Page 38 of Mafia’s Fake Bride

The driver gave a thumbs up and pulled out into traffic with practiced ease. She could have driven, but her nerves were shot and she couldn’t handle NYC traffic today. Not today.

Her fingers tapped at her phone in her lap, the cover closed. She wasn’t sending a message, she was just… nervous. She took a deep breath and stared out at nothing as the car sped away to the address she’d given.

She was worried about a few things. Things that plagued her. Lethargy kept her home and she’d missed a nail appointment already because she couldn’t get up the energy to go to the appointment. Her normal appetite had all but disappeared and her frame had become slimmer. Then there was the dizziness that wouldn’t leave her be.

She hadn’t told Matteo about any of it and when he came home she pretended she was fine. More than once she’d forced herself to get up off the couch and go out with him, to dinner, or a function that he needed to attend. It was torture, though, and left her even more exhausted than she already was.

Her visit to the doctor was to confirm what the pregnancy test had revealed - she wasn’t pregnant. That had been her first thought, that she was pregnant. It would explain everything, but the pregnancy test she’d bought on a trip to the store alone had put a big ole nope on that idea.

Marie wasn’t sure she could trust the test though, they weren’t always right. Worry nagged at her, and there was one thought she pushed away over and over. Her mother had been tired, very tired a long time ago. The woman that normally went out dancing, drinking, and whatever else it was she did. The woman that could get up the next day and do it all over again with exuberance had one day stayed on the couch. That had been the beginning.

That wasn’t what was wrong with her, she reassured herself as the cab pulled up to the building she’d directed him to. Her mother’s disease wasn’t genetic, not necessarily. She was just tired, stressed from the events of the last 8 months or so of her life. Life had thrown a lot at her at once and she was having trouble coping. If she wasn’t pregnant, then that was all that was wrong with her. She knew it.

A few moments later the cab drove away and Marie walked into the lobby of the doctor’s office. She spoke with the receptionist and took the clipboard filled with page after page of forms for her to fill out. Marie’s hand ached by the time she finished and returned the paper.

By the time her name was called Marie’s brain had slipped into pause mode, that place where we all seem to go to when we have to wait and we’re bored. She jerked up out of her seat with a stiff smile on her face and walked up to the shorter woman that looked at her expectantly.

“I’m Marie Mazza,” she told the woman whose nametag had “Anne” written on it.

“Hi there, I’m Anne. Can you step up on the scale for me, please?” the younger woman, probably five years younger than Marie with light brown hair and pretty blue eyes, asked.

Marie went through the ritual of health checks and was taken to a room. The nurse left shortly after and a doctor came in.

“Hi, Marie, I’m Doctor Murphy. How can I help you today?” He was an older man, somewhere around 60, with calm brown eyes and a gentle smile. His eyes searched her over, hidden behind a pair of black bifocals before they came back up to her eyes.

“I’m a little worried about a few symptoms I’ve had lately.” Her voice cut off and she looked down at her hands. Her thumbnail tapped out a beat on the other one as she tried to pull her thoughts together. “I thought I was pregnant, but I took a home test and it was negative, so I thought I’d best see a doctor.”

“Tell me what your symptoms are,” he asked, his brows knitted together as he sat down in a chair across from the examination table she occupied. He crossed his legs and put his clipboard on the raised knee as he waited.

“I’m tired, mostly. Very tired. I don’t want to eat, I’m either nauseous or not hungry. Sleeping has become a battle over the last few weeks.” Ever since the night Matteo’s aunt sent him that email and left for Italy.

She had another symptom, but she thought it was better to show him so she held out her hands. “And there’s this…”

Her nails were polished now and her long, slim fingers were held straight out. A moment after she put her hands out it happened. A slight tremor that made her pinky twitch, and then her entire hand trembled. Her right hand and then her left.

“I see. Do you have any neurological problems? Any damage to your spine or neck?” He wrote down a note and stood up again. He asked for permission to touch her and she agreed.

His hand worked along her neck and down her spine before he moved away. “I don’t see anything there. But there may be something else there. Can you tell me when this started?”

“A few months ago. It was just this silly twitch at first.” She pointed up her pinky finger on her right hand. “Have you looked at my family history?”

Her head was down once again, afraid to see anything in the doctor’s eyes.

He cleared his throat before he answered. “I have, and I have to say, I think you have valid concerns, Marie. I’ll order a pregnancy test and a few others. Don’t worry,” he paused to reassure her with a calm smile, “we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Thank you, doctor.” The smile she sent back to him was wobbly, and her eyes were damp. “I’m just worried, you know?”

“I understand, Marie, I do. Just let me reassure you, stress can cause all of these problems, and I don’t think there’s a soul alive that isn’t stressed these days. Can you tell me how things have been going at home lately? I saw in your file that you used to live in Louisiana. A beautiful place, what brought you up to this jungle?”

“I got married,” she said simply. She began to elaborate, told him about her childhood, about her mother, her mother’s death, the marriage, and by the time she’d finished he nodded sagely.

“I think you’ve just told us the main reasons for your current problems, Marie. You’ve had a lot of trauma. A lot.” He frowned as he wrote another note on his clipboard. “I want you to think about getting some counseling, alright? While we wait for these test results.”

“Oh,” she said simply, her eyebrows raised. That wasn’t something she’d considered at all.

Her relationship with her mother had been chaotic, and the rest of it. Well, maybe the doctor was right. He had a calm manner that made him seem competent and able to make decisions like this. The advice was sound, it just wasn’t something she’d ever considered. Counseling? That was for crazy people, wasn’t it? Basket cases that couldn’t help themselves.

That’s what her mother had told her. She’d come home from one doctor's appointment and complained about the doctor that had told her that her symptoms were all in her head and she just needed to see a shrink. Marie had sensed it was the doctor’s dismissiveness that bothered her mother, but she’d also understood the words. Psychiatrists were for nutcases, and Marie wasn’t nuts. But, maybe she did need some help coming to terms with everything that had happened.