Chapter 2: A Grown-Ass Woman

Schuyler

During the 10-minute drive through Des Moines back to my parents' house, I release my anger. The flood gates open; rivers of hot tears flow down my cheeks. Why is it this way? There should be two waiting rooms, one for obstetrics and another for gynecology. I'm only 23 years old; I'll endure this trauma four times a year for at least thirty years.

It's hard continuing my teacher education studies and planning a future that will surround me with children when I can never have my own. My heart aches when I see others living the life I want. It's inevitable––pregnant women and children are everywhere. While at the grocery store, I see mothers shopping with little ones in the cart. When I drive by parks or walking trails, families are everywhere, some with strollers, and some with children on their shoulders.

As I near my childhood home, I wipe all evidence of tears from my cheeks and take calming breaths to steady myself. In the driveway, I sit for a few minutes before exiting the car and walking to the front door. I draw in a deep breath before I open the door.

I balk when I find Dallas sitting in the living room with my mother. I quickly scan my memory to see if we had planned for her to come over this afternoon; I don't recall any plans. Dallas, my best friend, is a ball of energy, her blonde ponytail swaying as she sits on the sofa cushion. Her wide smile and bouncing knee give away her excitement about something.

"Surprise!" Dallas squeals, throwing her arms into the air above her head.

"What's going on?" I look from my friend to my mother.

"My parents are sending us to Mexico for spring break," Dallas announces, hands clapping in front of her chest.

"Wow. You're a lucky girl," I state, trying to find the energy to be excited for her.

"No, silly," Dallas corrects. "They are sending both of us for the week to Puerto Vallarta." Her eyes scan my face for a reaction.

"Really?" I take a seat in the swivel rocker next to the sofa.

"It's an early graduation gift for each of us. They thought we might need to relax before we finish the final weeks of the semester," Dallas continues.

I'm not surprised her parents bought such an extravagant gift for her college graduation. She's their only child, and they dote on her constantly. We became best friends in elementary school when her family moved into the house next door. Surprisingly, they’re down-to-earth people. They don't flaunt their money or gifts. In fact, Dallas usually shared her gifts with me.

She pulls out her tablet and shows me photos of the resort. She points out the five swimming pools, the beach, and the inside of the bungalow they’ve reserved for the two of us. It's beautiful; I have no doubt we'll have a great week.

"I'm ready for a cocktail," my mother announces, rising from her chair. "Can I get you girls anything?"

After my visit to the doctor, a drink might help me relax. We join Mom at the bar in our basement. As we sit on barstools, sipping our drinks, I notice my mother eyeing me. She knows how emotional I get on my shot days. I meet her glance and share a smile with her. I don't want to discuss it but want to put her concerns at ease.

My shoulders relax, and I let out a long sigh when we successfully pass through TSA security. The weight of this hectic day escapes with my exhale. Dallas and I left campus at seven this morning. After our two-and-a-half-hour drive, we enjoyed lunch with our parents before they dropped us off at the airport. As spring break is a busy travel season even at Des Moines International Airport, it takes about an hour to check our bags, pass through security, and check in at our terminal.

Dallas scurries to what looks like the only empty seat, and I follow while scanning the area for another. With nothing available, I sit on the floor near her feet with our carry-on bags in front of us. Checking my phone, I calculate we have 30 minutes until boarding. I can sit on the floor that long.

With the phone still in hand, I see a red three alerting me I have unread text messages. I shoot a text to Mom, letting her know we successfully made it through security. Next, I read the messages from my oldest brother.

Levi: Text/call if u need me

Levi: I'd feel better if 1 of us went with u

Then, I read the text from my youngest brother.

Clint: Text me morning & night or I'll fly down

I groan audibly, drawing Dallas' attention.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Levi and Clint texted," I whine.

"I'm glad I don't have three big brothers. How bad is it?"

She knows very well the lengths my brothers go to in "protecting" their baby sister. I hand my phone to her, watching her face as she reads them.

"They had better not fly to Mexico," Dallas states. "No one will ruin this trip for us." She stands in front of me with her hands on her hips, one foot pointed to the side. "And you will not text Clint every morning or night. You're a grown-ass woman, and you deserve a vacation."

"This is why I love you," I say, chuckling.

Dallas is the only female friend of mine that didn't swoon at the sight of my three older brothers. Actually, at my house, she often stood up to them for me. To me, they were bulky, muscular guys that had dated half the girls in Des Moines. Our age differences led them to believe they could boss me around.

Not much has changed–all three of them have too many muscles and spend too much time working out. Levi is married, Dan is engaged, and Clint is with a different girl every week. With me at college, their bossiness has turned into overbearing protectiveness. Their roles as protective big brothers amplified after my car wreck. While I focused on my recovery, I didn't notice.

I've only dated one guy, ever. In my junior year, one of Clint's friends asked me out. My brothers only allowed it, as they knew he would try nothing, or they would kill him. We dated from my junior year of high school through my junior year of college when he broke up with me. Now that I'm away at college, they can't control who I date and what I do, so they threaten me. "Before you go out with any guy, he has to meet us. We'll drive down." "If a guy even looks at you wrong, we'll come to handle it for you." Their domineering big brother roles know no bounds.

With only a few minutes until boarding, I quickly send them texts back. First, I reply to Levi.

Me: I'll be fine not leaving resort

Next, I text Clint.

Me: on vacation won't report to you twice a day

Shutting off my cell phone, I gather my bags as the staff announces it's time to board. I know my replies do nothing to calm my brothers' fears. I'm resigned to the fact they will text and call often this week. Maybe I'll leave my phone in the room.

When the captain turns off the fasten seatbelt sign, Dallas immediately unbuckles and turns to face me. For a moment, I worry she has another surprise for me she kept secret until we were on our way, so I wouldn't back out.

"Okay, we have two goals for this trip," she informs me while flipping her hair over her shoulder. "First and foremost is to have fun." She pauses with a wide smile.

"And the second goal?" I'm almost afraid to ask.

As the attendant approaches to take our drink orders, Dallas announces, "We're gonna get you laid." She doesn't yell, but her voice is loud enough all the surrounding seats could hear.

The attendant blushes at Dallas's words and clears her throat before asking for our drink orders. Dallas orders two vodka cranberries, then the woman moves on to the other passengers.

"Really?" I cock my head at my friend. "Any louder and even the pilots would hear you." I point my index finger towards her. "I'm not ready for sex," I whisper. "My body's still healing, and besides, emotionally, I'm not ready."

Dallas merely shakes her head at me while rolling her eyes. "You're ready, and with me as your wingman, scratch that, wing woman, it'll be easy-peasy."

"Dallas, I just want to relax and have fun this week. I don't need any pressure."

The attendant delivers our drinks and quickly darts away.

"Let's toast." She lifts her glass towards mine. "To senior year, to graduation, to best friends, and to moving on."

Her words and wicked smile inform me she isn't giving up on her second goal. This may be a long week.