5. Animal #2
“I’m sorry, baby. You know my ears don’t work when I’m being licked,” Mom says, briefly glancing towards the waiting room window. “Would you mind taking my next patient? I need to have a conversation with Bill about this little fella.”
Bill pops his head out of his office. “Did you need me, sweetheart?”
“Always,” Mom replies and lets Bill kiss her directly on the mouth—right where the little fella just marked his territory with his tongue.
And per usual, she pops between multiple conversations as she follows Bill to his office.
“Don’t forget the next patient, Jordan. She’s waitin’ now.
” Mom dismisses me then begins, “Patient is three years old, presents with poor bladder control and suspected submissive urination.” She switches to baby talk.
“But we won’t hold that against you. No we won’t. ”
Mom calling for a new coat from her lab tech, thanks to an accidental pee, is the last thing I hear before she closes the door.
I peek down at the watch on my wrist for a quick time check before pushing through the swinging door that leads to the waiting room.
One hundred and five minutes to go. As soon as I enter the waiting room and am greeted by the one face I didn’t expect to see, I know I’m going to feel every single second of those hundred and five minutes.
“Hello, Re— Emory,” I correct myself. Even with the memory of her hand hitting my face, it takes every instinct in my body not to wrap Emory in a hug.
To fall on my knees and beg her to forgive me.
I realize now, even more so than after seeing her for the first time, two days ago, how very deeply I failed her.
How, caught up in my own grief and selfishness after James’ death, I abandoned the very person I should have stayed for.
She crosses her arms, shifting all her weight to one side. “What are you doing here?”
“I, um…” My hands pass through my hair again. A nervous tick I can’t quite reign in.
“He’s the doctor, sweetie,” Mrs. Remillard chimes in with a delighted smile on her face, waiting for her—or rather, Gus’—second appointment this week.
With a little nonverbal encouragement, she winks at me and tilts her head in Emory’s direction.
It’s probably because I finally shaved last night.
She shoos me forward, her silent seal of approval.
She clearly wants whatever that pool is up to.
“His name is Dr. Love. Can you believe it?”
Emory staggers backwards a step. “You were supposed to be a—” She shakes her head, as if doing so will shake away the knowledge she wishes she didn’t know about me. “I’m here for your mom. I mean… Dr. Rafferty.”
“Um…” I blow out a breath and wince. My mother definitely knew who was waiting for me. “She’s just in her office with a patient, but maybe I can help you.”
“No, you can’t.”
Those three words hit harder than I expect.
“Emory,” I take a step towards her, and she takes a step back in return. “Let’s step into an exam room, and I’ll—”
A little blur of red slams through the front door, chiming the bell overhead more aggressively than it’s accustomed to, then rushes to Emory’s side. “Mama!” the little girl squeals. “You won’t believe what I just saw!”
Emory’s hand falls on her daughter’s shoulder, pulling her close and giving me a better view of the girl who looks identical to her mother, save the dimples and easy smile I see she inherited from my best friend. “I asked you to wait in the car.”
“I know,” she explains animatedly. “But I decided to take a walk instead, and guess what? There was a dead squirrel just off of the side of the road, but he had one of those biiiiggg”—she holds her arms out wide—“balloons attached to his wrist! It said, “R.I.P to My Youth” on it. What does R.I.P mean?”
In any other circumstance, this moment would be funny, but unfortunately, it’s about as awkward as it can get.
“I’ll tell you later,” Emory says, adjusting the purse hanging over her shoulder before walking past me to our receptionist, Jeannie. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m so sorry, but I was wondering if I could speak with the doctor for a moment.”
Jeannie, with a chipper smile on her face, doesn’t even need to remove her hands from the clicking of the keyboard to answer, “That is the doctor, ma’am.”
Emory clears her throat. “Right. Well, I want another one. Not him.”
This grabs Jeannie’s attention. She’s been nothing but agreeable from open to close everyday, but her loyalty clearly runs deep, as she can’t seem to comprehend why anyone would need to speak to my mother or Bill over me.
“Well, ma’am,” she says a little saltier this time, “Drs. Rafferty and Rafferty are not available for you right now or at all today. Dr. Love”—she gestures to me with a smile that says she doesn’t believe I could hurt a fly.
Here’s hoping she doesn’t ever get a chance to speak at length with Emory—“is available and I’m sure ready to help with whatever it is you need, though he is very busy, and his time shouldn’t be wasted. ”
Jeannie goes back to click-clacking away at that keyboard, which I take as my signal to try to rectify this dumpster fire. “Emory, can I please show you girls to an exam room, and I’ll just interrupt Dr. Rafferty so she can speak with you privately?”