2. Sky
Why did I think signing up for a twelve-hour shift the day after a vacation was a good idea?
My feet ache, and I wince once I slip off my work shoes at the door. It was a brutal shift. The flu is hitting kids early this year, and we’re seeing an influx of babies needing breathing treatments and extra oxygen support. Breaks my heart to see them suffering.
“I started dinner,” Phoebe calls from our kitchen.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
Knowing Graham isn’t home yet, I hang up my purse and whip off my scrub top and bottoms, shuffling to the laundry room in my underwear to dump them into the washer.
The aroma floating in the air makes me lift my chin to sniff. “Chili or Stew?” I set out meat this morning, not knowing what I would fix or if anyone would be home to cook for. Phoebe eventually texted that she was off early and sent Graham out for wine.
She grins and holds up a packet of seasoning. “Chili. Extra spicy.”
“Oh geez. Thanks for the reminder to grab Pepto.”
She cackles as I head to the shared bathroom for a shower.
Phoebe’s eclectic style is evident on every wall in the apartment. Expressionist art—replicas, we’re on postgraduate budgets—provides color, the white, sterile plaster needed. Although we’re both so busy, it’s hard to enjoy anything other than the table to eat at, the running water for hot showers, and a cozy bed to flop in at the end of a long day.
Water drips from under the towel on my head and I swipe it away before rifling through my drawers to find comfy clothes to wear, as I haven’t even thought about emptying my suitcase.
Blindly, I tug out a sweatshirt and pause.
My fingers roam over the soft, black material as my throat bobs on a hard swallow. It’s stupid that I kept it. Because of everything that happened, you’d think I would’ve gotten rid of every reminder of August. After all, it was just a silly romance between two teens. But I could never bring myself to throw it away, so I shoved it as far back in my drawer as possible. Not far enough.
Compelled by a part of me hellbent on torture, I bring the material to my nose and draw in a deep breath. All remaining scents of August have disappeared over the years, but I don’t need them to remember him. The Irish Spring. His own personal scent of home. Of safety. Of trust.
“What am I doing?” I murmur as I rub the strings of the hoodie between my fingertips. I promised myself I would leave it—him—in the past. Every time there’s an apple or I hear a whistle or listen to a sappy love song, the image of August perforates my brain so vividly I’m tempted to use my skills as a nurse to cut it out. To dissect those memories into tiny pieces so I might forget how scarred my heart really is. How closed off I’ve become to dating anyone for longer than a few months. No one touches my soul the way August did, and I’m afraid if they get close, it won’t be enough.
That’s what I told myself before I met Johnny.
It’s only been two months, but there’s hope he won’t be discarded like all the others. He’s certainly wooing me beyond anything I ever imagined.
The front door opening and closing snaps me back to the present, and I quickly throw on a pair of leggings and a different sweatshirt. I comb through my wet hair and wrap it in a neat bun on the top of my head and figure I’m presentable enough for dinner with the roomies.
“It smells great, Phoebs,” I say as I enter the kitchen.
Graham chuckles and lays his suit jacket over the back of a chair in our small dining area and joins me at the short bar top overlooking Phoebe, stirring the food in a pot. He smiles at her softly, and a pang pricks in my chest. I’m happy she’s happy.
After high school, she got serious in college, meeting Graham our sophomore year. He went to an all-boys college, but the two universities used to pair up and do co-ed events. I can’t even recall the amount of stories Phoebe told me of her and Graham getting creative about seeing each other. As if leaving dorm doors open at forty-five-degree angles during visiting hours stops any college student from finding a way to have sex. Junior year that all changed once Phoebe and I got this apartment and Graham moved in, so now I get to hear their shenanigans through the paper-thin walls.
“Sure it was a good idea letting her be in charge of dinner?”
Amused at Graham’s audacity to insult his girlfriend’s cooking, I let out a low whistle as Phoebe whips around and pins him with a teasing glare in her dark eyes. “For that, I think I’ll add a little more chili powder to your bowl, mister.”
“Remember what happened the last time you made my food extra spicy?” He arches a thick, black brow and smirks as she plants a hand on her hip, clearly in thought. Her eyes flare, and I scrunch my forehead before remembering exactly what he’s talking about.
As her best friend and resident nurse on this floor, I get asked strange questions all the time like I’m their private physician.
No, Phoebe, your vagina won’t be permanently on fire. Imagine that chart at the ER. Flaming Crotchitis from Cunnilingus.
“I personally think you should return the favor.” I snort and sideswipe Graham’s hulking frame as he chuckles to help her dish out the food into bowls and take them to the table, letting out a sigh of relief once I settle my body into a chair.
Hungry, I dive in only to need a drink of milk to override the fire currently going on in my mouth.
Damn, Phoebs.
“How’s everything coming along?” I ask, fanning my mouth.
Both she and Graham are fresh-faced graduates on track to be lawyers, putting in hours that go beyond your normal nine-to-five between their jobs at a firm and law school. Their ambitions are similar, thus making them the perfect match. Graham, with his easy-going attitude, is the right amount of chill to Phoebe’s flair for dramatics.
She launches into the details she’s allowed to talk about, and after I’ve learned absolutely nothing about corporate law that would make sense, Graham rises and takes our empty bowls and spoons to the sink. Phoebe clears the table of crumbs and throws away our napkins as I pack away the leftovers for lunches.
Pouring a glass of wine, I take it to the living room where all three of us relax around the wooden coffee table, me in the plush chair and the lovebirds on the sofa, Phoebe’s bare legs in Graham’s lap.
My phone buzzes across the table, and I lean in to see the text.
“Who’s that? Let me guess. Dr. Hottie Hawk?” Phoebe grins behind her glass.
I snatch my phone and roll my eyes. “Maybe.”
It’s actually Lenore. However, she was asking about the man in question and how our trip went.
Phoebe kicks her feet in the air. “Girl, what’s he saying?”
Graham scoffs. “Dr. Hottie Hawk? I thought it was Dr. Snotty Johnny?”
She whacks him in the arm. “Shush. You misunderstood. Sky’s dating the most eligible bachelor at Mercy North. He might be a know-it-all, but he’s not stuck up.”
That’s debatable. Perhaps being as smart as he is, trying to treat cancer earns him a pass. And to be fair, it really could’ve been a hair in my fish tacos at the restaurant we ate at instead of just wilted lettuce.
“Isn’t there some rules about that?” Graham asks, running his hand up and down one of Phoebe’s bare legs.
“It’s casual, and we don’t even work in the same department.”
“Just casual? You went on vacation with him. That’s more like on the way to love,” Phoebe says.
It was my turn to scoff into my wineglass.
Love? I abandoned the notion a long time ago.
To some, it might look like that, but everything about Johnny screams spontaneity. With hardly any notice about that trip, I was lucky my schedule allowed the four-day excursion.
“Sky, don’t mess this one up.”
I freeze at her insinuation. Then I remember Phoebe doesn’t know the whole truth. She thinks I’m being picky when I’m really safeguarding my tender heart.
Graham pinches Phoebe in the calf. She squeals and shrugs. “What? You don’t know her like I do. She needs the push.”
Annoyed, I narrow my eyes. “Hello, I’m sitting right here.”
She bobs her head. “Damn straight you are. Instead of hanging out with that hot piece, you’re here with us. Like, what are you doing, sis? It’s been five years. Get on that horse already before he finds a different rider.”
Graham murmurs, “It’s none of our business, Bee.”
Bless him. At least he knows when to leave something alone.
I purse my lips and stare down into my empty glass. Not even the warmth from the wine melts the ice around my heart. It has been a long time. Long enough to know life moves on, and so should I. There’s a man willing to make time for me. Perhaps it’s a chance to make room for him.
“It’s a simple, sad story, Graham Cracker, so don’t go breaking that smart brain of yours trying to read deep into it.” I lift my fingers to count off. “Boy and girl meet. Fall in love. Boy leaves girl. The end.”
Rather concise, but I haven’t had enough wine to spill all my guts.
“Not the end,” Phoebe says, her black curls brushing her shoulder. “It’s the beginning for something else. Just see where this thing goes with Johnny. He may be a little crazy sometimes, but you’ve been able to handle me and my neuroses for years, so he should be no problem.”
“I don’t know. He made me swim with sharks.” I let a little smile quirk my lips.
Graham pauses, fingering a black loc on his head. “He what?”
Phoebe laughs. “Oh shit, I forgot to tell you that. Here’s the pic.” She pulls her phone out and brings up the ridiculous picture I sent her where Johnny and I are standing in wet suits, my face one of pure horror, looking down into the shark cage while he’s laughing. I’m not sure what kind of voodoo he used to get me in there, but I did it. Ten out of ten will never do it again.
My phone rings, and I tense, thinking this time it is Johnny. Why would I be nervous to talk to him in front of Phoebe and Graham?
Because you’d have to flirt with the realization you’re moving on. And it’s scary putting your heart out there again.
Dadflashes across the screen, and while I’m relieved, trepidation floods me. “Hey Dad,” I say and get up, waving at the two on the couch as I head to my room for privacy.
“Hey baby girl, did I catch you at work?”
“No, I’m home.”
“Good, good.”
He’s quiet, which is unnatural for him.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m all right. Just miss you, that’s all. How was your vacation?”
For the second time, I stiffen as I push open the door to my room. Of course, I told him I’d be on a trip, but I never said with whom. It’s not a conversation I wanted to have yet.
“It was good. Relaxing.” Total lie. I remained in a state of constant fear for my life, thinking whatever activity Johnny had planned was going to get me killed.
“That’s great. I’m happy to hear that.” There’s a long pause before he sighs. “When do you plan on coming home to visit? You promised you’d come eat dinner at least once a month when you moved in with Phoebe and that kid.”
I huff a laugh so I don’t cry at his sad tone. Kid. We’re all twenty-three, but I’m not going to argue with him about semantics when he’s admonishing me about not being back home in five years.
“I know, I’m sorry, Dad.” Can’t very well blurt out it’s not him I’m avoiding.
The promise of dinner also comes with the caveat of spending time with Trek and…I can’t. Time did nothing to heal that wound. It scabbed over, but seeing him would rip it off, exposing every raw nerve I have.
“Please come home soon, Sky. I, I—just wanna see my girl.”
That plea in his voice almost undoes me. I sigh, “I will. I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to it, all right?”
We both know it’s another lie.
I end the call and toss my phone to the cold side of my bed.
Foster is the last person I want to punish with my absence. He saved me. Literally saved me from dying in that fire, and here I am being ungrateful.
Five years is a long time to stay away from home. First, it was school—a legitimate excuse. He’d meet me somewhere close for dinners at Christmas or my birthday. I don’t know how I avoided Thanksgiving, but I pulled out all the reasons. Work, more work, double shifts, I need the holiday pay.
Phoebe sticks her head in my opened door. “Everything good?”
“Yep, it was Foster. He keeps begging me to come home.”
She slides in all the way and closes the door, placing her back against it. “Well, it has been a long time.”
“And the award for the most astute lawyer goes to?—”
She rolls her eyes and picks at her manicure. Red this time. Says it makes her feel powerful at the law firm. “Oh hush. You’re just irritated because you know I’m right. Speaking of home, have you talked to Trek recently?”
“You know that answer,” I say dryly.
“Don’t you think it’s time to quit avoiding him?”
“Why would I? It’s not like he can go back in time and change anything.” I huff and cross my arms like a petulant child.
Phoebe thinks the only reason I won’t talk to Trek is because he knew my mom was with August’s parents the night of the fire and didn’t tell me. It’s not the entire truth, but enough, and she never questioned it.
However, I refuse to tell her he reaches out weekly, but she probably already knows. He leaves me voicemails, random texts, and sends memes over social media that I try my fucking best not to laugh at. I never answer them, but he doesn’t stop. He even sends packages every once in a while. They’re all shoved in the back of my closet. Unopened.
She shrugs, eyes on my carpet, pulling at the hem of her cropped sweatshirt. “Just think maybe you should talk to him.”
“Do you talk to him?”
The way her hand whips to her hip is comical. “Don’t act all surprised. We were friends, too. And yes, what he did was shitty. I’m not defending him. But I worry. It’s like you’re writing off everyone who cares.”
“I’m not ready, Phoebs.” Not sure I’ll ever be ready.
“Okay, I get it, I really do. But when is anyone ever ready for anything? Crappy conversations are still going to be crappy, no matter when you have them.”
“Is that how you’ll talk to your clients on the stand?” I smirk, initiating the art of deflection I’ve gotten so good at.
“Shut up. You know I love you and always will.”
“I know.”
Refusing to say anymore, I wait for her impatience to kick in.
“Fine. I’ll stop bugging you about it.”
I arch a brow.
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll ignore your silly attitude about it all if you promise to come out to that new bar with me and Graham Friday night. Bring Johnny. I’m sure he’ll love it if he hasn’t already been there.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know. He’s thirty. Not sure he’ll want to hang out and drink with a bunch of people in their twenties.”
Exasperated with my excuses, she waggles her finger. “Come on. You won’t know unless you ask. Besides. You didn’t hesitate when he asked you to go to all those hospital events.”
I did; I just didn’t tell her. But the idea of being on Johnny’s arm at those functions was part thrilling and part vomit-inducing. The limelight has never been my thing, and Johnny thrives on it. Another reason to keep dating him. He’s everything I’m not. Balance, right?
Seeing no other choice, I huff and slouch on the bed. “Fine, I’ll go. And I’ll ask Dr. Hottie Hawk if he wants to join.”
“That’s my girl. And if you two want to dip out before Graham and me to christen his apartment, I’ll pay for the Uber.”
“Go away,” I say with a laugh.
She plops on the bed and shakes her head. “I don’t know how you haven’t fucked him every which way yet.” She stares wistfully as if she doesn’t have a fuckable man right down the hall.
“Cut it out. I told you it’s casual, but it still doesn’t mean I go jumping into bed with every guy I’ve gone on a date with. It’s only been two months.”
“And that’s like a zillion years if you ask any guy. It’s because you might actually see a future with him, right?”
I consider what she says. Do I see Johnny and me as endgame? He’s patient and respects my boundaries. On our trip, we slept in the same bed and if he had trouble keeping his hands to himself, he didn’t show it. It was nice to know that not all men think with their dicks. He might drag me to do things that put me out of my comfort zone, but isn’t that what partners are supposed to do? Challenge you?
Phoebe eventually leaves, and I’m left to deal with the dichotomy of my heart. The last five years have stolen who I thought I’d be and left a shell in its place.
Maybe it’s time to shed my former self for good and become someone brand new.