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“Then have the doctor call me to give me a report on what is wrong with you.”
Georgina bit her lip. She was a grown woman. There was no way she was telling her doctor that she had to call her mother and give her a diagnosis.
Not that there would be a diagnosis since there was nothing wrong with her.
Well, nothing physical. There was plenty that was wrong with her.
But her mother couldn’t find that out. The woman was a germaphobe. She thought that getting ill was due to poor breeding, or something. All utter bullshit, but nobody told Catherine James that she was wrong. And lived.
“I don’t understand. A James doesn’t get sick. Our bloodlines are better than that. Really, Georgina, I hope it’s not a cold. Colds are so common.”
Right. So she wanted it to be something more interesting? Something less common? What would be acceptable? Ebola? The plague?
“Sorry, Mother,” she forced herself to say.
This was ridiculous. She was thirty-four years old and here she was, kowtowing to her mother! She didn’t need her telling her to go to the doctor or interfering in her life.
So tell her to get lost.
Yeah. Like that was going to happen.
“Georgina, I don’t like this. You’re acting odd. Perhaps I need to send Sebastian out there. Or maybe August, yes, he would be a better choice. Not only is he closer, but he’s also a doctor. I don’t like you going to a common doctor’s office. There’re so many other germs you could pick up there. It’s definitely better that August examine you.”
“Mother, he’s a cardio-thoracic surgeon.”
“Yes, I know. That means he should be able to diagnose you. Far better than some common doctor.”
She let out a small groan. Shit. Shit. What did she do that for?
“What was that? Are you in pain? What’s wrong? You didn’t eat shellfish, did you? Please tell me that you didn’t. You know what happened last time you did that.”
Oh, she remembered. She was the one that had spent twenty-four hours glued to the toilet. But her mother just wouldn’t let her live it down. She was surprised it hadn’t ended up in the yearly Christmas card.
“I’m fine. I don’t have food poisoning. I just think I pulled a muscle.”
“What? Where? Doing what? Have you been out running? I hope you weren’t out alone. And that no one saw you.”
Which way did she want it? Either she went running on her own or she went with other people, in which case they were going to see her.
“All that sweating and puffing and panting,” her mother said disdainfully. “Why do you need to run?”
“I’ve got to be fit for my job, Mother.”
“You’re not out in the field, Georgina. Most of the time you sit behind a desk. I made sure of that.”
Actually, that wasn’t totally true, but her mother didn’t know that. Wait, what did she just say?
“What did you say?”
“I have to go, Georgina. Honestly, I have a very busy life and I don’t have time to chit-chat with you. I shall speak to August about coming to examine you. Please isolate yourself. You don’t want to infect anyone or have them see you with a runny nose or sneezing.”
No. God forbid. They might think she was human.
Before she could protest that she didn’t need August to come examine her, the line went dead. She’d hung up on her.
For fudge’s sake. What had she done to deserve this? Talking to her mother was more stressful than dealing with the IRS. And now she wanted to send August to check up on her? That would be a disaster if she thought August would actually bother to do it.
Still, she figured she’d best give him a head’s up.
