Chapter 3 #2
“Was there a celebrity at the hospital? I didn’t hear anything.” Sandra regained her seat on the couch, and began rifling through her project bag. “I hope it was someone good.”
“There was and he is and you’ll never guess who.” Ashley glanced at each of us, her grin growing as her obvious excitement began to show.
Marie turned her work and rolled her eyes. “Just put us out of our misery.”
“Okay, it was Nico Moretti!” Ashley smiled expectantly and excitedly.
“Whoa.” Sandra and Fiona said in unison.
“Did you see him?” Even Kat appeared enthralled.
Ashley shook her head. “Sadly, no. If I had, I likely wouldn’t have been able to contain myself, and you’d all be bailing me out of jail right now.”
Sandra nodded her approval. “It would have been worth it. That guy…he’s on my spank naughty list.”
Marie lifted her right hand toward Sandra. “I approve!” she declared, and the two ladies gave each other a high-five.
“Did you hear anything about it, Elizabeth?” Fiona was eying me suspiciously, likely having discerned that I was being atypically quiet.
An image of Nico from earlier in the day flashed before my consciousness—the way he’d looked at me as though memorizing my face, his eyes brimming with sincerity and hostility—asking me to be friends.
It was so strange and absurd, and it made me feel hot and cold: hot because he’d asked me to be friends, and cold because I knew that it was impossible.
I couldn’t think about him. When I did, I felt tangled and out of sorts.
I cleared my throat and shrugged. Rather than lie, I decided to deflect for the second time that evening. “I actually got chewed out today by Dr. Botstein.”
“What? Again?” Kat dropped her knitting to her lap. “What did you do?”
I unwrapped my scarf from my neck and claimed the seat next to her. “He was on the receiving end of one of my practical jokes.”
Ashley laughed with a mouth half full of margarita.
She swallowed quickly. “What was it this time—Mentos in his Coke? My favorite was the porn tape switch—they never could pin that on you. Of course there was the time you put ‘I’m a wanker’ in permanent marker on the bottom of Dr. Meg’s coffee mug—she went around all morning like that, just drinking her coffee, what a moron. ”
Janie exited the kitchen holding two more glasses; she placed one in front of me and kept one for herself. I smiled my thanks and laid my scarf on my lap.
“I took an unopened box of latex gloves in the ER clinic, filled a few of them with lotion, and rigged it to explode upon opening.”
“So, Dr. Boty ended up with a face covered in mysterious, gelatinous, white goo?” Ashley looked as though she approved.
“I actually feel really bad about it. He was strangely nice to me afterward.”
“That is weird.” Ashley eyed me. “Dr. Boty is such a terror on the pediatric floor. I avoid him at all costs.”
“I don’t understand why you do these things. Why risk your career like this?” Fiona kept her voice low and addressed the question just to me; her expression was a mixture of concern and maternal frustration.
“I just—” Under her disapproving stare I felt ashamed again, felt the need to defend myself to her, even if I couldn’t do so earlier with Dr. Botstein.
“It’s the job. It’s stressful. Kids come into the ER with gunshot wounds; babies come in sick; and I can do nothing to help them.
I’m not complaining—I love what I do, and I feel like I’m making a difference, but it’s…
it can be frustrating. The pranks, they help me—I don’t know—keep things light. ”
“Obviously I have no idea what it’s like for you, dealing with those issues every day, but it seems like you could identify a less self-destructive way of working through job stress.” Fiona’s expression softened. “I just worry about you. You need an outlet…you need….”
Somebody.
The word wasn’t spoken, but the implication hung between us unsaid.
“Yes, well…” I cleared my throat and lifted my voice so the rest of the room could hear. “…it was an accident. I meant the glove prank for Dr. Ken Miles, but Dr. Botstein must’ve used the room first.”
“He’s kind of hot—Ken, not Dr. Botstein. Dr. Botstein seems like the kind of guy who would have a prematurely wrinkled bottom.” Sandra nodded to emphasize her own observation, and gulped the remainder of her drink.
“I concur.” Ashley said, and lifted her glass. “But hopefully we’ll never find out.”
“Several breeds of dogs have wrinkles, like the Pug and Shar Pei.” Janie sipped her margarita and licked at the excess salt on the rim.
We all paused for a beat, waiting to see if she would continue. Janie had an impressive habit of spouting trivial facts at odd times. It was one of the many reasons we all adored her.
“Janie, your left-fielding skills are very impressive. You are the most impressive left fielder I’ve ever met.” Sandra surreptitiously reached for Kat’s almost full margarita and took a sip.
Janie frowned. “You mean the baseball position?” She sat back in her chair and twisted the obscenely large ruby ring on her left third finger. “I’ve never played baseball.”
“No, hun. I’m talking about someone who says stuff out of left field. I never know where you’re going or where you’re going to take me. I’m just happy to be along for the ride.” Sandra blew Janie a sincere kiss, which made Janie smile sweetly.
My heart twisted. Damn it, I missed Janie—a lot. I blinked away the sudden moisture and berated myself for this overreaction. Janie was getting married; she wasn’t dying. I would continue to see her and talk to her—just not as often. I needed to get a grip.
Unfortunately, logic isn’t a cure for loneliness.
Kat, seemingly just noticing that Sandra had swiped her margarita, began to sputter. “Did you—I can’t believe—you stole my—Sandra!”
Sandra ducked her head and took a large swallow.
“It’s ok. I’ll make some more and bring out a pitcher.” Janie stood and reached for Sandra’s empty glass. “But since Sandra is being greedy, she has to come and help me.”
Sandra stood. “Fine. It’s a fair punishment.”
“I’ll come too.” I took off my hat, and bundled it together with my scarf and mittens. I left the hand knit trio on my chair before following the redheaded duo into the kitchen.
Sandra strolled behind Janie and lovingly caressed the granite countertops as she entered the decently sized space. “I love this kitchen. It’s a kitchen for cooking.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t much of a cook. I didn’t like to clean stuff up.
“I approve of this kitchen. I like the placement of the dishwasher relative to the sink, and the refrigerator relative to the stove.” Janie said, towering above both of us as she poured tequila and lime juice into the cocktail shaker.
“Sandra, can you start squeezing more limes? They are in the bottom drawer of the fridge.”
“These are really good margaritas, Janie. Well done.” I smiled up at her as I poured salt onto a plate and coated the rim of Sandra’s empty glass.
“It’s the limoncello and fresh lime juice, I think. I also used agave nectar instead of sugar.” Janie squeezed the amber-colored syrup into the shaker, replaced the lid, and shook the mixture with vigor.
“You should make these when we go to my reunion in Iowa next week,” I said, screwing the cap back on the tequila.
Janie abruptly stopped shaking and stared at me with wide eyes, her mouth open slightly. She held very still. Sandra and I shared a concerned glance.
“Janie…? Are you ok?”
“I completely forgot. I completely forgot about your reunion.” Janie slowly lowered the shaker to the counter. She appeared to be both distraught and preoccupied.
I couldn’t help my frown. My heart sank. “Did you make other plans?”
“I’ll…I’ll find a way to—I’ll think of something.” She was staring over my shoulder in a way that told me she was trying to concentrate on a problem.
Sandra glanced between Janie and me. “What plans did you make? Maybe I can help?”
Janie sighed. “We’re—Quinn and I—we’re planning to go to Boston to see his parents. I was going to meet his parents, but….” Janie’s hazel gaze met mine. “I completely forgot about the reunion. We planned the trip so long ago.”
“I’m confused. Isn’t Quinn estranged from his parents? Didn’t they, like, disown him? Don’t they blame him for his brother’s death or some such nonsense?” Sandra picked up the discarded shaker and finished the task Janie had abandoned.
Janie nodded. “Yes, they did. I’m not sure if they still do. I called his mom a few weeks ago, and introduced myself. I told her I was marrying her son, and explained that I planned to give her a few grandchildren at some point.”
Sandra’s hands ceased mid-shake. “You did what?”
“Well, I know this separation from his family, from his mom and dad, contributes to his broodiness to a certain extent. I thought I could offer them grandchildren in exchange for forgiveness.”
I was not surprised. Janie was nothing if not practical. The plan made complete sense to me.
Sandra blinked at Janie, as though if she blinked hard enough, Janie might disappear or grow a tail. I took the shaker from Sandra’s hands and finished the job of mixing the cocktail.
“I—I can’t believe you did that. You’re using children….”
Janie shook her head, “No. I’m not using children. We’re going to have kids anyway, and I thought why not use the idea of these future kids to persuade his parents to make the right decision now?”
Sandra made a choking sound then leaned on the kitchen counter. “You’re not going to—you’re not going to use the kids, are you? Meaning later—once they’re born—you’re not going to manipulate his parents into…”
“No. Absolutely not.” Janie appeared to be genuinely horrified by the thought. “I would never do that. I just—I just want his mom and dad to give him a chance. I just want them to make an effort. He’s so…he’s so….”
“Grumpy?” I supplied, as I poured the margarita into Sandra’s glass.
Janie tried to suppress her smile with a scowl. “No. Not grumpy. He’s sensitive. He doesn’t show it to many people.”
I snorted. “You mean he only shows it to you.”
She ignored me. “But he is. And he misses his family. And they’re his family. And I want to meet them. I’ve never had a mother, not really, and his mom sounds great, except for the whole—you know—disowning her son thing. And why shouldn’t my children have grandparents?”
I lifted Sandra’s glass and took a sip. “They should. I completely support you in this decision.”
Janie gave me a single nod of appreciation; “Thank you, Elizabeth. Your support means a lot.”
Sandra was still frowning as she took her glass away from me before I could take another drink. “Well then, what about the reunion? I imagine it took a lot for you to get these people to agree to the visit, right?”
Janie looked from Sandra to me. She didn’t respond.
The sinking feeling from earlier in the evening had morphed into full-fledged and sudden depression.
I couldn’t ask Janie to reschedule her trip to Boston.
I knew how important it was to her to have a family.
Her family was worse than having no family at all.
Her sisters were criminals, and her father—although he meant well—was clueless and, honestly, similar in personality to dry paint.
Her mother, when she was alive, was a terrible woman who’d abandoned her family whenever it suited her.
At least I had my dad and wonderful memories of my mother.
Janie deserved this. She deserved to have her husband’s family know her and love her.
I stared at the counter and traced a design in the granite. “You should go to Boston.” I finally said, meeting her gaze. “Really. Go to Boston.”
She shook her head. “I can reschedule. You can’t reschedule your reunion.”
“I’ll go.” Sandra’s declaration was a bit of a slurred shout.
Janie blinked at her. “To Boston?”
“No, Wonder Woman. I’ll go to Elizabeth’s high school reunion. I’ll go with Elizabeth, and you’ll be off to Boston with your McHotpants to make babies for those awful people.”
Janie looked at me. I looked at Janie. I looked at Sandra. Sandra looked at me. Janie looked at Sandra. Sandra looked at Janie.
Sandra lifted her glass again, winked at me, and toasted us both. “To friendscorts. They’re like escorts, but without the cash.”