Chapter 39 Florence
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
florence
It’s the last day of wedding celebrations. Freshly cut grass and smoked hickory fill the air from the barbecue. Most guests nurse a hangover or soothe their dancing feet in Lottie’s paddling pool while she splashes around.
The pulsing between my eyes is not hangover related and all to do with us telling my oldest brother we’re together. Jo and Pat are headed out of town for a few days, and though I really doubt Patrick will lose his shit, this gives him time to digest the information.
Dex and I sit in front of the fire pit while my siblings and friends are scattered around the yard. Ironically, I’m the jittery one, and the man next to me sips his glass of lemonade with an air of confidence.
“I wonder if my brothers still think I’m a virgin,” I think aloud.
A choking noise comes from my left, and Dex wipes at his chin.
“Actually, Graham knows we’re canoodling. Probably Booth too.”
“That’s not something I need to discuss with your brother.” Dex coughs into his fist. “How about you leave the talking to me?”
I chew my lip. “That might be for the best.”
As if summoned by my nervous chatter, Jo and Pat materialize.
“Hey.” Patrick smiles. “Can we join you?”
Sweat licks my spine, palms clammy as I gesture to the two empty seats across from us.
They oblige. The wide-eyed stare Jo throws me doesn’t go unnoticed.
Patrick releases a long sigh. “We’ve hardly spoken. Yesterday was a whirlwind. What’s new?”
Fuck. Now or never.
Dex leans forward, cutting right to the chase, elbows balanced on his knees. “I met someone.”
We all jump when Patrick hoots, slapping his thigh. “I knew it, you fucker.”
His elation doesn’t help my nerves.
Jo doesn’t utter a word.
All I can do is watch Dex, fingers twitching to touch him. It might not have been the main reason we kept our relationship a secret for so long, but Dex respects Patrick too much to keep this hidden any longer.
Dex rubs his hands nervously on his jeans. “It was unexpected and the best fucking surprise. It took me a while to get my head out of my ass, but she helped me overcome a lot of shit. Loving her was unavoidable, easy, and the best decision I’ve ever made.”
My lips tremble.
“Shit,” Patrick whispers. “Love, huh? Never thought I’d see the day. When are you going to introduce me?”
Everything between us is magnetic, including the way his touch finds mine, intertwining our fingers and resting our joined hands on his knee.
Patrick’s gaze drops, quickly followed by his face.
We all wait on bated breath, not moving a muscle as he pieces it together.
Slowly, he turns to Jo. “Did you know?”
Johanna straightens. “The important thing is, they’re telling you.”
His attention shifts to us again, and I steel my spine when he asks, “When?”
Dex clears his throat. “New Year’s Eve. Way before she started working for me.”
“Six months. And you never told me?” There’s no missing the accusation in his tone.
“Okay, that might not be accurate. Our relationship is new, but something happened on New Year’s Eve,” Dex replies calmly. “We never intended to keep it a secret for this long, and like I said, I had some shit to work out first. I wanted to be sure I was the man Florence deserved.”
A muscle in Patrick’s jaw ticks, and Jo lays a hand on his arm. She sends me a reassuring smile. This isn’t going as planned.
“She’s my sister, and you never came to me.”
I huff, unable to hold it in. “Did you ask my permission before getting with Johanna? No.”
Patrick’s brows jump. “Respectfully, Flo, this is between me and Dex.”
Fury laces my veins. “Respectfully, Pat, I’m a grown woman.”
Jo and Dex sit stunned, thrown by the turn of events.
“He’s my best friend,” Patrick grits, but not in anger. He values trust, and to him, we’ve betrayed it.
“And that won’t stop because we’re together.
You accept this”—I whip a finger between us—“or nothing. Those are your options. Dex might seek your approval, because he’s a good friend and he loves you, but I’m not.
I’ve spent far too long doing that. For once in your life, trust I know what I’m doing. ”
He leans forward, and I hold my breath, ready for him to reel off an endless list of reasons Dex shouldn’t be with me.
“I just want what’s best for you.” Patrick’s gaze flicks between the two of us. “For both of you.”
“He’s what’s best for me,” I add, right as Dex says, “Florence is the best thing for me.”
Patrick blows out a breath, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “This is…weird. Am I totally oblivious? Does everyone know?” He laughs in disbelief, still slightly perplexed.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Lottie worked it out before you.” Jo laughs, face turning serious when Patrick groans into his hands.
“No sex talk. No PDA. No…” He aims a warning finger at Dex. “No breaking her heart.” Then, he turns to me. “Same goes for you. Is there something else I’m supposed to say? Make an honest woman out of her or some shit?”
Johanna snorts. Dex shrivels in his chair.
I grin, taking pleasure in his discomfort. “Too late for that, big bro—”
Dex slaps a hand over my mouth as Patrick pales and shoots up from his seat. “Things I didn’t need to know.” Behind his flustered state, acceptance shines through. “I’m gonna go lie down.” He darts across the lawn, pausing in front of Lottie. “No dating until you're forty.”
“Lord help him when he has two daughters.” Jo rolls her eyes and smooths a hand over her belly. “For what it’s worth, you look good together.”
“He’s okay.” I toy with the hem of my dress. “Early days, so we’ll see how it goes.”
“Watch it,” Dex growls.
When Jo leaves, he crooks a finger at me. “Come here, Trouble.”
Depositing myself on his knee, I sit sideways on his lap, pecking a kiss to his lips—because I can. “That went…okay?”
“Better than expected. My jaw isn’t dislocated.” He chuckles, tracing circles on my thigh absentmindedly.
We sit like that for a while, watching the party unwind and the sun set. There are a few stares from people who know us—not judgmental, just curious. My other two brothers seem a lot cooler about it than Patrick. Low and behold, my mom waves at us, omniscient as the sky is blue.
“How are you feeling about your appointment next week?” Dex mumbles into my shoulder.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. Nervous. Anxious. Eager.”
Once my insurance transferred to Dex’s employee plan, I arranged an appointment. I’d put it off long enough.
“If you don’t vibe with this doctor, we find a new one. Don’t settle. Ask questions. Write it all down. Don’t feel pressured to decide on the spot.”
We. He uses that word so freely. We’ve evolved from skirting around our attraction to becoming a team.
“I won’t.”
He frowns. “I can take the day off—”
Pressing my fingers to his lips, I silence him. “Mom’s driving me. It’s the last day of construction on the camp. You’re not bailing.”
A reluctant grunt tickles my palm.
“Do you know what I love about the summer?”
He shakes his head.
“The warm embrace of the sun. Endless sunshine from dusk to dawn. The infinitely long days.” I follow the flight of an eagle as it glides through the blush sky. “I’ll be sad for it to end. It’s where this all began.”
Dex tightens his hold. I could float away into the atmosphere with the happiness infused in my bones.
“This started well before the summer. The beginning was a starry night, when a beautiful woman challenged me to spell crude words and barricaded herself in my bedroom. It didn’t matter that the sun was set, because that was the first of many.
” With the tip of his finger, he tilts my face. “The first of our long days.”
Whoever said there’s beauty in chaos is full of shit.
The incessant click-clacking of the receptionist’s nails on the keyboard has me on edge.
I haven’t bitten my nails in years, but the longer I sit in the psychiatrist’s waiting room, the urge to break my eleven-year stretch increases.
My mom dropped me off, hounding me with questions and asking no less than four times if I wanted her to come into the appointment with me.
I reassured her I’d be fine. The medical center is in Jacob’s Bluff, and she’s off to the stores until I’m finished. It’s days like today I wish I’d gotten my license years ago.
“Florence Sadler?”
A wave of déjà vu hits me, reminding me when Dex took me to urgent care. I shake it off because today is a good day. Only positive things can come from this.
A middle-aged man with a very dramatic side-part stands at the end of the corridor.
“That’s me.” I shoot to my feet and scurry after him when he pivots on his heel, marching away.
My Vans slap against the tile floor. I catch up to him before he disappears through a door with Dr. Milton Abrams - Psychiatrist, MD engraved into the metal sign.
A little breathless, I tumble into the office and stand awkwardly in the entryway.
Prestigious awards and college degrees line one wall, but other than that, the room is sterile and bleak.
Without a glance in my direction, Doctor Abrams gestures to a plastic chair across from where he settles behind the large wooden desk. “Take a seat.”
I collapse into the chair, my tote bag filled with God-knows-what clattering to the floor as I stare at him expectantly.
He doesn’t look up as he scans what I presume to be my patient file. “I’m Doctor Abrams, one of the lead psychiatrists here at Crescent Medical Center. So, you went for your assessment…” His voice is monotone.
“Um, two years ago.”
He peers at me over the edge of the paper, hiding his judgment poorly. Heat crawls up my neck.
“Right. Yes. Here it is.” He purses his lips.
“Your assessment showed a persistent pattern of inattention and hyperactivity-impulsivity tendencies that have likely been present from the age of twelve. Paired with your anxiety, there was sufficient evidence to diagnose you with Attention-Deficit slash Hyperactivity Disorder.”
He just recited a lot of big words—facts I already know—as if reading the back of a cereal box. “That sounds right.”
An indignant sigh blows past his lips. “And what brings you in today? Two years is a long time to arrange treatment.”
I blink. “I went traveling. Sorry.” Why am I apologizing? “I was hoping to discuss medication options and maybe therapy. I recently transferred to my employer’s insurance company—”
“Transferred?” he interrupts and studies the paperwork. “It says here you’re on your mother’s insurance. Is that not the case?”
My stomach drops. Shit. I forgot to switch over insurance providers. Bending down, I fumble through the contents of my bag. “Oh, I have the new insurance card with me. Somewhere. One second.”
I’m a rambling mess, cheeks aflame, stomach in knots. How did this happen?
“Miss Sandler,” Doctor Abrams says. I’m too mortified to correct him. “You’ll have to rearrange another appointment.”
My head shoots up. “What? But I’m here today.”
“With the wrong information,” he chastises. “Anything we discuss today could be a total waste of time if your new provider doesn’t cover the treatment. It’s in your best interest.”
No. It’s in yours. The spinner ring on my finger works overtime.
He taps the blue folder. “Speak to my receptionist on your way out. Please note, I’m on vacation for three weeks, and my next availability for an appointment is likely to be early September.”
He glances at his watch in dismissal, making me feel one foot tall.
Embarrassed and dejected, I leave his office on wooden legs.
I blink back my tears, my lip bruised from my teeth. With my chin tucked to my chest, the waiting room blurs as I bypass the reception desk and escape to the parking lot. A horn blares, the siren from an ambulance screams, and the roaring in my ears is so loud.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
The sticky heat causes my hair to stick to my sweaty neck. After losing track of time this morning, my creased Bon Iver T-shirt sits half tucked into my leopard print midi-skirt, which I now see has a mysterious stain on it.
Two years, I waited, and because of my Swiss cheese brain, I now have to wait another two months for answers. How could I be so stupid? The idea of finding a therapist and sourcing medication was daunting enough already.
With a text to my mom telling her I’m ready, I wait for her on a bench. Pulling out my compact mirror, I find tired, green eyes staring back at me.
Whatever I saw in my reflection this summer was an illusion.
I’m still me.
Messy.
Inside and out.