Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
I t’s Monday, and I’m supposed to be writing a letter to one of Kim’s clients because they’re way behind on their payments. This particular client has already been sent three bills with no payment in sight. I’m supposed to let this client know that if needed, we’re willing to set up a payment plan to make sure this bill gets paid. Or if there’s something going on that’s preventing them from paying this bill, to let us know. And all this is supposed to be done in a stern, but approachable way. Is that even possible?
It’s a fine line I’m walking here with the tone of this letter, and all I’ve managed to type up so far is, “Dear Mr. Benson.”
I’ve spent the last half hour staring at this document. My brain can’t seem to accept that it’s a workday, because all it wants to do is be on a date with Wesley. It didn’t help that Fern was home yesterday and wanted to hear every little detail of our date, so I basically had to relive it. I kept some parts to myself, of course, especially the part where his kiss made my toes tingle. Some things she doesn’t need to know.
I need to focus. I can’t be thinking about kisses that sent shivers down my spine. This is literally the one task I have to get done by the end of the day so I can put this out with today’s mail. And I can’t even blame anyone else for my lack of attention because Alexis has actually been nice for a change. She said hi to me and asked me how my weekend was. I almost didn’t respond because she never asks me about my weekend. Usually, she comes in with her demands and that’s the extent of our conversation. But today, she stopped and actually looked me in the eye when she was talking to me. I don’t know what changed with her, but I’m not complaining.
Focus, damn it. Focus.
The reality is that I shouldn’t be writing this letter from scratch in the first place. Kim used to have a folder on this computer that had all the different types of letters she might need to send out to patients. But the last receptionist she had created all those documents, and when she left, she backed them all up on a flash drive and deleted them from Kim’s computer. I guess getting fired could turn anyone into a petty bitch. Sure, Kim could go after her in court, but she doesn’t want to waste the time or energy on her.
An hour goes by, a few clients come and go, and I manage to add a few sentences to the letter. Finally, it hits me. I know what I’m going to write in this letter, and I can feel the dam breaking as I type away. The little bell on the office door dings, and I go through my usual routine of telling the client I’ll be with them in a minute because I don’t want to lose my momentum.
“Hello, Dahlia.”
That boost, all of that flow I just had grinds to a screeching halt with the mere mention of my name.
I don’t look up. I don’t want to see his face. He hurt me, and I don’t want to relive that pain. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see you on Dr. Waters’ schedule. And we don’t do walk-in appointments. If you’d like, I can schedule you for her next available appointment.”
I’m being juvenile. I know that. But I never expected to see Justin after he dumped me at the seminar, and certainly not here in my workplace. Quite frankly, it feels like he’s infringing on one of my safe spaces. My workplace should be a place where I can avoid constant reminders of my failed love life.
At least when Wesley came in to see me, he was smart enough to make an appointment. If Justin had done the same, then I’d have to acknowledge him. But since he’s not a patient here, I can go on ignoring him.
My attention stays on my monitor, and my fingers clack away on the keyboard. Not that I’m typing anything coherent right now. I’ve lost my train of thought, and now I’m only pretending to be working. If Justin came around to my side of the desk, he’d see nothing but a bunch of gibberish on the screen.
“Dahlia, I came in because I owe you an apology. You didn’t deserve the way things ended, and I’ve been feeling bad about it ever since,” he says.
I guess I can at least look up at him.
Dang it. That was the wrong move because I’d almost forgotten how gorgeous he is. Those ice-blue eyes of his pierce right through me. My heart starts beating faster, and I’m nervous all of a sudden. Does my hair look okay? My makeup? I wish I had taken more time with my outfit this morning. He looks so put together in his dress shirt and tie, and his beard has the crispest edges I’ve ever seen. All I can hope for is to not look too frumpy.
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’ve moved on. I’m seeing someone else now,” I say with all the confidence I can muster.
Justin nods slowly, and his gaze drifts away for a split second. And…is that disappointment I see in his eyes? Why did he come in here today? Was it because he wanted to get back together with me? Doubtful, since he was the one who ended things because of his code of ethics. But maybe he came here today to convince me to find another gynecologist so we could be together.
“I see. Well, I’m happy for you.” He lifts his lips up, giving me the barest hint of a smile.
“Yeah, it’s actually your friend from the seminar, Wesley.”
“We’re not friends,” he cuts in.
“ Anyway , he came in here for an adjustment and then asked me out.”
“You and Wesley went on a date?” he says incredulously.
“Why’d you say it like that? Do you think I’m not good enough for him?”
His eyelids practically hit his eyebrows with how quickly they fly open. “That’s not it at all! It’s the other way around. He’s not good enough for you.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I fire back.
“You have to believe me. Wesley is a conceited asshole who’s spent his whole life riding on his father’s coattails. You deserve better.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“That’s true. I am jealous. But all I want is for you to be happy. And if Wesley makes you happy, then so be it.” Justin takes a step back from the counter and turns toward the door. Before walking away, he looks over his shoulder and smiles a sad, somber smile. “It was good seeing you again.”
And then he’s gone.
That evening, when I arrive home, Fern is on the couch waiting for me.
“Oh, good, you’re finally home,” she says by way of greeting.
“It’s good to see you too, I guess.” Fern is dressed and looks like she’s ready to leave the house at any moment, which isn’t normally how I see her this time of day. “Is there a reason you’re waiting for me?”
“Mom invited us over for dinner, and I told her that we didn’t have anything going on.”
“Is she waiting for us right now?”
“I told her we’d leave as soon as you got home. I hope that’s okay,” she says, looking unsure of herself.
Some time to myself would’ve been nice. But any time to myself would’ve been spent dissecting my interaction with Justin today. So maybe it’s better that we leave because even though I acted like I was over him, I’m not. There was just something deeper that I felt with him. It goes back to that connection I thought we had. And I’m not talking about sex, although that was nice.
Sure, I’ve got Wesley now, and things went pretty well on our first date, but I don’t feel the same with him as I did with Justin. I’m sure once I get to know Wesley better, I’ll establish a connection with him too. I just need to give it time.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Let me change out of my work clothes, and then I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll wait for you in the car.”
That doesn’t leave me much time, so I hurry up and change into a sweatshirt and jeans, then head outside where Fern is in her car, letting it warm up. “Why are we going over to their house anyway? Aren’t they in the process of demoing the kitchen?” I ask once she pulls away from the curb.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to offer up our house for them to come over. Our place isn’t clean enough for Mom’s standards.”
She has a point. If Mom and Dad had come over, Mom would probably go through the house pointing out all the areas that could be cleaned better. “I thought I raised you better than this,” she’d probably say.
“How was work?” Fern asks.
“Work was weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Justin stopped by.”
“Justin is the one-night-stand guy, right?” And when I nod, she asks, “What did he want?”
“He wanted to apologize for the way things ended. And I don’t know this for sure, but it seemed like he wanted to get back together.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I was seeing someone else.”
Fern is silent for a moment while we’re sitting at a traffic light. “And how do you feel about it?” she finally asks.
“I feel torn. On one hand, I miss him—a lot—and I’m also sad about the way things ended. But on the other hand, he’s the one who ended things. So even if we did get back together, how long before his code of ethics comes between us again?”
She shrugs. “That I can’t tell you. Only you can know the right person for you. But if he went to the trouble to find you at your workplace, it sounds like maybe he’s putting his code of ethics aside, or maybe he’s found a way for the two of you to be together. You’ll never know now.”
“Is that supposed to help me? Because all you’re doing is confusing me more.”
Did I do the right thing by sending Justin on his way? I have no idea, but I’m not about to contact him and beg him to come back to me so we can talk things out. That’s an Old-Dahlia move, and that’s not me anymore.
Fern leaves me to my thoughts the rest of the drive, and when we arrive at Mom and Dad’s place, there’s a big dumpster in the driveway, forcing us to park on the street.
Their house is an older, single-story home on a quiet residential street in Bellevue. Most of the homes here are from the seventies and eighties, with a few on their street having updated the exterior to a more modern look. This house is the same one I grew up in, but very few of the people I grew up with still live here.
Dad greets us as soon as we enter the house, almost as if he’s been waiting for us. “Hey, girls. Thank goodness you’re here. Your mother has been driving me crazy today.”
“Why? What’s she been doing?” Fern shrugs off her coat and hangs it in the coat closet.
“She has no kitchen to speak of right now, but yet her bright idea tonight is to host a family dinner with nothing to cook on but a hot plate. I told her if she wants to have you two over, we should at least make it easy on ourselves and order takeout. But she wanted none of that, insisting that her hot-plate meal would be better than any takeout we could order.” He lets out a big sigh.
I chuckle. “How long have you been waiting to get that out?”
“Too long,” he says, then gives us each a hug in turn.
We walk through the plastic sheeting separating the living room from the kitchen, and step into what used to be the kitchen. They’ve made a lot of progress demoing the kitchen, but the base cabinets and the countertops are still in place. They’re too dusty to do any sort of cooking on, so Mom has set up a temporary work station in a sectioned-off area of the eat-in kitchen. She’s opening the lid of a pot on the hot plate, and she’s got some paper plates near her.
“At least you opted for paper plates tonight instead of making us eat off of dishes you washed in the bathtub,” I say to her.
“Hold your tongue, Dahlia,” she snaps back. She sets the lid back down on the pot and looks up at Dad. “I need you to go to the garage and bring the slow cooker in.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Fern asks.
“You and Dahlia can set up the TV trays in the living room. We’ll eat off of those since the table is out in the garage for the time being.”
Now that we’ve all got our marching orders, Fern and I head back into the living room and set up the trays. Mom and Dad will sit in their own individual chairs, while Fern and I share the couch.
A few minutes pass, then Dad is coming through the plastic with a plate full of food. He hands it to Fern.
“Thanks, Dad, but I could’ve gotten my own plate,” Fern says, taking the plate from him.
He waves her off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I’m not about to have you serve me,” I say, then follow him into the kitchen to get my own plate.
By the time I get back into the kitchen, Mom has my plate already made up. She’s outdone herself. Somehow, with only a hot plate and a slow cooker, she’s managed to put together a dinner of pot roast with vegetables and buttered rice.
“I don’t suppose you made dessert too?” I ask.
“I made custard pudding earlier. It’s in the garage refrigerator,” she says with a smug smile on her face.
I pretend to tip a nonexistent cap to her. “Only you would go through all that trouble.”
“My kitchen may be a disaster, but we still have to eat,” she replies.
The three of us head to the living room where Fern is a few bites into her meal. I take my seat next to her.
“So, Fern, have you and Brett discussed wedding plans yet?” Mom asks.
That didn’t take long. I thought maybe she’d at least take a bite first before starting in with her questions. At least it’s not me in the hot seat.
I wait eagerly for Fern’s response. I can’t wait to see how she’s going to play this. Either she’ll keep quiet and let Mom think they’re planning a traditional wedding, or she’ll rip the bandage off now and tell her they’re eloping.
Fern shifts in her seat a few times, then pushes a bite around on her plate. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
That’s what she decided to go with?
Mom’s brows pinch together. “Really? You haven’t talked about it at all ?”
“We’ve discussed it a little bit, but we haven’t decided on anything yet,” Fern says, amending her previous statement.
“Well, what have you two talked about? Maybe we can help,” Mom says, sitting up a little straighter.
I love how Mom acts like her input would help the situation. I know she means well, and just wants to be a part of Fern’s big day. But usually, her involvement ends up complicating things, and then no one has any fun. It almost makes me sad that Fern is eloping because Mom won’t be able to help out, and I won’t get to see the chaos that would ensue.
Fern is still quiet, and Dad, being the perceptive type, figures out that something’s not quite right with this situation. He glances back and forth between Fern and Mom and I can see him puzzling out what might be going on.
“Honey, I think you should let Fern and Brett keep their wedding plans between the two of them for now. They’ll let us know what they decide when they’re ready,” Dad says.
Mom lets out a sigh. “Okay. But please let us know the moment you two figure it out. We have to be able to plan for something of that size.”
I love it. Even though she’s been shut out, Mom’s still pushing for that big wedding. Bless her for trying.
“How’s work been for you, Dahlia?” Dad asks.
“Work has been fine. Same old, same old.”
“Have you met anyone?” Mom asks.
“I meet lots of people every day,” I say sarcastically.
Mom doesn’t hide her eye roll. “I meant romantically. Have you met anyone or been on any dates recently?”
Dad chuckles. “Don’t beat around the bush at all…”
Finally, it’s me who has some positive news to report. “Why, yes, I have. I’ve gone out with a couple of guys now.”
“So no more thinking about Alain?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No more Alain.”
Mom smiles, like she’s proud of this new development. “And how did it go with the guys?”
“One I thought was promising, but he didn’t pan out. The other I’m supposed to go out with again this weekend.”
My mother cocks her head to the side. “Again? You mean you’re going out on a second date with the same guy?”
“Yeah, imagine that,” I say.
“Things are getting pretty serious then,” she says with a grin.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I’m taking it one date at a time.”