Heaven Right Here (19 page)
Authors: Lutishia Lovely
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Literary, #United States, #African American, #Christian, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Literary Fiction
41
Why I’m Here
Dr. Elliott Whitmore’s West Hollywood office was vastly different than the waiting room at Cedars-Sinai. Instead of stark white walls and fluorescent lights, this room was decorated in warm earth tones of brown, tan, and cream with punctuations of bright orange and vivid blue from pillows and wall art. Low lighting with an amber glow came from two colorful Tiffany lamps flanking a dark wood credenza. A gurgling fountain of a goddess or guru provided serenity, while a large white candle burning on the credenza emitted a faint, floral odor. A Middle Eastern–sounding instrument played in the background, and a plaque directly in Hope’s eyesight read
THOUGHTS BECOME THINGS
.
THOUGHTS BECOME THINGS
.
Vivian, who’d recommended the office, had said Elliott was not a typical therapist. She said he used alternative treatments, read a person’s energy and vibration, and believed that factors such as diet and surroundings largely influenced a person’s mental state. If his waiting room was any indication of how he worked, Hope would have to agree with the first lady.
Following her episode with Millicent in La Jolla, Hope had called Millicent to apologize again. She had found Millicent to be cordial, reflective, and the possessor of a dry sense of humor—much different than the person she’d expected.
“Millicent, it’s Hope,” Hope had said.
“Hope, I’m so glad you called.”
“You are?”
“We’re concerned about you. Jack and I.”
“I expected anger, not concern, and you have every right to be furious. I am truly, very sorry, Millicent. I don’t know what came over me. The person you encountered in that hotel room is not who I am at all.”
“Look, as someone who could be described as the poster child for losing it, I’m the last one to hold a grudge. And honestly I was too shocked to be angry for long. I knew why I was there and how excited Cy was about surprising you with the house. I didn’t know you two were having problems.”
Hope had quickly squashed any such notion. “Cy and I are not having problems. I am the one dealing with something right now. It’s personal, and I don’t care to get into it. I just called to apologize and ask your forgiveness.”
“I forgive you, Hope. And our offer to have you two over for dinner still stands. I think it would be good for all of us to have at least one open, honest conversation. A lot has happened between the four of us, and we’ve never talked about it, not all together. Look, I’m not asking to be your best friend, and at this point I’m not even sure if Cy and Jack will continue being business partners. I’m just saying if you need me, I’m here.”
Hope’s thoughts were interrupted as the inner office door opened to reveal a man who seemed as unconventional as his office space. He was younger than she’d imagined but probably older than he looked. His long blond hair gave him a boyish air, as did the gold hoop earring and hippie sandals. He wore a tie-dyed dashiki over khaki pants. His twinkling hazel eyes and bright smile put Hope immediately at ease.
“Hope? Dr. Whitmore, but please call me El. Come right this way.”
They entered his office where the unconventional decor continued. Instead of a desk and chair—or a couch, as movies portrayed—there was a tan love seat, two brown leather chairs, and a pair of brightly colored beanbags occupying a corner. A low-slung file cabinet braced the far wall, where steam from a boiling kettle wafted toward the ceiling.
“Would you like some tea? Or water?” El asked.
Hope hadn’t been able to drink her favorite brew since it had ended up on her husband’s ex-stalker.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” she answered.
After offering her the love seat and sitting across from her in one of the chairs, El reached for a yellow notepad and grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket.
“So, Hope, why don’t you begin by telling me why you think you’re here.”
Twenty minutes later, Hope felt she had adequately described the series of events that had led to her depression. El had encouraged her to start at the beginning, and she had, beginning with her years-long desire to be married and start a family, her celibacy while she had waited on God to send her mate, Cy’s fairy-tale courtship, their wedding, and the past two years during which they’d tried unsuccessfully to get pregnant.
“What are your doctors saying? The medical doctors?”
“Different specialists say different things. I have a tilted uterus, which makes conception more difficult, but all the doctors agree both me and my husband are capable of making a baby.”
“Tell me about the symptoms you believe are a result of being depressed.”
“Dr. Whitmore—excuse me, El—I’ve always been an upbeat person, the one whose glass is half full. But lately I’ve been moody, easy to snap at people, and can cry at the drop of a hat. Becoming pregnant has become an obsession. And then there was an episode last week where, in a fit of anger, I doused a woman with a pitcher of tea!”
“Well . . . was she thirsty?”
It took a moment for Hope to realize El was joking. “After I finished with her,” Hope replied, “she was simply wet.”
“Tell me about this woman and your relationship with her.”
Hope gave the doctor an abbreviated version of their strained relationship. “Even though I forgave her,” Hope concluded, “I obviously am still hanging on to anger and resentment. But I’ve never been violent to anyone in my life, not even as a kid. This is starting to affect my marriage. That’s why I’m here.”
The doctor jotted several notes on the pad and then stroked his chin as he looked thoughtfully at Hope. He closed his eyes for a moment and then placed the pad and pen on the ottoman in front of him.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to have my assistant run a series of tests to determine your blood work, hormone and sugar levels, and your blood pressure. It’s a bit unorthodox, but I’m sure Vivian told you I’m not a typical therapist. I believe in a holistic approach to mental treatment, and once these tests are performed, I’ll have a better idea of what type of treatment will work best for you. I’ll send Amy right in.”
Dr. Whitmore’s assistant was friendly and efficient. After she’d administered the tests, she told Hope to “sit tight” in the doctor’s office while the results were obtained.
About fifteen minutes later, El returned to his office. He carried a long computer printout with what Hope assumed was a workup of all that was wrong with her.
“So, doctor, what’s the verdict?” Hope asked as El once again took a seat across from her. “How crazy am I?”
“We still have to conduct further tests to adequately gauge your mental state. But what I’m certain of right now is that one of your worries is over. You’re going to have a baby.”
42
Baby Mama
It took several seconds for the doctor’s words to sink in.
“I’m pregnant?”
El smiled and nodded. “While I advise a visit to an obstetrician, I am ninety-nine point nine percent sure you are with child. The mood swings, bouts of depression—all common among some women in the early stages of pregnancy.”
“But that’s not possible. In fact, I just had a period last week.”
“Continued menstruation in the early months, or for some women throughout their pregnancy, is not uncommon. The test is conclusive, Hope. You’re going to have a baby.”
Hope walked out of the doctor’s office in a fog and dialed Cy as soon as she left the building and could get a signal.
“I know why I went off on Millicent!” she blurted as soon as he answered the phone.
“I take it you just left your appointment with the therapist?”
“Yes! And I know why I’ve been acting all crazy: the mood swings, the depression, the bitchiness, everything!”
Cy was unconvinced. “He gave you a complete diagnosis in an hour, in one visit? Wow, he must be some kind of doctor.”
Hope reached her car and got inside. She was bursting to tell him the news. But for years she’d planned how it would happen—with candles, dinner, Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely” playing in the background.
That’s what I’ll do,
she thought as she eased into traffic on Wilshire Boulevard.
I’ll make us a nice dinner and buy some nonalcoholic bubbly.
she thought as she eased into traffic on Wilshire Boulevard.
I’ll make us a nice dinner and buy some nonalcoholic bubbly.
“I’m pregnant!”
Wait, did I just say something? Did “I’m pregnant” just fly out of my mouth?
“You’re . . . what . . . baby! Are you sure?”
Dangit, I must have said it! Who is this walking around in my body, and where is the disciplined, controlled old Hope Jones?
“Oh, baby. I didn’t mean to blurt that out. I had it all planned how it would happen.”
“Well, you know what they say about that, right?”
“What?”
“That life is what happens while you’re making your plans. Wait a minute, how am I standing here talking to you calmly? We’re going to have a baby!” They’d waited so long for the news, Cy thought he was dreaming. But surely she wouldn’t say she was pregnant unless there was not a single shadow of a doubt. “Baby, what did you do, a home pregnancy test?”
“No, the doctor Viv recommended is a licensed medical doctor as well as therapist and works from a holistic viewpoint—you know, mind, body, spirit. So before prescribing any medication he does this whole physical workup as well as mental. The last thing I was thinking about when the assistant asked for a pee sample is that it would be used to detect pregnancy. He told me he was checking my hormone levels!”
“And you’re absolutely sure?”
“I’m getting ready to be. I’m heading over to the hospital right now so I can get tested again, by an obstetrician this time. I don’t want to take a chance with a home pregnancy test. Oh, Cy, I can’t believe it! We’re getting ready to have a baby!”
All of a sudden the reality of being pregnant hit her, and Hope broke down into an all out boohoo.
“Baby, where are you? Is it safe for you to drive?”
“I’m just so happy,” she forced between sobs.
“Pull over, baby. Maybe I need to meet you and drive you to the doctor myself.”
“I’m okay, baby. I’m just so overwhelmed.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you, baby. Especially now. You’re carrying our future.”
Hope pulled over to wipe her eyes, blow her nose, and pull herself together. Three hours later she pulled into the circular drive of their condo’s front entrance. Having gone to the hospital, where they confirmed she was indeed pregnant, and then to the bookstore and the gourmet grocery shop, she needed help carrying her purchases. She had no problem carrying the night’s dinner— it was the almost twenty baby books she’d purchased that were the backbreaker, the ones that should take her from birth until when the child was eighteen!
She entered the penthouse and was surprised to hear music. Turning to the doorman who’d helped her carry the books, she asked, “Is Frieda here?”
She’d called her cousin, mother, Stacy, and Viv, and while Frieda hadn’t mentioned anything about dropping by, she wouldn’t have put it past her.
“No, the lovely lady hasn’t been by today.”
Hope frowned. “Okay, well, maybe I accidentally set the radio timer.” She tipped the concierge assistant, closed the door, walked toward her bedroom, turned the corner, and got the shock of her life.
The floor of their master suite was covered in orchid petals. Candles were burning, a mound of presents covered the king-sized bed, and the sounds of Eric Benét drifted toward her ears. Cy stood to the left of the bed, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, looking finer than she’d ever seen him.
“Cy!” Hope gushed, tears already streaming down her face. “What are you doing home? You told me you had important meetings. What’s all this? And you’re playing our song!”
Hope knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help it. She rushed over and folded herself into his arms. He lifted her off the floor as he devoured her mouth in a kiss.
“This,” he said, as he planted kisses all over her face and neck before setting her down on the edge of the bed, “is for the mother of my child.”
“But when did you have time?”
“I’ve got connections, woman. And no part of my business is more important than this moment.”
Cy walked over to the sitting area where a bottle was chilling in a silver bucket. It was then that Hope noticed the massive floral arrangement on the coffee table. It contained her favorite, bird-of-paradise, and other exotic flowers. She couldn’t stop the tears.
Cy popped the cork on a bottle of nonalcoholic champagne and poured the bubbly into two crystal flutes. His eyes devoured Hope as he walked to where she sat. He sat beside her.
“First, I want to thank God for answering our prayers. I want to thank Him for His faithfulness, and for the amazing blessing He has given us.”
“Thank you, God,” Hope whispered.
“Thank you, Father,” Cy said. “And now, I want to thank you, Hope, for giving me everything I’ve ever wanted and so much more. I love you with my whole heart, baby, and I’m going to devote the rest of my life to taking care of you and our family. I love you.”
They drank the champagne, their eyes never leaving each other. Cy took Hope’s hand and stood. “May I dance with my baby’s mama?”
His words made Hope’s heart dance with joy. She smiled and melted into his arms as their anthem played:
“Can we just feel this way together till the end of all time,
Can I just spend my life with you?”
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