Page 68 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
“No, you can’t come on my date,” I huff.
“Why not? It’s not like I’m going to lick him.”
I’m not even sure what that freaking means. “That’s reassuring, Aspen, but I haven’t really seen Reid much and I’d like some time with him.”
“I see, you have a hard time sharing your toys with others.”
“No, I have a hard time not having you committed to the loony bin.”
She shrugs and picks at the dead berries that she’s sewn into her skirt. “Commitment isn’t an issue for me.”
“Just fashion then?”
Aspen sticks her tongue out at me. “Mock all you want, but my entire wardrobe cost what your blouse did.”
That’s not a bad thing. “If you’re happy, sis, I’m happy.”
“Good.” She leans back in the chair. “Hey, did you ever call back that doctor?”
“Call what doctor back?”
“The one that called yesterday and was saying you had an appointment for tomorrow?”
I have no clue what she’s talking about. Unlike my sister, I have everything documented and organized. My calendar gives all planning people an orgasm with how coordinated it is. Not wanting to stick my foot in my mouth, I open it up and look through. Nope, nothing for tomorrow other than I need to call and have my car serviced. Yes, I’m that thorough that I have a reminder to make an appointment.
“I seriously don’t know what you mean.”
“I wrote it down somewhere on your desk,” she says as she gets up.
Aspen starts riffling through what was a very streamlined workstation, tossing papers around. I swear, I’m going to have hives if she keeps this up. “Are you trying to kill me?” I ask.
“Just close your eyes until I find it.”
Knowing that she will just keep going, I do what she says.
“Aha!” she exclaims. “Found it!”
I groan, knowing that my desk is in total disarray. “Let me see.”
Sure enough, when I open my eyes, my assumption is proven correct. Still, I grab the half sheet of a Post-It note with her scribble written: fert clin conf call them 2 ch/can
I frown at the message. “What on earth is this? It makes no sense.”
“Yes, it does.” She points at each hastily scrawled word. “Fertility clinic. Called to confirm. Call them if you need to change anything or cancel the appointment.”
Fertility clinic! Immediately, I realize what happened—I deleted the appointment from my calendar, but I forgot to actually call the clinic and cancel it. My brain has been in new relationship mode for weeks. All I’ve thought about is hearts and unicorns and Reid’s naked body in my bed.
“So what’s the scoop? Are you going to the appointment?”
“I don’t know.” My heart is racing, and I feel backed into a corner.
I made this appointment months ago, before Reid and I were together. And I waited a long time to get in with this clinic because they’re the best in Chicago. Should I cancel it? Or should I go?
Arguments on both sides start to battle it out in my brain.
I still want a baby. I’ve always wanted a baby and being with Reid hasn’t changed that fact, has it?
But I know Reid doesn’t want kids. He’s made that clear and after learning about his family, I understand his position, but that doesn’t really change mine.
