Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Addy
Mongrel’s been true to his word and has worked his ass off these past two weeks. Today is, hopefully, his final assessment so I can discharge him, and I’m getting excited about our potential future.
You need to let him in about your past, girlie, Betty’s voice whispers in my head.
I shake my head, because she said that two weekends ago when we went back to the farmer’s market so I could get some fresh vegetables and fruits to can for the winter.
I mean, she’s got a point, since some of my habits are peculiar.
Like, for instance, if I want to take a relaxing bath with a book and wine, I shower beforehand.
Then, there’s the fact that I shower when I get home after I’ve cleaned the house despite the fact that it’s spotless.
But she didn’t live with bugs and absolute filth.
Hell, one of the first things after we got my hair cut and bought new clothes was a full physical.
There were no true surprises; I was horrifically malnourished to the point that the doctor wanted to put me in the hospital.
Instead, he made sure to file a report with CPS, which helped Betty gain guardianship rights to me.
But the worst thing was when the doctor asked me if anything was causing me pain, I mentioned that my right ear always itched, and when he looked, he had to extract a roach.
The thought still makes me shudder and wanna puke, because how could you be so derelict in caring for your own flesh and blood that you don’t do your very best to keep the house clean enough for something like that not to happen!
“You weren’t kidding,” I murmur as I jot down Mongrel’s measurements. “You’re at maximum medical improvement with a one-hundred percent range of motion in that shoulder, Mongrel.”
“Told you I wasn’t fucking around,” he replies, smirking at me.
I don’t know how to respond to his comment, so I make a noncommittal noise as I finish updating his notes.
There’s a small part of me that’s scared; I mean, I’ve dated, of course, but most of the men I’ve gone out with didn’t last long and the reason was always around my ‘peculiar habits’ and how I was so ‘anal retentive’ about things being just so.
Betty always tells me that I dodged a bullet, but it still kind of rattled my cage every time it happened and left me with a few insecurities of my own.
“Yeah, I guess you did say that, didn’t you?” I tease. “Now, it’s your last session, so let’s make it a good one, shall we?
“What’s a good day for you?” he asks as I print off the paperwork, so he has it for his files.
“Um, well, I guess either Friday or Saturday,” I reply, buzzards taking root in my gut.
I feel like that guy on that one show who yells out, “This is happening!” while running around with their head cut off.
Because it’s been inferred multiple times, and of course, I’m attracted to him, but now that the time is actually here my brain is short-circuiting as I wonder if it’s a good idea or not.
“How about Saturday early afternoon? We can go catch a movie then get something to eat. Is there any food you don’t like?” he questions.
“I won’t eat liver and onions, or oysters, but outside of that, I enjoy most foods,” I tell him, grinning when I see him shuddering at oysters. “My absolute favorite is Mexican.”
“The place in town, right? Has freaking awesome queso and some of the best enchiladas I’ve ever had outside of the ones that Constance and Maria make,” he replies.
“Yes, that’s the one!” I exclaim, my mouth already salivating while thinking of their food. “Although, I should probably warn you that I can eat my weight in chips, salsa, and queso and still eat the majority of my food.”
“Good, I like a woman who’s got a healthy appetite and isn’t afraid to eat,” he declares. “Any movie preference?”
“As long as it’s not a gory slasher film, I’m good. I like action, fantasy, rom-com, and dramas,” I confess. “I even like psychological thrillers, just no blood and guts.”
He chuckles and says, “Not a fan of those myself, to be honest. I don’t like haunted houses, either.”
“Same, but I love going to fall festivals and that kind of thing,” I admit. “My favorite holiday, though, is Thanksgiving, followed by Christmas.”
“Give me your number, Addy, please, and I’ll check out movies and times and text you so we can figure out what we wanna see.”
“Should I tell you that I’ll want popcorn too?
” I muse, tapping my finger against my chin while I grin at him.
“Betty’s not sure where I put it all.” Hearing my alarm that lets me know I have about ten minutes before my next patient comes in, I say, “Here’s my number,” before rattling it off.
“I need to get ready for my next victim.”
“Can’t wait until this weekend, Addy,” he says.
“Me either, Mongrel,” I reply.
I hit the store I enjoy shopping at after work in an effort to find a casual but cute top, only to run into one of my biggest bullies in school—Ruthie Greene. “Oh, look! It’s Smelly Belly. Haven’t seen you in years ,” she exclaims as though we’re the best of friends reuniting.
“Hello, Ruthie,” I reply. “I see we’re back in high school, resorting to name calling.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but I stand my ground.
She’s always been a bit of a bitch, even when we were kids, and time hasn’t changed that fact at all.
Considering I was a child and was neglected at that, a little compassion would go a long way.
Hell, she could’ve said, “You know, I want to apologize for how I treated you back in the day. I was going through a lot at home, but that was no excuse for me to act the way I did. It wasn’t like you could help what was happening.
Plus, once you moved in with your aunt, she taught you. ”
Did she do that? Nope, and as I stare at her overly botoxed face with her plastic boobs, I want to lash out.
Instead, I take a deep breath and ask, “So, how’s married life treating you these days?
” I know for a fact that she’s already been married several times.
It’s like she’s still searching to fix whatever was broken in her that had her treating everyone like utter shit.
“Oh, uh, Arthur and I got divorced last year,” she stammers.
“Sorry to hear that. He was, what, your second husband?” I ask.
I mean, her first husband died early on in their marriage, and being so young, it’s not out of the realm of possibility for her to remarry.
But Betty hears all the local scuttlebutt and shares it with me, especially when it concerns one of my tormentors, so I know for a fact that Arthur was her fifth husband!
“No, my fifth,” she admits. “What about you? Have you gotten married yet?”
I shake my head and reply, “The dating pool needs a dash of chlorine apparently, because most of the available men are either jerks or emotionally unavailable. I deserve better so I decided not to settle. If and when it happens, it’ll happen, but I’m not gonna chase it.”
“How very… liberating,” she replies, seeming to be at a loss for words.
“I kind of like being single, Ruthie. I can spend my money the way I want to, and when I go to work or even leave the house for something else and then come home, it’s exactly the way I left it. I don’t think I’d like having to constantly clean up after someone else.”
“That’s what maids and housekeepers are for,” she titters.
“Maybe so, but I prefer a better return for the hours I put in working.”
“So, find a rich guy,” she states. “Then you don’t have to worry about anything.”
If I rolled my eyes right now, they’d look like one of those spinning wheels they use on The Price is Right!
Instead, to end this farce, I tell her, “It was good seeing you, Ruthie, but I’ve got things to get done and a short time to do them.
You take care.” Then, I walk away, leaving her sputtering in my wake.
Once I reach my favorite store, I head to the section where I know I’ll find the perfect shirt for this weekend.
Before I get there, though, I see that they’re having an awesome in-store only sale on their matching intimate sets.
“Definitely can always use new panties and bras,” I muse as I find my size and start looking for the colors I prefer.
Color me crazy, but outside of my work clothes, my greatest expense is my intimate wear.
I love the deep, rich jewel tones, and the fact that they look like satin or lace but are, in fact, cotton is a bonus.
That was something that Betty taught me growing up.
I have sets at home that are older, of course, and like many women, I’ve added period panties to my wardrobe for that time of the month, but there’s something empowering about being the only one who knows what’s underneath my scrubs.
By the time I’m done shopping, I have ten new matching sets, and four shirts. I also browsed through their Fall collection, and added a few sweatshirts, two pairs of corduroy pants, and several hair accessories, since they have the cutest things.
“Addy!” the store owner calls out as I reach the checkout. “I was just thinking about you the other day when some of this stuff started coming in!”
“And here I am,” I tease as I set my purchases on the counter. “I got the email about the new inventory, so I figured since I have a date this weekend, I’d see what y’all have.”
“Oh, tell me more,” she replies as she quickly removes hangers where necessary then proceeds to ring me up. While she’s doing that, I give her a brief rundown of Mongrel. “And you’re not afraid to date a member of the Kings?” she asks as I insert my card into the reader.
Feeling defensive, I ask, “Why would I be? I’m sure they have stuff they do as a club that’s not wholly on the up-and-up, but they do have a ton of legitimate businesses.”
Not that I care how they make their money. It’s not my place to know that and should Mongrel and I end up in an actual relationship, I’ll decide then if it’s something I have to worry about.
“True, true. Is he handsome?” she asks as she finishes bagging up my purchases.
“Girl, he is mighty fine,” I say.
“Well, get it, my friend. Let me know when you’re available and we’ll go grab a bite to eat and really catch up.
“That works for me, just shoot me a text so we can coordinate our schedules!”
I wouldn’t say that Prissy and I are best friends, however, she’s more than an acquaintance and I enjoy it when we hang out with each other. Hearing some of her dating woes has also not helped my reticence with putting my toes in back in the dating pool.
I have a good feeling about Mongrel, however, and suspect that I might not have to go ‘swimming’ any longer which fills my heart with joy.