5. Brian
CHAPTER 5
After hours of walking around Tuft Swallow, and fielding more than my fair share of side eyes from old people with binoculars around their necks and newspapers in their hands, I’m more than ready for a drink.
The Nosy Pecker. No wonder Zeke was so embarrassed for me when he learned I moved to Tuft Swallow. Between the pervy bird watchers and the town’s knock-off Lady Whistledown spreading gossip about everybody, I’m more than ready to admit that moving here was a mistake. But now I’ve signed away my life for the next 30 years to a mortgage I can only afford if my practice takes off–fast. How the hell am I supposed to build a business here when people are more interested in my love life than my services?
I finally managed to grift a copy of the latest Pecker when I left Wingspan, the yoga studio. Since there had been a class in session when I’d arrived, I hadn’t been able to introduce myself to the instructor. But in the waiting room there had been a stack of Peckers by the door, meaning my trip wasn’t entirely in vain. Emblazoned on the front page, the headline made it sound like there was a plumbing leak at my new office building. Only, when I read the first paragraph, it became clear that the “Waterworks at Tuft Swallow’s Newest Business” was actually referring to my break-up with Zeke.
How the hell did they find out about that?
And that was when I realized it. All those nosy neighbors. The elderly townspeople I kept seeing at every shop and street corner. Tit Peepers.
They’re everywhere. Wearing their ridiculous windbreakers and sporting their binoculars in random places about town: the barbershop, the cafe, the grocery store, all in broad daylight. These people aren’t bird watchers. They’re peeping toms.
I’ve moved to a neighborhood of spies.
I force myself to finish reading the article, then crumble my Pecker and dump it into one of the tidy, green-painted trash cans that are placed conveniently every few blocks along the sidewalk. Zeke calling a break on our relationship was painful enough already. But learning, on top of that, the whole town knows about it before they’ve even met me?
Like I said: I need a drink.
I walk into the nearly empty Crowbar and Grill (seriously. Crowbar? What is the deal with this town and its bird puns?). I’m hesitant to be out in public drinking this early on a weekday when I’m trying to establish a reputation as a responsible business owner, but I’m beginning to think my reputation is already ruined for this Godforsaken town.
I scan the tables, and lock eyes with the only thing that could possibly raise my spirits in this moment: the beautiful receptionist from the town clinic I stopped in earlier this morning. The one with the leg injury. She’s the only sane person I’ve crossed paths with so far today, and she somehow was able to distract me a little from the mess that is my life.
She’s sitting with a curvy redhead at a two-top near the bar. They also seem to be hitting in the sauce a little early.
I guess Thirsty Thursday is alive and well in Tuft Swallow.
Her eyes widen as she looks me up and down, and I feel a smile tug at my lips in reflex. She’s cute, alright. Dirty blonde hair and a sprinkling of freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and her exposed shoulders. That sundress she’s wearing fits close to her athletic body from the waist up, before flaring just above her hips and fluttering around her muscular legs. Surprisingly muscular, considering she’s supposedly recovering from an injury. She must still exercise quite a bit.
But regardless of how pretty she may be, I know it would be a terrible idea to think of her as anything but a potential patient. And it isn’t just because of my broken heart. As a chiropractor, I tend to get more handsy than most when first meeting someone. By design, I see each new person first through a doctor’s eyes before letting myself get to know them better. It’s safer that way. Part of why I started using dating apps to meet people outside of town is because… well, dating people that I meet at work can get a little messy.
Although, truth be told, dating for me always seems to get messy sooner or later.
That being said, seeing this woman–Kodi, I think her name was–makes different areas of my brain light up than just the doctor parts. Which is a little confusing so soon after Zeke called for a break.
She returns my grin, and her friend whips around to smile at me, too. She waves.
“Dr. Gosling! You should join us!”
Oh no. Hot receptionist notwithstanding, joining their table is a very bad idea. I’m already in a bad mood, and if drinking before the end of the workday was a bad idea, getting drinks in town with my first potential patient is a horrendous one.
“That’s kind of you, but I’m just grabbing some takeout,” I improvise. And a beer while I wait. Not that I’m hungry. I wonder if I could get an IPA to go…
“Nonsense! I was just leaving, and Kodi could use the company!”
The two women exchange what appears to be a remarkably nuanced conversation with only their eyebrows for a moment before the redhead hops out of her chair and gestures for me to take a seat.
Fuck. “I couldn’t take your spot–”
“You really could,” she purrs, her voice dropping an octave out of nowhere as she yanks my forearm and practically pushes me into the seat. Kodi covers her face with her hands and shakes her head across from me. “See you tomorrow at practice, girl!”
“Thanks, Lily.” Only she doesn’t sound particularly grateful.
Before I’ve fully adjusted to the view of the restaurant from my new seated perspective, Lily twirls away and prances out the door. Kodi pushes her bangs out of her face and draws a noisy sip through the cocktail straw of her drink, which sounds as though all of the liquid has already been drained.
“I’m so sorry about her,” she mumbles on an exhale.
I shrug, letting out a breath of my own. “Honestly? That’s probably the nicest anyone in this town has been to me so far. Other than you.”
A look of surprise crosses her face, but before she can respond, a waitress walks up to our table to check on us.
“Everything tasting alri–where’d Lily go?”
The woman blinks at me, as if attempting to decipher how the short, curvy woman who had been occupying my seat transformed into a tall, scruffy-faced man while she’d been getting the check.
“She insisted I take her spot.” I look between the scantily-clad waitress and my new lunch companion, and my stomach growls loudly.
“Sounds like maybe you need that sandwich more than she does.” She slides the plate closer and shoots me a wink, adding, “although I hear you’re more of a tossed salad kinda man.”
My eyes widen, and she laughs, licking her lips. Then she refills our waters and walks away. My cheeks burn. Oh God. Was that…? Did she just…?
Across from me, Kodi slides down in her chair as if attempting to disappear. Once again, she covers her face with her hands. I recover from my surprise, and she finally takes a deep breath and reaches across the table toward me.
“On behalf of our entire town, I want to issue you the sincerest of apologies.” She can barely keep eye contact, and her freckles almost disappear behind a fiery blush that ignites her face. “I swear she didn’t mean anything, uh, discriminatory by that. Ginger is just very…vulgar.”
She meets my eyes then, and I feel my shoulders relax a bit as I hold her gaze. Okay, so the waitress is just a pervert, and that wasn’t some vicious dig at my relationship preferences. The ones that the whole town is likely speculating about at this very moment. “I get the impression that’s fairly common around here?”
Kodi takes a big bite out of her sandwich and nods apologetically. “Yeah,” she chews.
And then, the strangest sensation takes over my stomach. At first, I assume it’s just the nausea that’s been building inside me since Zeke left last night. Or maybe it’s anxiety from being the object of everyone’s whispers and stares all day. Regardless, it writhes and swirls in my stomach, traveling all the way up my chest and throat until I can’t hold it back anymore. I cover my mouth, not knowing if I’m about to hiccup, burp, or hurl, only for the sensation to erupt from my mouth?—
As a laugh.
This is ridiculous. All of it. The invasive bird watchers, the articles in the town paper, the promiscuous waitress, Zeke breaking up with me after I uprooted my entire life to move to this bonkers New England town. It is absolutely, positively ludicrous. It can’t be real. Any minute now, I’m going to wake up alone in my apartment in Boston, and everything will be back to normal.
I pinch my arm in between laughs, wondering if this is all some funhouse dream or nightmare, but it definitely hurts.
Ginger returns with a beer, confused by my sudden outburst. I try to stop for long enough to thank her, but the closest I get is a cough and a weird half-nod when she sets the glass down on the table. She darts away after that, and Kodi looks at me with concern.
“Uh, Dr. Gosling? Are you–”
“Brian, please,” I choke out, wiping tears from my eyes. I manage to slow my breathing and calm my shaking shoulders. The episode passes, taking some of the tension that’s been coiled in my chest since last night along with it. I take a long gulp of my beer. “Sorry. I uh, don’t know what came over me. It’s been a long day.”
Kodi looks at me with concern. “You seem a little tense.”
“Ya think?” I eye the sandwich in front of me, at once starving and also completely lacking in appetite. As an awkward silence descends upon the table between us, a nugget of guilt forms in my gut. Even as my world is crumbling around me, I’m still a professional. The last thing I want to do is make a bad impression on one of the very few kind people I’ve met today. “I’m sorry, Kodi. That was rude of me.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Kodi says, hastily swallowing. “Like I said, it’s me who should be apologizing. You’ve had an awful introduction into town. And anyway, I was hoping to talk to you.”
“Really?” She just met me. What could she possibly have to talk about?
She nods. “That… thing you did to my leg. What was that?”
“The fascia release?” She stares back at me blankly as if I said something in a foreign language. I start talking with my hands, grateful that we’ve switched to a topic that, one, isn’t my love life and two, I’m actually knowledgeable in. So I let myself switch into doctor mode. “Whenever someone gets injured, their body makes adjustments to allow it to heal, right?”
Kodi nods, her deep brown eyes following my every movement as I demonstrate on my arm. “Let’s say you break your wrist. There are a ton of ligaments and tiny muscles that all facilitate wrist movement, and all of them are affected by the inflammation and scar tissue that develop around the break. So what happens? Our bodies adjust to the new sensations. Suddenly, even after the bone heals, moving your wrist in a particular direction hurts, so you avoid moving it in that direction. When muscles and ligaments don’t get to move and stretch over a period of time, lactic acid and inflammation and all sorts of crud can collect in pockets throughout all the connective tissue that covers your arm: skin, fascia, fat–all of that stuff.”
Usually, I’ll lose people when I explain how all of this works, but Kodi’s attention is rapt. When I pause, she just nods at me, and gestures for me to continue.
“Uh, well. So, around your knee, which I assume you haven’t been moving normally for some time, there’s a lot of angry stuff built up in between all the parts that help you move freely. Which, in turn, makes it harder to move them. If you don’t help your muscles and connective tissue let go of it all, eventually you’ll lose mobility, or certain muscles will atrophy. Meaning–”
“Meaning they won’t support your weight,” she finishes for me. Then she leans back, crosses her arms, and stares at me with distant eyes, as if she’s seeing me but not really looking at me. After a moment, her eyes refocus, and her dark, full brows furrow. “How is it that you managed to explain in thirty seconds something that none of my doctors or surgeons or physical therapists could figure out how to tell me?”
I chuckle dryly. “It’s more common than you’d think. Doctors and surgeons, in particular, are often more worried about insurance and getting patients in and out the door than they are about actually helping people maintain a healthy lifestyle.” If I’m not careful, I’m going to end up on my soapbox. “I guess, to be fair, there are plenty of doctors that aren’t like that, and plenty of chiropractors that are just as guilty of that kind of behavior, too, but I’m not one of them. Bodies should move. They need to stretch and run and lift and do things, you know? And most of the time–not all the time, of course, but usually–young healthy people have all the tools they need to keep their bodies doing what they need to do. Even after injuries. It just takes a little work.”
The entire time I talk, neither of us touch our food. I go to reach for my beer, when Kodi grabs my arm.
“I want to make an appointment.” I raise an eyebrow at her, and she removes her hand. “Sorry. How soon can you see me?”
I’ve never seen so much intensity in someone’s eyes as there is in Kodi’s when she asks that question. My arm still burns where her fingers were, and for a breath, I’m paralyzed. Who exactly is this woman?
“Uh… let me check my schedule–”
“Can you see me today?”
I have to look away from her. The passion in her face is scary, and I don’t trust myself not to look too much into it. I reach into my pocket for my phone and make a show of checking my calendar, even though I know damn well I don’t have any appointments yet. “Don’t you have to go back to work?”
“Dr. Cratchet will understand. I need it.”
“Well, hold on,” I say, realizing I need to temper her expectations. “Recovery from a long-term injury takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight or with one appointment. I’ll need to do an assessment, too, and that–”
Her hand is back on my arm, and my eyes lock onto the spot where her skin meets mine. Her touch is scorching. It cuts me off from finishing my sentence.
“Brian. I know it’s not going to happen overnight. I’ve been in pain for years. I’ve done weeks of physical therapy. I’ve tried pilates, yoga–nothing has helped. But now I’m back on a team again, and I want–need–to be able to trust my leg again. When you touched me this morning, I thought you were trying to break me all over again, but then I could walk without pain for the first time since high school.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow. People like this, like Kodi, are why I became a chiropractor in the first place. She’s been failed by every part of the medical system when she’s a young, healthy woman with decades of activity ahead of her. And she’s looking at me like I have the power to make all of her dreams come true.
Which, I suppose, I do. Why make her wait a second longer?
All my frustrations and worries from last night and today fade away, just like they did when she fell in the clinic this morning. When that happened, my only thought had been to run to her and fix what was wrong. Immediately, I knew where the problem was and where to press to stop the spasm. For the second time today, my brain collapses into a singular focus. The world tunnels in around us, and it’s just me and her and the place where our bodies are touching.
“Come over now. We’ll get started.”
“I’ll get the check.”