“Thanks, Lillie,” she said.
“You’ll be okay, sweetheart.”
“My name is Emily, by the way,” she said with a little duck of her head.
“Nice meeting you, Emily.”
It was only after she left and I was getting ready to go home that I realized . . . shit . . . oh, God. I needed one of these panels, too. I could have herpes. Chlamydia. Gonorrhea. HIV!
My knees buckled, and I collapsed into a chair.
“Wanda?” I called, my voice weak.
She heard me anyway. “What’s up, babe? I’m just about to . . . Jesus, what happened? You’re white as a ghost! Are you okay?”
“Close the door,” I whispered, and she did. Carol wouldn’t break HIPAA, but she’d interrogate me if she knew. She was already obsessed with me hitting menopause.
“What’s going on, Lils?” she asked, taking my hand. “You’re shaking.”
“Brad cheated on me, and I need . . . I need . . .” I started crying.
“No. No!” Wanda loved Brad. Many were the times we’d go out, Wanda and Addo, Brad and me, laughing over dinner, sharing stories. They’d even gone to one of Brad’s book signings, two of three people to show up, me being the other one. “I will murder him, Lillie! How? Why? Why? You guys are so good together!” She started to cry. “God, I’m sorry! But I can’t believe this! Addo and I try to be like you two, hand to God! Oh, Lillie!”
She hugged me, and I told her what I knew, my head swimming. I barely knew anything, after all. And then, after a second long hug, my own tears now soaked into the paper of the exam table as Wanda did for me what I’d just done for Emily.
It was utterly humiliating. But at least my HIV test was negative, and I’d know the rest in a few days.
Back at home, I poured myself a huge glass of Portuguese vinho verde from my dad’s third cousin back in the old country, chugged it, and poured another. Checked on dinner and put the proofed bread in the oven.
Dylan and Brad got home at the same time about a half hour later; I heard their tires crunching on the shells of our driveway. Brad said something to him and Dylan laughed easily. They came down into the kitchen.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “How are you?” Guess what Mommy did today, Dylan? She got an STD panel because Daddy’s penis was in someone else!
Dylan came over and gave me the lean-in hug of a teenaged male. “Smells good in here, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey.” I forced myself to look at Brad. “Wine?” I asked.
“Thank you, Lillie,” he said smoothly. “I’d love a glass.”
“I’ll take a beer, Mom,” Dylan said.
“Hilarious,” I said. Did I sound normal? Maybe I did.
The guys went onto the porch, and I poured Brad a glass of wine and topped mine off, needing a buzz tonight. Another thing I should’ve noted—Brad’s wine vocabulary. He was suddenly using words like harmonious and balanced and lingering. Before that, we’d separated wine into two classes: red and white, usually from Portugal, because of Silverio, the aforementioned third cousin.
I looked at our glasses of golden wine and spit in Brad’s. Swirled the wine around, then joined them on the porch. Dylan was sprawled on the couch, looking at his phone. Brad was in one of the cushioned chairs. I sat in the other, glancing at him to see when he sipped. Enjoy the saliva, asshat.
“Nice lingering on the palate, don’t you think?” I asked.
“Yes, actually.” He took another sip, holding it in his mouth. Some wine connoisseur.
Our son put his phone away. “So what’s new with you guys, other than your kid is done with high school?”
I looked at Brad.
“I’ve got some great marketing plans for my book,” he said. “I hired a new publicist, and she has some really innovative ideas.”
Was that the other woman? A publicist?
“Cool,” Dylan said, carefully not looking at me. We held the same opinion of Brad’s book . . . lame, but since we loved the author, we pretended.
Had loved the author.
“Mom? Any slimy, blood-soaked birthing stories you want to share?”
I smiled, feeling a flare of love for my boy in the tundra of my heart. “No . . . I just saw some patients for checkups. Sorry to disappoint.” I paused, staring at Brad. “Ran a couple STD panels. Gonorrhea, herpes, syphilis, chlamydia. You know. Sores on the labia, in the vagina, that sort of thing.”
His face twitched, then flushed an unappealing shade of brick.