Chapter 4
Chapter Four
I don’t make it to work on time. In fact, I’m almost an hour late when I pull into the parking lot. My boss already knew I was running behind because I texted her right before I left the clinic, but that meant that in my absence, the she-witch had to fill in for me. And when I walk into the office, there she is, sitting right at my desk.
“Dahlia, you finally made it,” she says, her voice carrying a razor-sharp edge to it. She gives me the barest hint of a smile, and makes no attempt to hide her eye roll as she focuses her attention back on the computer screen in front of her. It’s a power move for her. She only wants to give me attention for as short a time as possible to let me know that she’s the one in control here.
Alexis Weller is a licensed massage therapist who’s been working at our office for the past six months. I don’t know how she ever got hired here because she’s been a bitch to me since day one. She’s very passive-aggressive, and loves to say things like, “I’m not sure if this is something you can handle, but I’d like for you to do this.” And then she’ll give me whatever task she wants done. Anytime she interacts with me, she talks down to me like I’m beneath her. She doesn’t talk this way to my boss which, I’m assuming, is the only reason she ever got past the door. I brought up my concerns with Alexis to my boss once, but she’s never been caught in the act, so it never went anywhere. If it weren’t for her bad attitude, with her delicate features and stick-straight, caramel-colored hair, I might actually think she was pretty. But as it is, she’s the most hideous thing to ever walk this planet.
“Thanks for filling in for me. My appointment ran later than expected,” I say, trying to be the bigger person. I will not stoop to her level—at least not to her face.
“Clearly.” She swivels in her chair and stands, towering a good six inches above me. “Now I can actually get some work done.” She retreats to her cave, a little room at the end of the hall.
I don’t know what work she’s talking about. Her first appointment isn’t for another hour. Then again, I don’t know what she does back there when she doesn’t have appointments. Maybe she’s working on a spell to get rid of me.
I sit down in my chair, the seat barely warm, leading me to believe that there’s definitely ice in those veins of hers. Or maybe she hasn’t been sitting up here as long as she lets on. After an hour of answering the phone, booking appointments, and greeting guests, my boss finally has a moment to see me.
“Dahlia, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to speak to you earlier, but it’s been a busy morning. How was your appointment? Everything go okay?” Dr. Waters looks at me genuinely, waiting for my response.
Dr. Kim Waters was a lifeline for me about eighteen months ago when I needed a better-paying job. The entry-level marketing job I got straight out of college was going nowhere fast, and I had to get out. I tried applying for other marketing jobs, but it seemed like Seattle was inundated with a lot of well-qualified candidates who had far better resumes than I did. Out of all the interviews I had (I stopped keeping track after twenty), I didn’t get a single callback, let alone a job offer. So I started looking for other ways to make money, which included being a rideshare driver, a food delivery driver, and I even thought about donating plasma. But all of those couldn’t offer me a steady paycheck, making them unviable long-term. That’s when I decided to forget about marketing jobs for the time being and focus on something that would pay well enough to make ends meet with a little extra for fun. That’s how I ended up here. Kim (she prefers me to call her by her first name) and I got along so well, I couldn’t wait to get started. This may not be the best job for marketing experience, but I’m enjoying my time here.
“Everything went well. Thanks for asking. Did things go okay here? I’m sorry for being so late.”
Kim waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. Alexis was able to manage the phones for the short time you were away.”
“Good. I’m glad she was here to fill in,” I say, being the bigger person yet again.
Kim drums her fingers on my desk, a move I now associate with her asking me to do something for her. Usually, she does this when it’s something that’s outside of my normal job description. She always pays me overtime when something like this comes up, so I never mind when she asks. “Dahlia, do you have plans tomorrow night?”
I pretend to think about it to give the impression that my social life is riveting. If watching British dramas with Fern, and sometimes Brett, until late at night counts as plans, then my answer would always be yes. “No, I can’t think of anything.”
“Good. I need you to fill in for me tomorrow. We’re having dinner to celebrate my mother-in-law’s birthday, but there’s also a seminar on the benefits of chiropractic care during pregnancy that sounds like it’s going to be a good one. Obviously, I can’t be in two places at once, so could you go to the seminar for me and take notes? You’d be paid overtime, of course.”
I smile as the dollar signs pile up in my mind. “I’d love to go. Send me the details, and I’ll make sure I’m there.”
Kim’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Thanks so much for this. I really appreciate it.”
That evening, when I get home and open the door, a strong, garlicky scent hits me right in the nose. It’s strong . I’m talking knock-you-on-your-ass strong. But I’m not repulsed by it at all. In fact, it smells delicious, amazing even, and my stomach grumbles in response. I didn’t realize it had been so long since I last ate. Normally I’d have at least one, maybe two snacks in me by now, but I stayed a little over to make up for the time I missed this morning.
“What are you making?” I yell to Fern, who is standing in the kitchen at the stove. She’s been home from work for a while since she’s already changed into her comfy clothes, which tonight is a pair of black leggings and a sweatshirt. I shrug off my coat and hang it on the coatrack by the door, then set my purse down on the sofa table.
“You’re probably smelling the garlic bread I have in the oven,” Fern replies once I meet her in the kitchen. She reaches back and tightens the ponytail that’s holding her wavy red hair in place, although a few tendrils fall loose, so she tucks them behind her ears. “I thought I’d try out an old recipe of Mom’s that she had in the cookbook she gave us.”
The cookbook she’s talking about is a cookbook our mother made for Fern’s old roommate Julie when she was getting ready to move back to Texas. It was the going-away present no one saw coming. Our mother took all of her recipes and compiled them into a cookbook, then gave each of us a copy, keeping one copy back for herself. Even though it was a very sweet gesture for Julie, that cookbook carries more meaning for Fern and me, and not just because it’s our mom’s recipes. Our dad had been on our mother for years to put all of her recipes into a cookbook for us. He always said that it’s a piece of our mother we can carry with us forever in the event that one of us ever moves far away from home.
“You know you don’t have to make something fancy to impress me. I’m just your sister,” I say with a grin.
Fern rolls her eyes. “I thought that if we both like it, I’d make it for Brett sometime. But I’m not so sure about this one. As I was making it, I thought I was reading the recipe wrong because there’s no way that a single loaf of garlic bread requires ten cloves of garlic.”
“Ten cloves?” I say, my eyes bulging. “Do you want to kiss him that night or scare him off?” A timer pings in the distance, and Fern silences it right away.
“I know! I told Mom it had to be too much. I called her tonight to make sure that what I was reading was correct. But she said to trust her.” Fern pulls the loaf in question out of the oven and sets it on the counter where a couple of hot pads were set out. “I’m going to be sad if a perfectly good loaf of bread goes to waste tonight.”
“Well, it smells good and looks good, so if Mom says to trust her, then you should trust her.”
“Why don’t you go and get changed? By the time you come back I should have everything plated up.”
I do as she says and go back to my room to change into some lounge clothes of my own. Hair in a ponytail? Check. Baggy sweatpants? Check. And because I’m feeling like I need a little reminder of this morning before things got weird, I throw on Justin’s running shirt he let me borrow/keep. Fern probably won’t even notice that it’s not mine. She has enough clothes of her own that I doubt she ever looks in my closet.
“Whose shirt is that?” Fern says, placing a hand on her hip. The girl does not miss a beat. As soon as I crossed the threshold to the kitchen, she pounced on me. She narrows her eyes, a subtle move to let me know that she’s not going to drop the question no matter how many times I try to evade it. “Is it that guy’s?”
I throw out a fake laugh. “Why would you think that? How do you know it’s not mine? I have lots of T-shirts. This is just one of them.”
“Because it’s a running shirt, and you don’t run. And I saw you wearing it this morning with a pair of ill-fitting running shorts and high heels. I don’t want to judge, but it wasn’t your best look.” She throws me a sly wink.
Damn. She’s got me there. “Yes, it’s Justin’s. And I’m only wearing it so I don’t have to dirty something else.”
Fern looks away like she doesn’t believe my lie and proceeds to bring two plates over to the table. Our plates are filled with bow-tie pasta that has a meaty red sauce ladled all over the top. Just in case that wasn’t enough, Fern whips out a cheese grater and grates some fresh parmesan cheese on top of our pasta. So I don’t feel like a complete waste of space, I cut up some of the garlic bread and bring it over to the table on a plate.
“Is there a special reason you’re practicing making this dish, or is it just for a regular date night?” I ask.
“This is the dinner I want to make for when Brett and I finally set a date for our wedding, so I want you to be honest with me when you eat it, and don’t hold back with your complaints. I want to get better at cooking so we’re not one of those couples that gets takeout all the time.”
I start off my dinner by taking a couple bites of the pasta first. I have a feeling that after I eat the garlic bread, it’s going to be all I’ll taste, so I want to be able to give Fern my opinion on the dinner without the influence of that.
“What do you think of the sauce?” Fern asks, leaning forward to hear my response.
“I think it’s great.” It’s the truth. It really is a great sauce, and the pasta is perfectly cooked. If I were served this in a restaurant, I’d be happy with it.
“That’s it? No comments other than ‘great’?”
“If I had one complaint, it would be that there’s an herb in there that’s a little overpowering for me. But it might not be a problem for someone else.”
Fern nods, her gaze drifting off as she mulls over my comment. “Hmm…that’s probably the oregano in there. I thought it was a little strong too.” She picks up a piece of the garlic bread. “Should we try this together?”
I pick up a piece of my own, and we touch the pieces together like one would clink two glasses together. “On three…one…two…three.”
We both take a bite at the same time, and…I’m shocked. I expected this garlic bread to be overpowering with garlic, but it’s really not. It’s mellow, and the garlic is almost sweet. I think if there were any less than ten cloves in the recipe, it wouldn’t be as good.
“This is really, really good,” I say. “And I’m not lying about that either. It’s hands-down the best garlic bread I’ve ever had.”
Fern breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you think that because I feel the same way.” She takes another bite, then another, until her piece is gone. “Why didn’t Mom ever make this for us?” she asks around her bite.
I shrug. “How long did it take you to make this?”
“About an hour, not including cook time.”
“That’s probably why. When we were growing up, she didn’t have an hour to spend making garlic bread for our meal. She’d spend that long on the main dish, but never a side.”
“So, when are you going to tell me about last night?” Fern asks, getting right to the point. I bet she’s been waiting to say that all night since she didn’t even bother to find a decent segue into her question.
“What do you want to know? I met a guy at a bar, he was really nice, we slept together, I ended up staying at his house, and then he dropped me off this morning.” Fern looks at me but stays silent. She takes a bite of her pasta, chews it slowly just to emphasize that she’s the one controlling the conversation, then speaks.
“Is this the first guy you’ve been with since the French guy?”
“Yes. Alain was the last guy I was with, and he left for France four years ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Why’d you wait so long to move on? Were you hoping he was going to come back?” Her tone isn’t accusatory. I think she’s genuinely curious to know my reasoning since I doubt we’ve ever really talked about it. Fern and I have never been the type to share all of our secrets with each other. We’ve never been that close.
“Because he told me he’d come back for me, and I thought that what we had was true love.” I look away because the truth hurts, burns even. I waited way too long to move on from Alain. But I was young, na?ve, and thought I’d found The One.
Fern drops her fork and gets up from her chair. She motions for me to do the same. Once standing, she wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. The tears I didn’t know I’d cried soak into her shirt, and when we separate, I brush the remaining tears from my cheeks. I’m touched she hugged me. Fern and I may not have always gotten along, and still have our differences sometimes, but I know deep down, she’ll always have my back.
We both take our seats again, and Fern starts in with another question. “This new guy? Are you going to see him again?”
“I kind of already did see him again.”
Her brows knit together. “How do you mean?”
“I saw him at my doctor’s appointment this morning.”
“So what? Is he a patient there or something?”
“No, he’s a resident there.” I look down at my plate when I say this next part because I’m still embarrassed by the encounter. “And my appointment this morning was for a Pap test.”
Fern’s mouth gapes open, forming an almost perfect O. “So he’s going to be an ob-gyn?”
“I guess so. Although that part didn’t come up last night when we were together. So I was more than a little surprised to see him walk into the exam room as I’m sitting there in a hospital gown on the cold-ass exam table.”
“And you’re not at all weirded out by his chosen profession?”
“Not really. I already see a male gynecologist, so that’s not the part that bothered me. It’s just that when Dr. Tarlton asked me if I was okay having a resident in the room, Justin was the last person I’d expected to see.”
“So now he’s seen everything , right?” Fern is trying so hard to keep a straight face, but her lip keeps twitching.
“No. Thankfully, Justin was able to leave the room by faking some family emergency.”
“I bet that was a relief for you.”
“It was, but to be honest, if Justin didn’t leave, I wouldn’t have let the exam continue. I would’ve said that I wasn’t comfortable with him being in the room. But he beat me to it.”
“When do you think you’ll see him again? That’s assuming you want to see him again.”
“I do want to see him again. I feel like he and I had a connection that I’d like to explore more.”
Fern gets up from the table and takes my empty plate and hers to the sink. “You need to keep me posted. I want to know how things go with The Doctor,” she says, wagging her brows at the word doctor .
I get up from my seat and take over at the sink. Fern spent all that time making dinner, the least I can do is wash the dishes. “I’ll keep you posted with The Doctor if you promise to involve me more in your wedding plans. We live together now, and I feel like I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Deal.”
Later, when I’m alone in my room, I send Justin a quick text telling him that I’m free this weekend if he’d like to meet up. Throughout the evening, I check my phone again and again, irritated that none of the notifications coming through are from him. I hope he’s not freaked out by seeing me at the doctor’s office this morning, and there’s another reason for his silence. Hours go by. Down the hall, I hear Fern getting ready for bed, and it’s time I do the same. Right before turning out the light, I check my phone again.
Nothing.