Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
DANI
I've been at my job for about a week now. Too many close calls with Vic in the emergency room have left me grateful to be away from that chaos. The whole reason I moved to the Boston area was to reconnect with him, yet I still haven’t managed to do so.
I keep finding excuses, telling myself it’s not the right time.
But deep down, I know the truth. I’ve been a coward.
I didn’t confess before he left, thinking I was doing the right thing.
But all I did was make us both suffer. It doesn’t seem like he has moved on either.
From the few glimpses I’ve had, watching from afar, he has almost become detached from all emotion, and in a way that makes him nearly untouchable.
I was the only one to experience his softer side, and he hasn't shared it with anyone else. No girlfriends. No partners. There are no traces of a life someone his age would lead. No public social media. No distractions either. Just work, a grueling schedule, as though he’s drowning himself in it to keep everyone away.
Today, my coworkers from the ED are here for department continuing education.
They must maintain their trauma credentials because we are a Level One hospital, designated to receive patients with the most severe injuries, supported by the necessary facilities and skilled staff to meet those demands.
As a per diem nurse, I’m not required to attend.
I’m due to meet them for lunch in about thirty minutes, and I’m excited to catch up.
My full-time job is going well, and I’ve settled comfortably into my new office space, although I can’t bring myself to let go of my per diem work.
I have a plant in the small window, a motivational sign, and three pictures that hold deep significance on my desk.
The first is of my mom. She represents my past. The photo was taken on the day we moved out of my childhood home, which we shared with my dad.
After her divorce, she told me that we should never look back on what we’ve lost. I have since learned that it isn’t true.
If I could change the past, I would in a heartbeat.
I would have her with me, recognizing how she hid her sickness because she was all I had, forced to keep working instead of taking care of herself.
Most of all, I would change how I handled everything with Vic.
The middle picture represents my present. It’s of my found family, the guys and gals who have become everything to me. They know my past, yet they still love me, darkness and all. They saw the parts of me that no one else did, applauded my efforts, and never thought I was crazy.
Lastly, there’s the picture of Vic and me lying in bed.
I snapped it one morning, the sun just beginning to spill across the room.
I stare at the phone while he snuggles into my neck.
His dark trestles hang over his eyes, but it's his smile that gets me.
His lips pull up in a smirk as he pretends to be asleep.
Even though this photo belongs to my past, I cling to the hope that it will still be my future.
I raise a hand to my lips, then lightly touch the frame that rests front and center on my desk, reminding me every day of the memory and longing that remain.
I glance at the time. Only fifteen minutes left until I meet the girls in the deli downstairs.
It’s a small place tucked into the main floor, serving sandwiches, soups, salads, and Starbucks products.
We agreed on noon, their lunch window, and I’ve been looking forward to it.
I gather my tote, ready to leave when a soft rap of knuckles draws my attention to the door.
It isn't fully closed, just as Samantha used to keep it, slightly ajar. That way, it was always open for anyone who might need her. Only now, it’s Samantha standing there.
“Hey!” I stand, walking over there with a grin. “Aren’t you supposed to be retired?” I narrow my eyes at her playfully.
Her hand lifts in mock surrender. “Yes, I am. Believe me. I have no intention of ever asking for my job back,” she laughs brightly. “I just had to meet with human resources, and I thought I would stop by to see how you’re settling in.” Her smile is radiant, and her face is soft and well-rested.
I glance around the room. “I’m settled. I love this job.”
“I’m glad,” she smiles warmly. “It’s good to know that someone truly passionate about end-of-life care has taken over.”
I grab my bag off the chair, about to suggest she take a seat, when she cuts me off with a slight shake of her head.
“No, I just wanted to drop this off.” From her bag, she pulls out a metallic envelope, the weight of the paper evident before it even touches my hand.
I look up at her, curious, and she flicks her finger toward it. “Go on. Open it.”
I tilt my head, studying her expression before sliding a finger beneath the seal and looking at her. “Okay,” I murmur, unfolding the ornate cardstock inside. The embossed lettering catches the light as I begin to read the invitation aloud.
“Admittance for one: Masks Under The Stars Masquerade Ball…” My voice trails off as I look at her quizzically.
“What’s this?”
Samantha’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “I thought it was self-explanatory,” she chuckles.
I tilt my head, weighing the card in my hand. “Well…yes and no. What am I supposed to do with it?”
She steps closer. Her hands come to rest lightly on mine, still holding the invitation. “You go and have fun.” She gives my hand a firm squeeze before letting go.
I nod, watching as she retreats toward the door, only to turn back suddenly.
Her eyes glint with playfulness. “Who knows,” she teases.
“Maybe you’ll find a charming doctor to chat up.
” She waggles her brows, and then she’s gone, leaving the room quiet as my thoughts are roaring.
I look down at the invitation, the metallic shimmer, making it appear magical, and my thoughts slip to Vic, wondering if he’ll be there.
A smile curves at my lips as I begin to imagine how the night will unfold.
Just then, the alarm from my bag chirps, where my phone is nestled in the pocket, reminding me that I need to leave if I am going to make it to lunch with the girls.
Walking into the hospital deli, I immediately spot the girls in line.
Not wanting to cut, I give them a little wave, letting them know I’m here before heading straight to the to-go counter for my online order.
I find a table big enough to fit all of us, Bethany’s ego included, before settling in.
Unwrapping my chicken teriyaki special, I pair it with the Green Monster smoothie that Shioban swears tastes like grass.
A wry smile tugs at my lips. Moments later, the girls flitter over, each collecting their own carefully labeled order.
I shift in my seat, sliding over to make space for her to sit beside me.
“Hey, love. How’s the new job going?” Popping the top on my bowl, I reach into my bag for my little wooden utensil set. I catch her amused glance because my eco-friendly quirks always invite comment. However, I’ll let this one pass, even though protecting the environment is no trivial matter.
“It's great, actually,” I say, spearing a bite of chicken with my little skewer. “I really like it. Nothing too much yet, I’m still learning the ropes. However, I have my own caseload, and it's going well. So far, anyway.”
She nods approvingly. “Anything fun going on with you? Been out lately?”
I hesitate, then reach into my bag again. “I’m good on the wooden sporks, babe.” Her hand is placed upward.
Rolling my eyes, I continue to retrieve the metallic envelope and slide it across the table. “Here, I got this today. Thought it might constitute fun.” I say blandly.
She takes the invitation, her eyes widening as she opens it. A low whistle escapes past her lips as she hands it back. And that’s when Bethany flicks her head sharply in my direction, her full attention on me and the invitation in my hand.
“Are you going to the ball?” Her tone is almost too casual.
I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “Maybe?” Now the card feels almost too heavy with the weight of her stare. “I just got the invitation today.”
She nods as if trying to piece it all together. “Well, I’ll be there,” she gloats. “I was just talking about it with Dr. Flores the other day.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, taking a small sip of her soup from her plastic spoon.
That catches my attention. “Really?” I deadpan.
“Yes,” she says, sensing my sarcasm. “I was helping him out at that soup kitchen for the homeless where he volunteers—”
I cut her off sharply. “You mean people experiencing homelessness.” My anger flares at her casual, insensitive phrasing toward the unhoused population.
“Um…yeah, that’s what I said.” She stares at me like I’m missing a few brain cells when it’s clearly she who’s lacking any shred of compassion.
My eye twitches, and for a split second, I wonder how hot that soup really is.
“Dr. Flores is going, but he didn’t have another ticket for me to go with him, so I bought one.
They’re kind of expensive.” She eyes me up and down, and I feel the similar weight of her scrutiny. Here we go.
Really, all I can think about is Vic. I’ve already tuned her out, her words are nothing more than background noise. I pretend to look at my watch. “Oh, look at the time.” Standing, my appetite now gone, I pack up my food to eat later.
Shioban stares at me, like I’m a puzzle she is intent on solving. “You going to that meeting you mentioned?” she asks, one eyebrow arched, giving me an out.
I smirk, pointing a finger at her. “Yes. That would be the one.” The group waves casually as I walk away, not giving it too much thought, waving behind me while I plot the next move forward. And I know exactly who to ask for help.
Me: What do you know about masquerade balls?
The reply comes instantly.
Emma: Random. Why?
I can just see her now, multitasking and texting, a smile on her lips, making me give out too much information. She has a way of dragging it out of you.
Me: I need to go to one. Most importantly, what should I wear?
I bit my lip, excited for the first time in a long time because I know that this will be a pivotal moment, and I need to look my best.
Emma: Oh. When is it?
When is it? I pull out the invitation, and my brow furrows at the close approaching date.
Me: Next week. It’s called Masked Under the Stars.
I look up at the ceiling, praying that she has an idea of what I could wear.
Emma: Got you! You can borrow something of mine. I’ll send it today. Oh, and the other thing you wanted, too. *wink emoji*
And just like that, my found family has come through, and I like that for once, I don’t feel alone.
When the package arrives, just as promised, excitement rolls through me in waves.
I’m shaking at the prospect of what tonight could mean.
As I sit at the vanity, carefully applying my makeup, I try to steady my hand.
My eyes are smoky with a winged black liquid eyeliner.
I’ve spent years perfecting my lines so that I never have to use a stencil.
My hand is steadfast in my determination to ensure perfection, as I finish the last upward stroke.
And my lips are my signature color, sinfully red—black strapless gown with feathers that trail the floor.
I smile as I walk out the door, hope blooming in my chest like a newfound spring as I leave to take back what's mine.