest, that was exactly what I was planning on doing. I’ve inherited more than my fair share of my father’s stubbornness, and I know I would have continued working, no matter how hard I feel, if my mother and Lyle hadn’t urged me to rest. It’s nice to know that the two of them are so concerned for my welfare, but it’s a little frustrating when I honestly don’t think there’s anything to worry about.
“And that’s why I’m heading to the doctor,” I say firmly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll message you later, okay?”
“…Fine,” Lyle says reluctantly. “I’ll talk to you later.”
I sigh and hang up. I haven’t been worried in the slightest, confident that this is just some kind of stomach bug that will likely disappear as quickly as it appeared, but some of Lyle’s paranoia seems to be rubbing off on me. I actually feel a little nervous as I get in my car, not sure I want to hear what the doctor will say.
As I drive to the clinic, I mentally categorize my symptoms so I can list them to the doctor. Sudden nausea at odd times… Overheating… Extreme tiredness… Not to mention the odd mood swings I’ve been having lately. I frown. None of it sounds like symptoms of any illness I know of, though I know better than to try and diagnose myself when I know very little about medicine.
I snort. Everyone is overreacting. I’m one hundred percent certain that I’m just overtired. I’ve been working very hard lately, and the new deal with Energy Plus Co. has put even more responsibilities on my shoulders, especially with the added pressure from my father.
No, there’s nothing wrong, and both Lyle and my mother are overreacting. Once I leave the doctor’s clinic, I’ll use the day off I have to get some rest, and I’ll probably wake up raring to go tomorrow.
With this newfound confidence, I park my car and march into the clinic, paying very little attention to the other patients in the waiting room. There’s an elderly man already at the reception window, so I step in behind him and study the walls, ignoring the conversation going on in front of me. When the man finally moves away, I move forward.
“What can I do for you?” the woman at the window asks; she looks tired and a little frazzled.
“I have an appointment?” I say. “My name is Amanda Simmons.”
The woman frowns at her computer for a second before her expression clears.
“Yes, thank you, Amanda,” she says. “Please take a seat and Doctor Dias will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
I sit gingerly in a chair. It’s hard and uncomfortable, and I shift for several moments, trying to find a less painful way to sit in it. I check my watch; I’m five minutes early for my appointment but there are a lot of people in the waiting room, and I hope that there aren’t that many people in front of me. I sigh and lean back.
It’s not like I’m in a rush to go anywhere today.