Chapter 2
Elizabeth
IT’S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS
“How we doing?” I ask Gayle as I make my way around the nurses’ station, going to the computer and pulling up the patient’s name I just treated in one of the exam rooms.
“We have three more,” she reports and I look up at the clock to see it’s almost eight, and I’m going to be late leaving again today. Nothing new when it comes to the holidays. The number of people who end up in the emergency room during this time is called the “holiday surge.”
“What are we looking at?” I ask her as I fill in the notes for the patient I just saw and had to stitch up because he decided it would be a good idea to cut down his own Christmas tree with a fucking saw that slipped.
“Two of them have broken bones,” she states.
“Last one, two sisters were sort of arguing and one punched the other one in the face when she took the last cookie.” My head whips around seeing Gayle, who is smirking, as she holds a paper in her hand and she works on the whiteboard.
Her scrubs today have a slew of Santas all over them.
Bright and cheerful, unlike mine that are all black.
I actually tried wearing the snot-green ones, but they were so bright I just couldn’t take myself seriously.
“Who says holiday cheer is dead?” I snicker as I complete my notes and then get up to walk into another exam room.
The phone buzzes in my back pocket and I ignore it as I greet the patient. “Hi.” I smile at the man lying on the hospital bed. “I’m Dr. Morrow.”
An hour later I’m pushing open the on-call room and moving my neck side to side to get the kinks out of it.
It looks like Christmas threw up in here.
There is a Christmas tree in the corner of the room that looks like it’s seen better days, and right across from it is a menorah with blue-and-yellow Happy Hanukkah letters right above it.
“Hey,” Ty says, shrugging on his white coat before reaching into his locker and grabbing his stethoscope to put around his neck. “There she is”—he smirks at me—“the Grinch of the emergency room.”
I hold up my hand to flip him the bird. “I’ve been working twelve-to-fourteen-hour shifts straight for the past fourteen days,” I explain to him, “to make up for the three weeks I’m taking off for my brother’s wedding.”
He reaches into his locker and pulls out a small box. “I made you these.” He hands me the red box with HO HO HO written across it.
“What is it?” I ask him, pulling the top off and seeing Christmas cookies in there. “Are these homemade?” I pick up one and bite into it.
“Yeah.” He smirks. “I like baking, it relaxes me.”
“These are really good,” I compliment, putting down one and then picking up one that looks like a chocolate cookie with white dusting on it. “I’m impressed.”
“It’s a family recipe,” he says. “When do you leave?”
“Two days,” I tell him, putting the rest of the cookie back in the box to enjoy when I sit on the couch in a bit.
“You excited?” he asks me and I shake my head.
“I love my family, I do,” I say and he chuckles, “but they can be a bit overwhelming, and then add in my mother is becoming a momzilla and going nuts. My brother is trying to make sure everyone is happy. His future bride is constantly posting videos of updates no one is really asking about. I’ve silenced the bridesmaid chat because I just need to know when to show up. ”
“A wedding on Christmas Eve, no less,” he teases me as I open my locker and toss the box of cookies in my bag, “you must be dying.”
“The only thing I know about the wedding,” I inform him, “is the color of my dress. Which is a bright red and not green—thank God for that—and that it’s open bar.” He laughs at me. “And that I’m going to be seeing all my family. So liking two out of three isn’t bad.”
“I’m afraid to ask which one it is you don’t like.” He shuts his locker and nods at me. “I can’t wait to see pictures.”
“I’ll be sure to post them on social media right away,” I joke with him.
“The last thing you posted on social media was two years ago and it was you at the beach with some of your cousins.”
“I’ve been busy.” I take off my stethoscope from around my neck and put it in my jacket pocket before shrugging it off, as he opens the door and leaves me alone.
The Christmas music plays softly from the little speaker in the corner and I have to wonder if it’s on loop somewhere just to drive me crazy.
Once my shift is over, I’m out the door.
Some like to sit and relax, some even shower here, but I’m always ready to be home as soon as possible.
Gayle is walking out at the same time. Her lunch box is in one hand and her purse is in the other as we walk out of the emergency room and into the sun. “It’s going to be a hot one,” she observes. “See you tonight.”
“Two more days with me, Gayle,” I tell her, “and then what will you do without me?”
“Enjoy singing Christmas songs without being told to shut up.” She side-eyes me and I laugh as I walk to my car. The phone rings as soon as I get behind the wheel.
“Good morning, Mother,” I greet as the phone connects to the Bluetooth. “Shouldn’t you be in bed or, I don’t know, winding down.”
“There is so much to do for the wedding still.” She ignores my sarcasm. “Anyway, are you packed?”
“Mom, I leave in two days,” I tell her, “that’s a tomorrow problem, or an if-I-can-push-it-to-the-day-I-leave problem.”
“Why are you waiting until the last minute?”
“Mom.” I scan my pass and wait for the barrio to open. “I’m coming home, if I forget anything, I’m sure I can get it there.”
“Ugh,” she huffs, “whatever. I’ll call you tomorrow night to check in.”
“Or how about I just see you in three days?”
“Whatever,” she repeats and hangs up the phone on me.
I pull up my brother Joshua’s number and he answers after one ring. “What are you doing to our mother?” I ask him and he laughs.
“She’s acting like I’m the first of her kids to get married. Jack got married and she was fine.”
“No, she wasn’t,” I snap out. “She cried for about a month straight. She had to keep putting ice cubes on her bottom eyelids and we made fun of her for it, don’t you remember?
She said if you made fun of her one more time, she would kick you where the sun doesn’t shine and you’d need your own ice cubes. ”
“Oh yeah.” His deep laugh fills the phone. “I told her whatever is going to happen will happen.”
“That’s the worst thing to tell our mother,” I bite at him. “It’s like you don’t even know her.”
“I just don’t want her to stress. Instead of her not stressing, she’s big-time stressing and that is stressing me out. It’s stressing Macy out”—he mentions his fiancée’s name—“and Mom’s calling Jack and now he’s coming to me and I’m going to Dad. It’s a vicious cycle.”
“And people want to know why I live on the other side of the world.”
“Tomorrow we are going to have brunch with her and tell her to lay off a bit.” I snort, laughing when he says this.
“Can you please videotape it? I’ve never actually seen steam come out of Mom’s ears in real time. I’ve heard about it like a myth, but I’ve never seen it live.”
“You really think she’s going to freak out?”
“You really think she’s not going to freak out?” I laugh. “That’s an amateur move. Her baby is getting married.”
“One, I’m not even the baby of the family; you are. Two, I’m not dying,” he clarifies. “Anyway, I have to go and calm Macy down because she has been nursing a bottle of wine all night long.”
“Maybe she’s having second thoughts,” I joke with him and he growls at me. “See you soon,” I say and hang up the phone as I make my way home.
Two days fly by and I’m waking up at 4:00 a.m. to pack my suitcases right before I have to leave to get to the airport. I park in the long-term parking lot. Grabbing my checked bag and then putting my carry-on on top of it, I slowly make my way into the airport.
I don’t know why I’m expecting the airport at 6:00 a.m. the week before Christmas to be chill, but that’s on me.
As soon as I step foot inside, I know I was dead wrong, and the chaos of the holiday crowd hits me.
People wearing Christmas hats and sweaters while I’m wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt.
I make my way over to the counter, seeing the line looks wrapped around another line.
The sound of children crying and the song “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” being blasted out of the speakers add to the already noisy scene as people try to make their way to security.
I get to the counter and check in my bag.
“You might be cutting it close,” the girl states, wearing Christmas tree earrings dangling and a Santa hat.
I smile at her as I watch my bag with the priority sticker get jammed up on the conveyer belt. “I somehow thought I would be avoiding the rush of the holiday travelers.”
She smiles at me, and it’s a smile I sometimes give to patients when I want to tell them they shouldn’t listen to Google when it comes to treating their ailments.
She types away at her computer. “Your flight is taking off from gate sixty.” She types more. “The lounge is available, but I’m not sure how much time you are going to have.”
“That’s okay,” I say nervously, looking around now and seeing the line to security getting longer and longer.
“You are all set.” She finally hands me my paper boarding pass, even though I have it on my phone. “Your luggage tag is on the back.” I nod at her. “Have a great travel day and happy holidays.”
“Thank you. Happy holidays,” I mumble to her as I grab my carry-on bag and hike it over my shoulder and walk toward the gate. I take a picture of the chaos that is the airport and send it to my mother.
Me: The eagle is in the airport.
I send it and she immediately sends me a picture of her with a smile.
Mom: My daughter is coming home. I’m going to have all my kids together for Christmas. My heart is full.
Me: Knock it off.
Mom: Okay, fine, but I make no promises there won’t be tears.
Me: Don’t make me accidentally miss my connecting flight and stay in LA with Ariella.
Mom: Joke’s on you, she’s going to be here for the wedding.
I put my phone away and head toward security, which takes me over an hour, and I have to run to catch my plane.
I’m one of the very last people to get on the plane and the girl who was at the counter when I was checking in is somehow now here to basically gloat at me.
“This is why we ask that you get here three hours before the flight.” She holds out her hand for the boarding pass and then turns it upside down as it pings to let me walk on to the plane. “Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks.” I grab the paper and head down the ramp toward the plane, thankful my mother booked me a pod instead of teaching me a lesson and having me sit in the back of the plane.
I store my bag by my seat as I get settled in.
By the time I’m taking off, I’m ready to relax.
The thirteen-hour flight flies by since I sleep the majority of the time, only waking to eat.
When we land in LA, there is no gate agent waiting for us.
We arrived at 6:00 a.m., and by the time they get someone there, we are waiting for over forty-five minutes.
Something about the latch or whatever. I have to run again to catch the connecting flight.
Customs, luckily for me since I have global entry, is a breeze, but I don’t even have a chance to text my mother when I finally sit down, again one of the last people on the plane.
After traveling for the past fifteen hours, I’m starting to feel gross.
The airplane air getting to me. The last six-hour flight is the longest part of it all.
I keep looking at the plane on the screen and each time it feels like we’re stuck there.
Every minute feels like an hour, and I’m anxious to finally get home and recover from the travel.
We touch down in New York and when I look out I see the snow and close my eyes.
I look down at the sweater I’m wearing, hoping my mother has brought a jacket for me.
I’m one of the first people off the plane, and I smile when I walk toward the exit and baggage claim.
Stepping onto the escalator that takes me down, I am bouncing on my feet, suddenly excited to finally see my mother.
Waiting for the escalator to descend feels like eighty-four years passing, and finally, I can see people waiting for their family members.
I look left and right, searching for her.
I finally step off the escalator and walk over to the baggage carousel, waiting for my bags.
I look around as my phone switches from airplane mode to get service.
I wait until I see a couple of bars for signal before dialing my mother and putting the phone to my ear.
I look around for her to see if maybe I can spot her in the crowd when she answers after two rings.
“Seriously,” I goad when I hear she’s not in the car, nor the same noise I’m hearing around the airport, “you can book my ticket, but then you forget to come and pick me up?”
“Oh my goodness, have you landed already?” I hear her rushing on her end and then I hear voices over an intercom.
“Yes, I’m here and you’re not. Tell me I’m the middle child without telling me I’m the middle child.”
“One, you aren’t the middle child.”
“I’ve been awake for eighty-four years, Mom. I’m delirious. This feels like a middle child thing.” I correct myself, “It’s actually even worse, I’m the baby of the family and you forgot me.”
She cries out, “There was a pipe that busted at the hotel, and your brother slipped. They think his foot might be broken.” Her voice goes higher and higher.
“Oh damn, that’s going to suck in pictures if he’s going to have to get a boot,” I mention as a buzzer rings and the belt starts to move. “I guess I’ll get a cab there,” I tell her. “Don’t come down for me. I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will,” my mother confirms. “I never have to worry about you.”
“You literally tell me the opposite every single chance you get.” I shake my head. “I’m waiting for my luggage. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” she replies, disconnecting her phone, and I look down to see a picture of the five of us taken two years ago on my screen saver.
“I guess it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas.” I chuckle and shake my head.