35. Indie #2
I remember heading to find my chief because I knew I needed to go home, even though some awful, conditioned part of me was already bracing for annoyance. For someone asking who would cover my patients before asking if I was okay.
The next thing I knew, the world tilted, and I was waking up on the ground with a pain in my brow and Mimi’s concerned face hovering over me, snapping at me to keep my ass down when I stubbornly tried to get back up.
When they were stitching me up, she told me I had fainted and cracked my head on the edge of the front desk. In front of everyone. Embarrassing, but the pain and fever had kept me from caring fully.
Then, Teddy.
A month after I started, Mimi had been harassing me for my emergency contact, telling me that I needed someone for them to call if something happened.
It’s silly how something like an emergency contact can really put into perspective just how alone you are. I used to make up fake names or just use characters from my favorite movies and television shows when I didn’t have anyone.
Ouiser Bourdreaux.
Cristina Yang.
Ellen Ripley.
Those were some of my favorites. Women who were strong enough to survive on their own.
But here, in New Jersey, I have my Teddy.
Teddy, who gently tilts my head back now, shielding my eyes with one hand while he pours water over my greasy hair with the other. The carefulness of it makes tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
It feels incredible not to be sitting in my sweat anymore, but that’s not what’s making me cry.
It’s the fact that he took care of me, that he didn’t think twice to come and get me when I needed him, that he remained and took care of the gross stuff as I was sick.
And is still looking at me with adoring green eyes.
His brow furrows when he sees me crying.
“Is the water too hot? Are you alright—”
“Thank you,” I sniffle, tears falling steadily.
“For what?”
“For taking care of me.” I say, shaking my head. “You didn’t have to.”
He shrugs. “I wanted to.”
“Why?” I ask. “You’re still... you’re still here. I feel like I’ve just been taking from you.”
He frowns at that, and I keep going because if I don’t get it out now, I never will.
“You’ve done so much for me, Teddy. You followed me to Europe, you made the vacation one I couldn’t have dreamed of, you drew me those beautiful sketches, you’re staying when I haven’t… when we haven’t… you’re just still here for me.”
“Indie—”
“What are you getting out of it, Teddy?”
He’s quiet for a bit, still focusing on gently rinsing my hair as he seems to really think about his answer. Then he just looks at me.
“I don’t love you because you do things for me,” he says.
“I mean, I do love those things. I love when you cook me dinner. I love when you make me watch obscure movies from the eighties you swear are cult classics. I love when you text me random facts in the middle of the day about rodents of unusual sizes.”
I laugh wetly at that, and he reaches up with his hand, brushing away a few tears.
“I love when you scratch my head after a long day,” he continues.
“I love that you encourage me with art. You never treated it like a pipe dream, even when I did. I love that you’ll read about an artist I mentioned once just so you can talk to me about them.
I love how strong you are. I love how kind you are. I love when you boss me around.”
My mouth trembles and Teddy cradles my face in his hands.
“But I love you, Indie. You. Not what you do for me. Not what I get out of being in a relationship with you. I love you. I didn’t show it well enough before, and I’ll always regret that, but I’m showing you now. I love you… so… let me,” he grins, winking at me.
My smile comes easily now. I reach out, my hand steadier than it was before, and lay it against his bearded cheek.
“I love you too, Teddy bear,” Teddy looks at me surprised, by the words or tone of my voice, I don’t know.
But I just brush the apple of his cheek with my thumb and speak the truest words I know.
“I love you more than I ever thought was possible. You make me believe in fairy tales and happy endings.”
“Ditto, honey,” Teddy turns his head and kisses my palm, before gently easing me back into the tub.
I lean back, my eyes falling closed when Teddy starts gently massaging shampoo into my scalp—the shampoo I always use, and I don’t even think I’m surprised anymore that he somehow has it.
After the bath, Teddy wraps me in big, fluffy towels and sets me back on the counter. He cleans around my stitches, then dabs Vaseline over them.
“Where are we?” I ask quietly. “Are we at your place?”
Teddy nods, but he doesn’t look at me right away. He caps the Vaseline, washes his hands, then pulls a clean shirt over my head. It’s huge and soft and smells like him, so I immediately bury my face in the collar.
When I ask for mouthwash to get the nasty taste out of my mouth, he instead grins and produces a brand new toothbrush for me. I narrow my eyes at him as he places some toothpaste on it.
“What else you got in that drawer, Mary Poppins?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
He has my regular soap, my shampoo, my favorite brand of toothpaste, and a pretty blue toothbrush.
Teddy just wiggles his eyebrows, and instead of handing me the toothbrush, he gestures for me to open my mouth.
“Can I?”
I raise my uninjured eyebrow, “You want to brush my teeth?”
He nods. “You’re still a little shaky.”
“I’m better now—see,” I say, raising my right hand and we both watch dryly as it shakes. I snort, “See? Steady as a rock.”
“Yeah, good thing that’s your shooting hand,” Teddy jokes, making me laugh. “Open up, honey.”
Feeling ridiculous, but affection for him humming in my chest, I open my mouth and let him brush my teeth. He looks way too pleased with himself, like this is somehow the highlight of his week.
After I’ve rinsed my mouth, he takes a soft-bristle hair brush out of the drawers—making me snort in amusement.
Gently, he starts at the ends and carefully untangles every knot. He works with patient hands, not rushing through, seeming to savor every second.
My eyes sting with happy tears. I can’t remember my parents ever bathing and caring for me like this. I’m sure they had to, until they deemed I was old enough to do it myself.
The care in Teddy’s hands allows me to smash every last, remaining wall around my heart.
When it’s done, he places the brush down and looks at me for a long moment.
“Can I show you?”
I tilt my head. “Your place?”
He nods.
“Yes, please,” I say, my voice still hoarse. “I’ve been dying to solve this mystery.”
Teddy gives me a small smile and helps me up from the counter. Even though the offer of Teddy’s arms carrying me around is incredibly alluring—it always makes butterflies float around my tummy with how strong he is—I want to walk. I need to.
So he wraps one strong arm around my waist and holds my hand with the other as he guides me out of the bathroom.
The bedroom is bare, just an enormous bed on a dark wood frame, cream-colored walls with gorgeous crown molding that I get distracted by for a moment, and a couple of laundry baskets of clothes.
“Taking your time furnishing, I see,” I tease.
Teddy smiles, but there’s something nervous in it now.
Once we get to the hallway, I stop in my tracks.