Neil finds a parking spot across the street from the building and I wait in my seat as he pulls the key from the ignition, climbs from the driver’s side, and trots around the Volvo to get my door.

He takes my hand and I stare down at his fingers laced through mine as we slowly work our way through traffic to the other side of the street.

I don’t know what I would do if Neil wasn’t with me. It’s so much harder than I imagined it would be. I don’t know how Rene went through this twice, alone. She didn’t tell me about either until after the procedure was done, and it hurt, really hurt, at the time that she didn’t. I sort of get it now. I haven’t told her about me.

Sadness moves across my jittery limbs. God, I don’t think I could get through this if Neil wasn’t willing to be here with me. I peek at him from the corner of my eye and my fingers tighten around his. I need Neil right now more than I have ever needed anyone. More than I’ve ever needed Alan. Or Jack. Or Rene.

As if he senses me watching him, Neil looks down at me. “It will be OK, Chrissie. I’ll stay with you through it all. It’s going to be OK.”

I’m not sure which one of us he’s trying to convince. Neil sounds worried and kind of despondent.

As we pass by the high stucco wall into the clinic parking lot, I wonder if that’s how we look to people today: worried and despondent. Like a couple going through shit. Only this isn’t our shit. It’s mine and Alan’s. Even if Alan doesn’t know it and Neil has only stepped in as some kind of nice guy surrogate.

He drops my hand and pulls back the glass door into the waiting room. I step in, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the change of light, and my gaze does a quick scan of the room. Jeez, it’s crowded, nearly every vinyl-covered metal chair is occupied, and there are a half a dozen girls working beyond the bulletproof safety glass. Bulletproof glass? God, what am I doing here?

Neil’s hand moves to my back, guiding me forward toward the counter. “You need to check in there,” he says quietly.

I nod, wondering why Neil seems to know more about what I’m supposed to do than I do. Maybe he’s been through this before. There is a lot about Neil’s history with his fucked-up ex-girlfriend that I still don’t know, but I’ve pretty much assumed that the parts he hasn’t shared with me were really intense and grim.

I take from the check-in nurse the clipboard shoved at me beneath the safety glass separating us.

“Fill that out. Answer all the questions, front and back, and bring it back when you’re done.”

Her tone of voice is abrupt, matter-of-fact and efficient in this moment that is anything but matter-of-fact to me.

“There are two chairs over there,” Neil says, and I follow him to the far side of the room and sink down beside him.

I stare down at the form, willing myself not to look back up at the other people here. Christ, it’s bad enough knowing why I’m here. I sure as hell don’t like knowing why they’re here. Of course, everyone is not here for an…

I tap my pen against the clipboard. Jesus Christ, what kind of questions are these? They make me feel like a slut just reading them…do you have safe sex?…what kind of birth control are you on?…how many sexual partners have you had?…how often do you have sex?…have you ever had an STD?

Why do they want to know all this? I don’t even want to know this about myself. Cringing, I drag my eyes back up to the first line, not finding that one any easier to answer than the rest of the questions. Name?

I freeze, unable to write. Damn, I hadn’t thought about that, putting my name on this form. A permanent record of the biggest Chrissie low point in my life. The pen hovers above the sheet and it feels like this becomes real, a forever part of me, the minute I put my name there.

Neil stares down at the clipboard, frowns, and leans into me. “What’s wrong?”

I move my face close to his ear and whisper, “I don’t want to tell them my name.”

Neil exhales a breath, ragged and impatient. “Chrissie, medical records are private. No one can access them. It’s no big deal. No one will ever find out about this unless you tell them. Fill out the form.”

My lids go wide. “How do you know people can’t find out about this? How do you know that?”

“I just do.” He looks aggravated, and he runs a hand through his hair again. He waits for me to fill out the form, and when I don’t, he exclaims, “Fine. Write ‘Chrissie Stanton.’ That way it won’t matter if anyone ever sees it.”

There’s a touch of bite in his voice and it leaves me feeling like I’ve just had the wind knocked out of me and really shitty about having Neil holding my hand through this.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can. I told you to. It doesn’t matter. It’s no big deal. Do it.”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

Neil looks away, his jaw clenching slightly. “None of this is right, Chrissie. Just do it.”

I flush. I’m not sure what just made him angry, but my emotions are too much of a jumbled mess for me to ask and I don’t think I want to know.

I stare down and start to write. I can feel Neil watching me and I wonder if he’s reading my answers… sexual partners: two…have there really only been two? And why does that feel like a lie when it’s the truth? Oh crap, it is a lie. I forgot my one-night stand the August before I started seeing Neil. Does it matter that I lied?

The knots in my stomach grow tauter and I start to heavily check off boxes: no, no, no, no, no. I check no even on the questions I don’t understand because there are a couple I don’t understand. How lame is that? Twenty-two years old and not even able to understand all the questions on a women’s health medical questionnaire. Where do people learn this stuff?

After I’ve been still for a while, Neil holds out his hand. “You done?”

I nod, and he takes the clipboard from me. I watch him amble to the counter and shove it under the partition.

He sits back down beside me, his body close but not touching, and I don’t like the feel of his stoic remoteness. My leg starts to jiggle in that way it does when I’m trying to keep myself from freaking out. The wait is unbearable. I just want this over with…

“Miss Stanton?”

I look up to see a nurse standing in an open doorway, staring down at a clipboard. Neil goes to his feet.

He holds out his hand to me. “Chrissie. Come on.”

My legs are weak and shaky, but somehow they manage to hold my weight. As I cross the room, Neil moves with me. I hadn’t realized he was planning to go in with me. I thought he’d just wait in the lobby.

I stop at the door. “Neil, you don’t have to do this.”

His lips tighten and he nods, but he doesn’t release my hand. He continues with me into the examination room.

Neil drops down in a chair on the far side of the room as the nurse makes a sharp tug to spread new sterile paper on the exam bed. She shoves a cup at me, orders me to pee in it, then to undress and put on a gown.

The door closes and I stare at Neil. I’m uncomfortable about having him here, even though he’s seen me naked hundreds of times. Why is it different here? I organize the gown on the table so I can pull it on fast, and do a quick check at Neil—his eyes are unwaveringly staring out the window. I jerk off my sweatshirt, pull the gown in place, and then remove my other garments.

I hurry into the adjoining bathroom, pee in the darn cup, pass it through the tiny door in the wall to be tested by the technician, and rush back into the exam room to sit on the edge of the bed. I settle with a stirrup on either side of me, my heels banging into the metal over and over again. Feet hitting metal is the only sound in the room. Boom. Boom. Boom.

A fast knock on the door and the doctor walks in.

She gives me a brief smile. “Miss Stanton, I’m Doctor Leary. You are pregnant. Your last period was December 28th. Is that correct?” She looks at me. I nod and her eyes drop back to my chart. “I noticed you are requesting abortion services. I’ll have to perform an exam today and then we can discuss your options.”