Mary nervously squeezed on Freddie’s hand as they waited in the doctor’s office. They were seated side by side in the cognac leather chairs; the office surrounded with bookshelves. The walnut desk was overrun with papers and envelopes, a telephone and assorted ink pens strewn about. The silence of the room felt as if the weight of the world were upon the two of them as Mary swallowed hard looked in Freddie’s direction.

 “Why didn’t you look at the results when you received them?” Freddie asked, staring at the dark green carpet in the drafty office.

 “I couldn’t.” Mary shook her head. “I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to know what was inside without you. If the results…” Mary rubbed her hand over her face. “I can’t talk about it, Fred. Let’s just wait until the doctor gets in here.” Mary said, turning her face in the opposite direction, not releasing Freddie’s hand. They sat in silence, continuing to wait for the doctor to arrive. Mary spun around at the sound of the door behind her.

 “My apologies. I’ve been conferencing with my nurses regarding a patient. So glad the two of you could be here today. Mr. Bulsara.” The doctor nodded and reached for Freddie’s hand. “Mrs. Bulsara.” The doctor then reached for Mary’s hand as she nervously made eyes with him. When she felt herself already anxious, it was difficulty for Mary to maintain the persona of Freddie’s wife. “Your wife was notified of the results some time ago but insisted on waiting for your return to discuss the results.” The doctor tore open the thick envelope that Mary had so ferociously protected. She looked to Freddie as they inched their chairs closer to the massive desk.

 “Alright, let’s have a look. Freddie, several samples were taken. Your thyroid stimulating hormone looks good, your cortisol levels look good. Your cholesterol, triglycerides and sugar are all within reasonable limits.” The doctor said, laying the first page of numbers and charts before Freddie and pointing to each with his pen. Mary shook her head and smiled, squeezing Freddie’s hand again.

 “Well, darling I am quite fabulous.” Freddie gave the doctor a big grin. The doctor laughed rather awkwardly and turned the page.

 “Now, the white blood cell count in your urine and in your blood came back elevated. This indicates the presence of infection in your body that the cells are working to fight off. You’ve had the flu, am I right Mr. Bulsara?” the doctor questioned. Freddie looked to Mary and then back to the doctor.

 “Yes, well…I mean it’s certainly felt like the flu except that it’s never entirely gone away.” He answered.

 “It could be that your schedule, time zone changes, and hectic lifestyle may contribute to the fact that your symptoms have hung for so long.” The doctor explained.

 “How elevated are the white blood cells?” Mary asked.

 “They are more elevated in the blood than the urine. It seems that whatever the cells are fighting…” Mary stopped the doctor.

 “Is in the blood? So, there’s an infection in the blood?” she questioned nervously.

 “Not necessarily. The infection could be in the lungs or in the upper respiratory system. I see that you’ve had swelling in the lymph nodes so the infection could be widespread. Good news, you tested negative for bronchitis and any other opportunistic respiratory issues.” The doctor continued. Freddie’s sweaty palm played over the back of Mary’s hand.

 “But…if the white cells are elevated…it means…there’s something…right?” Mary asked.

 “Any time there is fighter cells on the defense there is something it’s fighting. Mr. Bulsara, the blood results indicate that your white blood cells have been elevated for some time.” The doctor said circling the count.

 “Doctor, what is this thing…T-cell?” Mary questioned.

 “We in the medical community don’t know much about the T-cell except that it’s directly connect to human immunity. We have determined that the lower the count of T-cells in ones’ body indicates a problem in how the immune system functions. However, we don’t yet clearly understand it. Mr. Bulsara, your T-cell count is on the lower end of what we could consider to be an average count.” The doctor explained further.

 “But it’s…it’s still within what you would consider normal limits, right?” Mary asked, shifting her focus to Freddie’s features.

 “Oh yes, yes. This is an average count. I know that the main concern of your evaluation was whether or not there was a presence of PCP in the blood. I have good news, there is none present. Your body seems to be free of the enzyme that physicians have attached to PCP.” The doctor smiled and Freddie let out an enormous sigh of relief. It was precisely the news he and Mary wanted to hear.

 “Oh Fred!” she leaned toward him and put her arms around him. It was an enormous burden lifted. Freddie’s blood was free of PCP. However, the doctor couldn’t truly answer the question as to why Freddie’s white blood cells were elevated, why his T-Cells weren’t entirely typical and why his flue liked symptoms seemed to go away and return over the course of four months.  The doctor laughed.

 “This is the news you wanted to hear, I’m sure. Now, I would like to follow up with you, Mr. Bulsara, in sixth months. We’ll re-check your white blood cell count at that time. Do the two of you have any further questions?” Mary had tears coming down her cheeks.

 “And you’re certain…there’s no PCP, yes?” Mary asked, still nervously clinging to Freddie.

 “There is no presence of PCP at this time. I want to watch the white blood cells is all.” The doctor said reassuringly. Freddie couldn’t hide his smile from Mary.

 “Well, love. This calls for a celebration. Champagne and antiquing it is!” Freddie leaned forward and kissed Mary’s forehead. Her laughter was unlike anything she had heard escape herself in months. It really was a day for celebrating and there wasn’t much more that Mary loved than champagne-ing and antiquing with Freddie.

 Back in my house, Roger was undertaking the task of smearing my stomach down in my skin oil. "Don't get that stuff all over the place. Are you quite sure you know what you're doing?" I asked, watching as Roger was on the verge of spilling my skin oil everywhere in our bed.

 "This is what Harriett told me to do." He said, rubbing his palms together. I smiled to myself.

 "My skin's so tight. I feel like it’s gonna’ explode.” I said as I watched Roger begin to rub the oil on my abdomen.

 “Harriett said she’s been applying this to your stomach four times a day? Really?” Roger asked. His touch on my swollen stomach was nearly magical.

 “Yeah, it’s so my skin will stay supple and well moisturized.” I answered, watching Roger work his hands over me in silence.

 “Yesterday, I…I uh…I was tellin’ Harriett about…that summer when you and I were at your parents’ farm and…and we…had sex in the barn.” Roger smiled at me. I couldn’t help but laugh because I could still recall the smell of the hay for months after it happened.

 “And how did she react to that?” I asked.

 “The same way she reacted to me telling her about the time you and I got caught on the docks in the rain when we were on our way to that yacht party and we stripped our wet clothes off and…” Roger stopped and laughed, as did I.

 “Why did you tell her all of that?” Roger shook his head at me and shrugged as he continued to rub the oil over my stomach.

 “Because I…I just get the idea that…that she doesn’t think I love you. And then she asked me about your medical history and I just kinda’ flipped out.” Roger admitted, wiping his hands on the towel beside me.  I was rather surprised by his comments because Roger had never worried about how someone else perceived his feelings toward me. I stared at him while he clung to the hand towel and stared at my stomach. He reached his toweled off hands to my stomach, letting his fingers trace my now supple skin. “I thought you’d be bigger than this by now.” He said, continuously rubbing his palm over me. I still hadn’t said anythin’, as Roger exhaled audibly.  I watched his shirtless self continue to rub his hand over me, a serious look on his face. “I just…I…I really do love you and…I feel guilty about being away from you. And…and the way Harriett looked at me after telling her that you got herpes from me…I’ve never seen anyone look at me like that.” Roger said, his hand coming to a stop.

 “Since when has it ever mattered what anyone else thinks of you?” I asked him honestly.

 “Because. This is different…she was completely appalled. The look on her face was…” Roger shook his head and never really finished his sentence. I couldn’t elaborate or ask Roger anything further because at that moment, the phone rang. I shifted my eyes to it before picking it up. I had barely gotten the word hello out of my mouth.

 “You’re baby shower has been planned for April 27th at 3:00!” the excited voice on the other end of the phone said quickly before hanging up and leaving me with a dial tone and a sense of nausea. I held the receiver out from my ear and stared Roger down.

 “What? What was that? Who was it?” he asked.

 “Veronica. Veronica informing me of the date and time of my fucking baby shower.” I said, slamming the receiver down. I huffed and attempted to roll over only to realize my stomach was in the way. Roger smiled at me.

 “Mum’s gonna’ be excited about that! She had called and asked if you were going to have a shower.” I glared at him again.  “I mean…mum should shove that idea right up her arse.” He said. I huffed again. “What’s the worst that could happen with having a shower?” he asked squeezing my thigh.

 “Chrissie. Chrissie is the worst thing that could happen.” I said.

 “What!?” He asked, not understanding at all.

 “She’s gonna’ make Brian hang decorations, Roger! DECORATIONS! Pink shit! Blue shit! All kinds of stupid arse, cutsie….cakes and…finger sandwiches that make you gag and…” I groaned miserably.

 “Hey, you hosted a baby shower right here in this house and it wasn’t any of those things you described.” Roger said, poking my leg.

 “That’s because Mary and I were in charge!” I picked up the pillow beside me and handed it to Roger. “Here…take this and smother me with it. That’s the only way out of my own shower.” Roger laughed at me. Oh, he laughed all right. He wasn’t the one would have to suffer through four hours of the Chrissie May, Veronica Deacon baby fest.