Chapter 11 Healing
Chapter eleven
Healing
I texted Kat to reassure her I’d gotten home safely.
She reacted with a heart on flames emoji.
Eventually, I’d tell her more about my adventure on the beach. For now, all I wanted to do was warm up in the shower, then go to sleep.
As I shed my clothes for the second time tonight, I realized I’d left my tights in Angel’s car. It’d been too hard to squeeze into them with my seatbelt on and my legs all wet.
Oh well.
At least I was seeing him tomorrow—er, tonight, technically.
The hot spray submerged me in the muscle memory of Angel’s embrace. How he’d molded against me, warmed me. Loved me, maybe.
Under the water’s spell, I explored my body.
Soft, tender breasts. An ache deep between my legs. Smooth skin.
That moonlight swim had illuminated more than a potential relationship with Angel. My ‘wild’ side had thrived. I’d danced in the water, kissed a boy I liked, and stayed out past midnight.
And everything was fine.
I’d be fine.
Tears pricked behind the memory of another moonlit night, another drive.
I’d been so tired. Nothing had gone right.
But tonight, for the first time in a long while, I felt alive.
I chuckled, letting relief spill out however it needed: laughter, hot tears joining the water, a tight hug to myself, and the comforting aroma of vanilla-lavender soap.
Tonight, I hoped I’d dream of Angel and his healing hands all over me.
***
The clatter of medical trays yanked the sleep out from under me.
No, not medical trays. That wasn’t my life anymore.
Steel shrieked against iron, and I gasped, sitting upright.
What happened?
I ran downstairs to the kitchen, my heart hammering. “Are you okay? Was there an accident?”
“We’re fine.” Jen glared at me, her eyes puffy.
“Oh. I thought…” I registered the metal spatula in her hand and the iron-cast skillet on the stove. “We’re not supposed to use metal on that one. It’ll ruin the coating.”
“I guess I can’t do anything right.” She threw the spatula into the sink.
I winced and crossed my arms to fight the morning chill through my thin pajamas. “Jen, it’s too early for this. Why are you so upset?”
“You woke me up last night.” She sniffled and snatched a less offensive spatula.
“Sorry, what?” How was that related to breakfast or her lack of direction?
“With your shower. Coming in late. Seems like you had a great time with Kat.” She dumped a bunch of frozen hash browns into the pan.
I shrugged and pulled my clothes tighter. “We met with some mall friends.” Something told me she wouldn’t be happy if I mentioned the new man in my life.
Dad staggered into the kitchen. “Why are you girls up at four o’clock in the morning?”
“I’m hungry.” Jen pouted.
“We have fruit in the fridge,” he said.
Subtext: a snack she could have without waking the whole house.
She rolled her eyes. “After puking my guts out, I wanted something warm and solid.”
Warm and solid…like a man?
I dismissed that conclusion. Maybe Angel had rubbed off on me too much last night. Or not enough. Oh my gosh, after one night with him, I was a pervert.
Dad washed his hands. “I'll make breakfast for all of us, then.”
“Fine.” Jen slumped into a chair and scrolled her phone, ignoring us.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, extra nice to compensate for her lack of appreciation. “I hope one day I have someone who’d make me breakfast. Especially if it means I can sleep in.” I yawned.
“You’d need the extra rest,” Dad said, flipping the hash browns.
My cheeks stiffened in a smile. “I guess so. Um, right now, I’d settle for some coffee.”
Luckily, Angel intended on bringing me that and some cake this evening. A real treat.
“Getting breakfast doesn’t mean anything,” my sister said.
I furrowed my brow. “It’s the most important meal of the day.”
“So?” she drawled.
“So, it shows that you care about someone,” I said. Something she ought to learn.
She snorted. “They could just be buttering you up to use you. Or want to look good in front of their friends.”
I gestured out incredulously. “You think Dad is trying to flex?”
“No. But other people. Can’t trust anyone will have your back.” Her nostrils flared as she flicked a finger across her screen.
Was that directed at her friends, the baby daddy, or me for showering so late last night?
Oil and butter sizzled. The aroma made my mouth water, but my stomach clenched.
“I’ll always be here for you,” Dad said, then glanced at Jen. “Just like you’ll be there for your kid.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Jen mumbled, taking the first plateful of food.
I helped Dad put out the next portion. “Well, you won’t need to ‘be there’ for me tonight. I’ve got a ride,” I said.
“Oh, great. How’s Kat doing?” Dad asked, handing me breakfast.
“Fine.” My voice strained on the omission that she wouldn’t be the one driving me.
Jen scoffed. “Doesn’t she have anything better to do?”
Like go on a date? Play with her cat?
“She’s been pretty busy, actually. But I’m hoping I’ll be able to drive myself soon,” I said.
“Just let me know when you want to borrow the car. We’ll see if we can work that out.” Dad sat beside us. “How’s the food?”
“Great,” I answered, chipper.
While Jen clipped, “Fine.”
Dad gave me a sidelong glance and smiled.
That was as good as it got with her, lately.
After a few minutes of us eating in relatively amicable quiet, Jen sighed and propped her cheek on her arm. “So, that Vacation Vixens show comes out tonight. Does anyone wanna get some snacks and watch it with me?”
Dad cleared his throat. “Doesn’t sound like my cup of tea. But you two can have fun.”
“I’m closing, so I’m not sure how late I’ll be,” I said quickly.
Jen dragged her food before shoveling it onto her fork. “It’s streaming, so we can watch it whenever you get back, assuming you’re not hanging out with Kat.”
“R-right.” I should just tell her I have a date.
She was happy. Fed. But she also had a pointy utensil in her hand.
“Can we watch it tomorrow, instead?” I asked.
“I guess.” She bit into metal, and I flinched.
If only there was an easier way to treat our fractured relationships.
***
As I cleaned out a dressing room at The Closette, I tried to sort my thoughts and the discarded items. It wasn’t like Jen would hate me for dating someone. That’d be irrational.
Although she had been lashing out lately. She’d banged the pots and pans because my shower woke her. And she’d implied Kat’s boyfriend only wanted her for sex. And was generally sour on relationships thanks to her current situation.
But I was probably overthinking this. It wasn’t like Angel was my boyfriend yet. In a few weeks, he’d be busy with school, and I’d be brushing up on newborn care with Jen.
Unless I re-enrolled in med school too.
I took my phone out to text him, then thought better of it.
He hadn’t sent me that heart emoji. I had.
Bothering him like all the girls in his messages wouldn’t solve any problems. I had to focus. Reset.
I stretched the waistband of some shapewear. It was almost like a compression band. Increased blood flow, not much breathability, but if someone was exercising their lower half, it might be helpful, at least until the inevitable time came for removal.
I bit my lip and rubbed the silky fabric.
Angel would probably know how to get me out of them. I giggled softly at the mental image of him yanking these down my thighs in two-inch increments. Or using medical shears to cut me out of them.
“Planning to wear those on your date?” Giselle asked curtly.
I gasped, the material snapping against my fingers, then crumpled the shapewear in my hands.
“I—no. I mean, yes, I have a date, but I wasn’t browsing for it.
I was trying to figure out the fit.” I cleared my throat.
“Besides, I’m sure he’d rather I wear something like this.
” I plucked at the waistband of a thong. It’d be a lot easier to maneuver.
She gave me an incredulous look. “Lingerie isn’t for a partner. It’s for yourself. For a feeling.”
“Right.” Now, I was feeling slightly mortified. For myself.
But this was her business. She probably knew what she was talking about.
“How did you know I was going on a date?” I asked.
“You’ve been flitting around all day fixing things, checking your reflection like a little parakeet.” She whistled and flapped her fingers to imitate a bird’s wings.
Was I preening that much? I fixed my hair on instinct.
“You’ve also been ‘checking the time’ quite a bit.” She arched her eyebrow. “Maybe texting during your shift?”
I winced, pushing my phone deeper into my back pocket. “Sorry about that. My date’s bringing me coffee after work, and I had to give him my order.”
She crossed her arms. “Now he’ll know your preference for the next date.”
The next date. I grinned at the idea of it.
“And he’ll also learn you’re not always available to him. You should learn that too,” she warned, tuning on her heel.
“Sorry, Giselle. I will.” Even if this wasn’t life-saving work, it was important to her, so I’d do my best.
I hurried to put everything away, and just as I was finishing, a group of four girls about high-school age came in, chatting excitedly.
“Oh, no,” I whispered.
It was five minutes until closing.
They perused the organized camisoles, then left them crumpled in the wrong spot. All my carefully curated organization was ruined. I fought the urge to follow them and fix everything the instant they touched it.
The girls picked about five things each, the closest one requesting, “Dressing rooms, please.”
“Sure.” I braced myself and grabbed the keys. “Did any of you need measuring?”
“No, we know our sizes,” one of the girls scoffed.
Small mercies.
I let the girls into their rooms, their laughter and commentary sweeping through the store.
It was torture.
Every second they played around was another delay.
There weren’t any free dressing rooms I could hide in to sneak a text to Angel and update him either. I slumped against the wall with building dread.
This was so unfair. Five minutes before closing. Before freedom.
If only we locked up early. But I guessed one of these girls might buy something. Hopefully, the effort would be worth it.
After enduring fifteen minutes of their fashion show from the corner of the dressing room, I announced, “Last call for different sizes. The mall’s closing soon, and we want to make sure you can get out okay before they lock any exit doors.”
“We’re fine,” the girls replied in unison.
“Great. I’ll just take away anything you don’t need,” I said cheerfully, trying not to reek of, ‘Hurry up and leave.’ They shoved clumps of hangers and clothing through gaps in the doors. “Thank you,” I said, clutching the whole awkward bundle to my chest.
At least if I started re-racking, I might be able to leave relatively on time. Metal hangers cleaved into my forearms under the weight of all these garments. I couldn’t run with them, but I could scurry. The door alert chimed when I was on my tip-toes trying to re-hang everything.
Oh, please don’t let that be another customer.
“Sorry, we’re closing,” I called over my aching shoulder.
“Special delivery for ‘pigeon.’” Angel propped open the glass door, clutching it from the top so he leaned at a flattering angle, then smiled at me.
All other thoughts fluttered away. “Hi,” I said, way too breathy.
“Rough day?” he asked, eyeing me.
I nodded, my arms sagging from the weight of these rejects.
“Have some sugar,” he said.
Nothing had ever sounded more romantic.
He jerked his chin to beckon me over, and I ran to him, clothes flapping in my arms. I barely noticed the little bag from The Cake Warehouse hanging around his wrist and a coffee cup in that hand until I crashed into him—paper crinkling and liquid sloshing near my ears.
“Careful, pidge,” he said, shifting to hug me better.
I blanketed him in silks and lace, burying my face against his warm, solid chest. I closed my eyes and sighed, ready to melt into his sweet-scented embrace. “Angel…”
Giselle cried, “Ah-ah-ah,” from behind the cashier’s desk, phone in hand. “No food or drink allowed,” she commanded.
“Un instant, s'il vous plait,” he said, clasping his hands the best he could with his treats.
“You speak French?” I asked.
“Un petit.” He shrugged.
“Sois prudent, monsieur,” Giselle warned.
“Je vas.” He bowed. “We’ll be very careful. Just this once, let her drink. For me. Pour l’amour. I’ll pay a fee if we spill anything.”
“I’ll take you at your word, monsieur. Just this once.” Giselle spared us a withering glance, then went off to resume the call in the back, saying, “I need it here tomorrow at the latest.”
“How did you do that?” I whispered to Angel.
“Some people find me charming.” He smirked and pulled a few clothing hangers off my arm.
I hissed at the shift in pressure.
Angel inspected the angry red marks on my arm with apprehension. “Is your boss making you carry this much at once?”
I rubbed the irritated skin with silky garments. “I just wanted to get it done faster so we could go on our date.”
“Don’t stress yourself on my account. We’ll have plenty of time after this,” he said.
The lingerie weighed down my arms despite my attempts to flap in indignation. “But we won’t. I mean, not enough. It’s later than ever, and I won’t be done for at least another fifteen minutes, and you shouldn’t even be driving tired. Maybe we should reschedule.”
“I’m not tired,” he said, and my chest tightened.
“You say that, now, but once you’re in the car, with the warm air on, and a slow song lulls you into a comfort zone, it might sneak up on you,” I insisted, my arms stinging with each indignant gesture.
“Talking to you will stimulate me plenty.” He winked, breezing by me to hang things. “But if I do start yawning, I’m sure some cutie will share her coffee with me.”
I trailed after him, the bite of metal in my palms. “I will, but caffeine doesn’t kick in right away.”
“We have a few minutes.” He smiled gently. “How about we both take a few sips for good measure?”
My heart pounded. Giselle’s rules aside, was this okay?
“Unless you want to cancel? I can drive you home instead,” he offered.
“No.” I needed this. I needed…a soft place to land.
He took a sip from the cup, then handed it to me when Giselle wasn’t looking. “Careful not to drip,” he whispered.
But when the drink warmed my lips, all I could think of was what it’d be like to kiss him instead.