2. Corrigan
CHAPTER TWO
CORRIGAN
“ C an you tell me your name, Sweetheart?” I ask, doing a quick assessment for any external injuries that need my attention other than the laceration above her right eye.
Her little voice responds to me. “My name is Mandy.”
“Hi Mandy.” I smile at her reassuringly. “My name is Corrigan but everyone calls me Corri because it’s easier to remember.” I lift her left arm remembering that her mom said she thinks she may have injured her right one. “Does this arm feel okay?”
She nods with glassy eyes. “Yeah, but my other arm hurts.”
“I know, Sweetheart. We’re going to take good care of you, okay?”
I can tell she’s trying not to cry. “Mhmm.”
“I’m just going to wrap this cuff around your good arm right here so I can take your blood pressure, okay? It’s going to give your arm a hug.”
“Mhmm.”
“And this is little thing is going to help me measure your pulse.” I hold up the fingertip pulse oximeter to show her. “It’s just going to go right over your finger, like this. Doesn’t hurt a bit,” I tell her as I press it open and close it over her finger. “Good girl. You okay so far?”
“Mhmm.”
Working as quickly as I can, I wrap the blood pressure cuff around her arm and push the button on the receiver for it to inflate. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I fell off the ladder at recess.”
“Oh no. That must’ve been very scary.”
“Mhmm.”
“Well, you are being so super brave right now.”
I take note of her normal blood pressure and pulse and then gather the supplies needed to treat her laceration. “We’re going to get this nasty cut cleaned up and make sure we don’t need stitches and then we’re going to get an x-ray on your arm so we can see what we’re dealing with.” I make sure to keep my focus on her even though I’m also keeping her parents aware of my plans. “How old are you Mandy?”
“I’m nine.”
“And what grade are you in?”
“Fourth.”
“Oooh fourth grade. I loved the fourth grade when I was your age,” I tell her. “We got to do so many fun things in fourth grade. What’s been your favorite thing so far this year?”
She thinks about it with a furrowed brow but then winces when her right eyebrow moves. “Um, we got to do a living wax museum.”
I gasp excitedly as I dab her laceration with a gauze pad. “Oh, that sounds like fun. Is that one of those things where you get to pretend to be someone famous or historical? Like you’re really them in a museum?”
“Uh huh.” She nods. “And I was Queen Elizabeth.”
I lift my brows. “Oh, then I should curtsey in front of you since you’re such a royal young lady.”
My curtsey makes Mandy smile for the first time since she was wheeled in here.
“Did you know I used to live in London?”
Her little eyes grow. “You did.”
“Yep. I lived there for two years. That’s where I was living right before I moved back here.” I don’t bother telling her that I only moved back because my boyfriend cheated on me with an Attending at the hospital where I worked and my job and enthusiasm for what I do started to fade. I’ve always loved being a nurse though and knew if I stayed in London any longer, I’d end up a nasty old hag feeding the birds in the park instead of living my best life.
But back to my patient.
“And you probably know from your project that London is where the Queen lived.”
“Did you ever see her?”
I nod. “I did see her once, yes. She was outside her huge palace and had flowers in her hands and she was saying hello to all the people who were standing around wanting to get a glimpse of her.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Sadly, I couldn’t get close enough to her.”
In my very best attempt at a British accent, I tell her, “Well, your highness, the cut above your eye seems to have stopped bleeding for now so I think we can patch it up with no need for stitches.” I finish cleaning the small wound and place a band aid over it. “And if you’re ready, we’ll wheel you down the hall so we can get a good look at that arm.”
Mandy nods one more time. “Okay.”
I give her a friendly smile and then scrunch my nose and whisper, “Sorry my accent isn’t very good.”
With her parents following behind, I wheel Mandy to the radiology department for her x-ray and wish her and her family well before heading back to the emergency room. After working a nearly double shift it is well past time for me to go home.
I need sleep.
And food.
And then more sleep.
“Hey Corri, you heading home?”
My keys in hand, I turn to find my very best friend in the whole wide world, Layken Hobbs leaning on the counter of the nurse’s station. “Yeah what are you doing down here?” Layken is the Development Director for the hospital’s Foundation and her office is on the fourth floor. I rarely get to see her during workdays.
“I knew your shift was about done and wanted to be here to walk out with you.”
“You’re leaving now?”
“Yep. Should’ve left an hour ago but I had enough to do to keep busy so I waited for you.”
“You’re the best.” I smile, albeit sleepily. “I feel like I’m sleepwalking already. Thank God my last patient was a simple one.”
“We still on for tomorrow?”
“The book signing, right? Hell yes, I’m so there.” I point at her. “And next year, you’re going to be there as a signing author and I’m going to be your book bitch.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Doubtful.”
I shake my head, disagreeing with her. “Nope. It’s time to put that shit out into the universe, Layken. Positive affirmations. You’ve got this. I believe in you.”
Layken took the job as the Development Director about a year after I started with Pacific Children’s when I told her about the position. She’s great at it and has made the hospital a lot of money over the years thanks to her outgoing personality and willingness to roll up her sleeves and get to work. But her real passion lies with writing. She’s a hopeless romantic and started writing her first romance novel about seven months ago. One day we’re going to see that book in all the bookstores throughout California, I just know it.
“Well, I’m not quitting my day job just yet.”
“Good! I don’t see you often enough as it is. I need my bestie close by always!”
“Cause living in the same apartment building as you isn’t enough.” She snickers and links her arm with mine as we walk to the parking garage together. “I’m really glad you’re back.”
Does it feel good to be back home?
I suppose it doesn’t feel bad.
At least Layken and I never lost touch and were able to pick up our bond right where we left off.
And I’m far away from Leo Abbot and his tiny pin prick of a penis.
“Good to be back. G’night.”
Once I’m home I kick off my shoes and toss my keys onto the table right inside my door. I stop at the fridge and pull it open hoping to find a five-star meal waiting for me. Maybe an entire cooked turkey that I can tear the leg off of and dig into on my way to the shower. Or even a bowl of homemade ramen I can slurp while the water washes away the grossness of the E.R. Alas, my refrigerator is empty except for a half gallon of milk, a few slices of cheese, some butter, grape jelly, a jar of mayonnaise, and a few expired packages of half-eaten lunch meat.
I need to do some serious grocery shopping.
“Tomorrow,” I murmur, closing the door to the fridge. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
That’s what I always say.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I send a quick order to my favorite take-out place for Chinese dumplings and sweet and sour chicken and then hop in the shower to clean the last eighteen hours from my body. When my phone dings twenty minutes later, I expect it to be Door Dash letting me know my dinner is approaching, but instead, I get an unsolicited picture of a bowl of pasta and a message that reads,
Unknown
Told you I loved Italian. World’s best lasagna.
My stomach growls but my eyes grow when I spy the to-go container in the picture. I know exactly where this picture was taken and now I’m so jealous.
Me
OMG is that MARIO’s?
Those three little dots appear that tells me whoever I’m texting is writing back.
Unknown
Wait…you know Mario’s?
Me
Heck yes! It’s my favorite Italian place! My dad and I go there often. He’s a sucker for their fettuccine alfredo. Does that mean you actually live in Anaheim?
Unknown
Ah. I’m usually a chicken parm kind of guy but tonight the lasagna was calling to me. And yeah, I’m in Anaheim. Why?
I gasp when I read the last text. “It’s a guy.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised by that given I had no reason to think I was talking to a girl the other night. It actually surprises me that he thought to write me at all. I had already deleted the random text from my phone without another thought.
He must be lonely .
I chuckle to myself, though I shouldn’t be laughing at all. A man eating his favorite Italian food by himself isn’t that much different from what I’m about to do.
Plus, he never said he was alone.
Ew, I hope he’s not on a date because that would be hella weird.
Mr. Stranger
Oh, I just reread your text. So, you’re telling me you sent a text to me the other day instead of your dad and managed to find someone who also lives in Anaheim and not on the other side of the country? That’s impressive.
Me
I’m also a chicken parm kind of girl but when you want good food, fast, Chinese is the way to go. And…yeah…I guess I did. Though to be fair, there’s only a one-digit difference between your number and the correct number so maybe it shouldn’t surprise me that your number is also an Anaheim number.
My doorbell rings, alerting me to my dinner delivery. I thank the woman standing outside with my food in her hands and give her an extra tip for delivering it while it’s still hot. Once inside, I grab a fork, a spoon, and my chopsticks along with a few extra napkins and then set up my to-go containers on my coffee table. My chopsticks in hand, I open the container of dumplings and snap a quick picture.
I toss my phone on the floor beside me and flick on the television to the latest episode of Say Yes To The Dress . Why I have some sort of obsession with this show, I’ll never know. Maybe it’s that gut feeling that I’ll never be one of those brides, especially now that I’m basically starting all over again in the relationship department. Twenty-six and single in California doesn’t seem possible, but here I am eating Chinese take-out on my living room floor all by myself.
My phone dings next to me and I glance down at it as I stuff a dumpling into my mouth.
Mr. Stranger
Except I got my phone when I was living on the east coast. So, you’re a girl, huh?
Me
Last time I checked. And oh…so I guess I must just have magical powers then. Fancy that.
Swallowing my mouthful of dumpling I look down at my phone again, cringing at what I really want to say to this guy.
“You know what? Fuck it. I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me so…” My thumbs make quick work of my thoughts before I hit send.
Me
Also, I know this is none of my business but please tell me you’re not sitting at Mario’s on a date right now completely ignoring some nice na?ve girl while texting me your food porn.
Mr. Stranger
Food porn! That’s good. And I could be saying the same thing to you. What if some hopeful guy is sitting across the table from you assuming he’s getting laid tonight and you’re paying more attention to my food porn instead of setting yourself up for an epic night of…you know…adult porn.
Me
Who said I was an adult?
Mr. Stranger
Oh fuck! I mean shit! No. Hell! I’m sorry, kid. Please delete these texts and pretend I didn’t say a word. Won’t bother you again. My apologies. It was just an innocent text, I swear.
Me
LOL. Relax perv. You’re not messing with an underage brain. I promise, I’m an adult.
Mr. Stranger
That’s exactly what I would expect a kid to say. “I promise I’m an adult.” What are you going to do next, pinky swear?
Me
Hey, don’t knock the pinky swear. That’s like a blood promise to some.
Mr. Stranger
How can I be sure you’re an adult? You going to send me a pic?
Me
Yeah. Let me hop into ChatGPT and see what AI can come up with. You want blonde? Brunette? Big boobs and kissy lips or old woman in daisy dukes?
Mr. Stranger
LOL. Alright good point.
Me
For the record. I’m not on a date. I’m sitting on my living room floor watching T.V. and eating alone.
Me
Also, I don’t know why I’m telling you this other than to make it clear I’m not a shallow human who ignores people around her. Not that it matters what some total stranger thinks of me, but still.
Mr. Stranger
I get it. And just so you know, I’m also not on a date. Just moved to town not too long ago and don’t have a ton of time for making friends. Work keeps me pretty busy.
Me
Same. I just got off an 18 hr shift. I’d ask what you do but I feel like that’s too personal considering you’re a complete stranger.
Mr. Stranger
Alright then. Make up my job. What do I do?
Me
LOL You sure you want me to go there?
Mr. Stranger
Do your best.
Me
Well, I could go the dirty jobs route and make you out to be someone who has his hands in shit all day, but the thought of hanging out with someone who might not wash his hands properly is a little off-putting. So maybe I should go with something more fun like you’re a world-renowned food critic and professional ice cream tester.
Mr. Stranger
You know me so well. LOL. So, we’re hanging out now, are we?
Me
*shrugs* I mean…you’re still writing me, aren’t you?
Mr. Stranger
I guess you have a point.
Me
So, are you going to make up a job for me?
Mr. Stranger
No need. You’re a nurse.
“What the fuck?” I drop my phone like it’s just seared my hand and stare at it for several long seconds.
How does he know I’m a nurse?
Does he know who I am?
Is he stalking me?
No, he can’t be. I wrote to him first. Not the other way around.
Another text comes through, making me jump when it dings.
Mr. Stranger
If you’re panicking because I got it right, you can relax. You said you worked 18 hours and made a big deal about having clean hands. I used my context clues to make an educated guess.
I scroll back up through our messages to find that he’s right. I did say both of those things.
I roll my eyes. “Way to keep yourself private Corrigan.”
Me
Alright, you got me. I am in the medical profession. But for all you know, I might be a brain surgeon.
Mr. Stranger
You’re right. My apologies. I shouldn’t have assumed. So, does this mean we’re kind of friends now? Since you know what I do and I know what you do?
Me
LOL. Sure. I guess so. Secret friends who have never met.
Mr. Stranger
Like virtual pen pals.
Me
Or a virtual diary.
Mr. Stranger
Oh! Scandalous! Alright then diary, tell me something about yourself.
Me
Like what?
Mr. Stranger
I don’t know. Something wild? Something nobody else knows? Something you need to get off your chest? Anything. I’m just over here stuffing my face with lasagna bored out of my mind.
Me
Alright. Dear Diary, I lived in London for two years and just got back to the States last month after my stupid pencil dick of a boyfriend cheated on me with someone who outranked me.
Mr. Stranger
Ouch. That must’ve hurt a lot.
Me
The pencil dick? Nah. It wasn’t very sharp and quite frankly was kind of the size of those mini pencils you get when golfing. Did it hurt mentally though? Yes and no. I could feel something was off so when I found out I wasn’t shocked. But when it feels like an entire hospital is looking at you weird because someone you were close to is now suddenly fucking your boss…I knew nothing good would happen for me if I stayed there.
Mr. Stranger
So, you work in a hospital. Maybe you really are a brain surgeon.
Me
Dear Diary, pretend I didn’t just tell a strange random man what I do for a living and where I work.
Mr. Stranger
Ha-ha! I promise not to come looking for you. *Googles how many hospitals there are in Anaheim…*
Me
I didn’t say anything about WORKING in Anaheim… But okay, okay. Your turn. Tell me something about you.
Mr. Stranger
Alright. Here goes. Dear Diary, I’m a physically fit, relatively attractive (if I do say so myself) man.
Me
Nothing bad about that.
Mr. Stranger
And I’m a virgin.