Chapter 6 #3
Putting down the bottle, Remy started to put her hand on Lila’s in comfort, then froze mid-gesture. It seemed like a friend thing to do—and she and Lila weren’t friends. Just neighbors and coworkers. She settled for words, infusing them with as much sincerity as she could. “I’m sorry.”
“We’re coming up on a decade since we lost him. Sometimes the grief just slams you in the back of the head—you don’t see it coming.”
Remy cast about in her tipsy brain for something to alleviate the unease cramping her gut.
This felt like a friendish conversation—not exactly her wheelhouse.
Fuck. She was so bad at this kind of peopling.
She could talk to anyone about orthopedics.
But other topics—friend topics—just struggled to form on her lips.
Instead of words, Remy opted for topping off their glasses, pouring out a healthy serving from their second bottle.
Lila smiled wistfully. “I remember when Luke brought Brinder home for the first time during their residency. He was an unexpected feast for the eyes, even if he was a couple years younger. I had just started dating my ex then, and let me tell you—he paled in comparison to Dr. Desiiigh.” Lila grinned.
“The nurses on our ortho unit giggle like schoolgirls when he’s around. ”
“Indeed. I’ve seen it myself. But he’s very happily married,” Remy added.
Lila winced and straightened as if someone had dug a finger into her spine, the smile falling from her face. “Yes, absolutely. He’s a class act. Honor got one of the good ones. Not sure there’s any left for the rest of us.” Lila closed her eyes and took a massive swallow of the wine.
Fuck. Now what? Firmly ignoring her personal warning signs about building friendships, Remy shifted onto the couch next to her colleague-neighbor-whatever, somehow needing to soothe the invisible ache in Lila.
Remy had become an expert in her own invisible ache soothing.
It was the only way she’d been able to move forward from the most fucked-up of existences to achieve relative peace.
Surely the skill translated? “I sense there’s more to the story there.
I’ve been told my bedside manner is pretty decent if you want to share. ”
“No—Th—that’s really kind of you, but it’s ok.
Sorry. Better not to talk about it right now.
I just—my emotions are right under the surface these days.
” Lila shook her head as if to clear it and dropped a kiss on Chicane’s head, the lop rewarding her with his happy chattering and clicking. “I blame perimenopause.”
“Oh,” Remy nodded. “Yuck. That starting up for you?”
Ok…seriously…who was this woman inhabiting her body right now? Chatting with another woman about hormones? Certainly not Arabella Remington. Today was definitely occurring in an alternate universe. She frowned at her wine glass. What the fuck was in this Cab, anyway?
Taking in Lila’s overall vibe, Remy decided on the spot to continue pushing past her intentional reserve.
Her need to ease Lila’s embarrassment and discomfort distinctly outweighed her own natural reticence.
“I, uh, yeah…” she began, struggling to even start a fucking sentence like a normal sentient being.
“I feel for you. I’m officially menopausal now. ”
“Ohhhh,” breathed Lila. “Lucky. I just started with some hot flashes. And sometimes I can’t wade through the fog of my brain to find the damn thing I want to say.”
“Fucking been there,” Remy grumbled, draining her glass. “And I still get some flashes. It’s part of why I like my OR set at Arctic temperatures.”
“Fucking sucks,” Lila added, finishing off her own glass.
“Sucks.”
For long minutes, the women sat in quiet peace, petting Chicane and in tacit agreement, not needing to fill the calm silence with chatter.
Eventually, a rather ferocious grumble followed by a growl pierced the silence.
“Was that—?”
“Did your—”
Remy and Lila both laughed, the latter motioning her to ‘go on.’
“I was going to ask if that was your stomach growling in sync with mine?”
“Me too.” Lila laughed and shook her head. “Three glasses of wine on an empty stomach maybe wasn’t the best idea.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m the worst. I should have offered you…
something. Though the pickings are slim.
Or we can order something.” It was almost eight forty-five.
With luck, they could be eating by nine fifteen—which wasn’t great, but Remy was suffused with guilt for not feeding her guest. Again, Tasha Remington would be horrified at her lack of manners.
But Lila didn’t seem put out. “No worries. It’s my fault. I invaded your space at dinnertime.” Lila made stirring motions, then paused, clearly unsure about disturbing the lop.
“Here, I’ll get him.” Remy reached over, tucking Chicane into her arm the way he loved.
“I should get out of your hair. I know you’ve had a long one.”
“You too. You worked a seven-to-seven shift?”
“Yes, but I’m off tomorrow.”
“Me too. Saturday. No cases and I’m not on call this weekend—for a change.” Remy’s shoulders lifted in an awkward shrug. Peopling could be so hard.
“I love that you do that. And I know the other surgeons always appreciate the teamwork.”
Remy nodded, back to uncomfortable, and pressed a kiss to Chicane’s head. He clicked his teeth in approval. “I know it’s not common for a chief of orthopedics to take call, but I enjoy it.” And I don’t have much else going on.
“You’re doing great things at Evangelist, Doc.” Lila smiled gently and then shook her head. “And we’ll all dance a jig if you can get Troy McMasters under control.”
Remy knew she should keep a game face, but she couldn’t help the headshake and small smirk that crept across her face. “Clearly Truculent Troy isn’t a favorite.”
Lila snorted. “Truculent Troy? Oh my god, why did you insert that into my mind? It’ll be the one thing I can retrieve from the fog.”
“Sorry not sorry,” Remy laughed. “If you ever attribute it to me, I’ll deny it. But it is fitting.”
“Indeed.” Lila lifted her empty glass. “I’ll just rinse this and head home.”
“Leave it. I’ve got it.” Remy waved a dismissive hand, battling social awkwardness again. “Thanks, uh, thanks for bringing my package over.”
“Sure. No problem. Thanks for the wine. And the bunny love.” Lila whuffed a small laugh. “Ugh, I’m hungry, but too tired, and maybe too tipsy, to be bothered to eat.”
“I know the feeling.”
Once again, Lila’s kind smile eased Remy’s discomfort. She opened her mouth to suggest doing this again—it had proven unexpectedly pleasant—but then pressed her lips together to prevent the unexpected utterance.
Briefly closing her eyes, she swallowed past a lump of nerves. Good grief, she was forty-seven, not fourteen. But inside, she was that scared, skittish girl all over again, breaking through her trepidation to accept the friendship of the most beautiful human she’d ever met.
And somewhere, in the deep recesses of Remy’s heart, she heard that much-loved, dearly missed voice nudge her through the abyss of fear where she’d lived for so long.
Do it, Arabella.
I can’t. Not after what happened to you. I won’t.
You can. And you will. Please? For me?
Clearing the tears that clogged her throat. Remy examined her glass, inhaled a deep breath…
And took a leap of friendship.
“Would you—” she began on a croak and started again. “Maybe we could do this again?”
A bright smile broke across Lila’s face. “Yes. I’d love that, Doc. Red wine. And maybe some food next time.”
Remy laughed. “Yes. A red wine supper club.”
“Red Wine Supper Club,” Lila repeated, grinning even wider. “I love it.”