Chapter 6 Don’t Get Old. It’s A Bitch
CHAPTER 6: DON’T GET OLD. IT’S A BITCH
LACEY - PRESENT
“ I made a pot of coffee,” Poppy shouts from our kitchen as I hop around my room stuffing my leg into one half of my scrub bottoms. “Want me to pour you a cup?”
“You know I can’t stand the stuff, it’s too bitter,” I yell back.
Or rather drinking it makes me feel bitter.
I grab my name badge off my dresser and clip it to my top. I pull my hair into a high ponytail as I walk out of my bedroom. “Have you seen my sneakers?”
“How you find anything in your room is a miracle,” Poppy laughs, turning to look at me. “They’re by the door.”
“Organized chaos, remember?” I fill a tea kettle with water and place it on the stove. I walk over, grab my mint and lilac Hokas, and lace them up.
“So, are we going to talk about the boat?” She sits down at the table and checks her watch. “You don’t have to leave for thirty minutes.”
“Remind me why you’re awake again?”
“My mom and I have our spa day today.” She smiles over the rim of her coffee mug.
“That’s right. A spa day sounds so nice.” I finish putting on my shoes and walk into the kitchen to begin packing my lunch. “How was Logan’s yesterday?”
“So good. He surprised me with a date to the botanical gardens and then dinner at this super good restaurant downtown.”
“That sounds like fun. It’s weird how little I see you now. What time did you get in last night?”
“It wasn’t too late. Maybe around eleven. I tried to come to talk to you, but it sounded like you were already asleep.”
“I think I fell asleep at eight. Which restaurant did y’all eat at?”
“A place called Del Bar, but oh my goodness stop distracting me. We need to talk about the boat and Jace.”
“The boat was fun, we should do it again,” I say, knowing it’s not what she wants to talk about, but I don’t have the energy to talk about him today. I don’t want to think about his infuriating smile or how his ab muscles formed a perfect v-shape that disappeared below the waistband of his swimsuit. That’s what I did yesterday while I nursed my hangover from said boat, but now it’s time to go to work.
“Lacey…” The tea kettle starts to scream and I grab a thermos from the cabinet. I continue to ignore her as I walk through my ritual of crafting the perfect London Fog.
“You know, eventually , we’re going to have to figure this out. I don’t want him around either, but by some weird twist of fate I fell in love with Logan and Jace is one of his best friends. I’m afraid we’re going to have to learn to tolerate one another.”
“I mean, do we? Maybe we could ignore that he exists. I’m sure he’ll be gone for work again soon anyway.”
“I don’t know. The guys made it seem like he’s home for at least the summer. I mean Logan’s mad, but Tanner still doesn’t know what happened and he’s starting to ask questions.”
“I told Tanner Saturday he can ask Jace what he did. I’m not going to ask them to stop being friends with him, but just because they are doesn’t mean I have to be. If they want to be friends with someone like him, that’s on them.”
“I get that, but I think he’s going to keep showing up. You know I love you and I’ll never forgive him for treating you the way he did, but I think we really need to figure this out. There are going to be times where you, him, and I will all be present.”
“Okay, but can we figure it out when we have more time? I need to get gas on the way to work.”
She offers me an understanding smile, stands and walks over to the fridge whiteboard and writes: “TALK ABOUT JACE!” in big letters.
Noted.
“Ms. Clara, it’s Lacey. You ready for occupational therapy?” I knock on the door of room 307.
“Come in, dear,” she hollers from the other side of the door.
I walk into the small apartment. Framed pictures of Ms. Clara’s grandchildren cover the walls above a worn plaid covered couch. I spy her sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing a hot pink mumu covered in different colored hearts. The covers are bunched up and the fitted sheet is barely hanging on to the mattress. Her short, white curls are flattened on one side. She’s taking her medications from a tiny white cup while one of the nurses stands over her watching. She turns her head and smiles.
“Oh good, you’re here. Please tell Marie I don’t need to take all of these damn pills.”
I slap on the biggest customer service smile I can muster. “Now, Ms. Clara, you know those help you to feel good.”
“Girls, don’t get old,” she deadpans. “It’s a bitch.”
Marie takes the white cup and gives me a look that tells me my favorite resident is definitely in one of her moods this morning before moving past me and onto the next patient.
I walk over, grab her walker, and place it in front of her. Then I search the space for her shoes. “Did you have a good weekend?” I ask.
“It was the same as it always is,” she laughs. “Ethel and I played bridge. She cheated and I lost.”
I help her put on her shoes and assist her when she stands. We both walk toward the bathroom. “I thought Wren told me y’all were having some type of luau party? Did you go?”
She scoffs. “Honey, it was a party full of old people. I have better things to do than be reminded about how old I am. You tell Wren we ladies have been talking and we think some young eye candy would help liven the place up a bit. I’m sure she could organize a show or something.” She winks at me and then moves her walker into the tiny bathroom.
I swallow down a laugh.
With my help, Ms. Clara moves through her morning routine. Once we’re finished, I assist her in moving to her favorite chair.
“Would you mind handing me my book before you leave?” She points across the room to a well-loved paperback sitting on her bedside table. A Fabio-looking man in an unbuttoned shirt and a kilt is on the cover. His shoulder length hair is blowing in the wind. Go, Ms. Clara. I hand it to her without a word.
“Thank you, dear. Us old ladies gotta get some somehow.”
I turn and head toward the door trying to keep my face neutral. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The Tortured Therapists Department
Lacey: 307 has requested a Magic Mike strip tease at the next party!
Wren: Noted.
Gray: