NINE
EMMA
“All done. You’re good to go.” I discharge the patient after finishing the cast on his wrist. “And from now on, easy with the gardening, okay?”
Walter, a seventy-two-year-old hobby vegetable grower, gives me another one of his charming smiles. “I promise. I’ll place the stool far away next time I pull up weeds.”
“Excellent idea.” I accompany him to the exit. “No more tripping over things. As lovely as it was meeting you, I’d prefer a different scenario—for your sake and hers.” I nod toward the woman who approaches us: Greta, Walter’s wife. After attending to him for the duration of his visit to the ER, I know everything about her and how much in love they still are.
“I’ll make sure,” Walter says, “that the reason for my next call will only be to bring in my homegrown carrots once they’re ready for harvest.”
“Looking forward to it.” With my hand on my chest, I watch Walter amble toward his wife and chuckle when Greta gives her husband another piece of her mind about him being too careless. Gosh, cuteness overload. Walter smiles to himself, nodding, and as they turn the corner, he shoots me one last smile over his shoulder before grasping Greta’s hand. True and lasting love still exists. With a happy sigh, I grab the next file and return to my job.
Two days after telling Rob about my pregnancy, work comes much easier, and I feel a lot better. Being pregnant still sucks, but at least I have someone to share my worries and distress with. Rob and I talked long into the night, and he reassured me repeatedly that I wasn’t the only pregnant woman who wasn’t too happy about it. And yesterday, I saw Susan. She examined me, drew some blood, and checked for STDs. Everything looks perfectly fine.
Great.
“Hello, Emma.”
With the content smile still on my face, I turn around when I recognize Rob’s voice, but it falters as soon as I see who’s with him. I blink at them, already hating the fluttery sensation in my stomach. “Hey, Rob. Um, hi … Jack.”
A nod is the only response I get. No hi, and definitely no smile. Okay, so we’re back to being grumpy.
Rob furrows his brows, looking back and forth between us. “You know each other?”
“Yes,” I say. “He’s a … friend.”
“Okay, uh—” He pushes up his glasses, unfurrowing his brows. “He got an electric shock. Could you please perform an ECG?”
My eyes widen. “What happened? Are you all right?” I ask Jack.
He shrugs. “Hurt a little. Your friend thought it’d be better if I had my heart checked.” He points to Rob, who nods.
“This won’t take long,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He turns to Jack. “You’re in excellent hands. ”
Jack briefly closes his eyes, and I wonder whether that’s a good thing. The annoyance he radiates puts a wet blanket on my previous experience with him.
“Call me when you have a minute, okay?” Rob tells me before taking off.
I frown. “Sure.” For the shortest moment, I forgot about the results that were supposed to come in today. But first things first. “All right,” I tell Jack. “Follow me.”
He still doesn’t smile or talk or show any interest in social interaction when I lead him to the ECG device.
“Please take off your shirt, shoes, and socks and lie down,” I say.
He nods, knowing how this thing works. He’s a medical device engineer, after all.
Once he lies on the exam table, I place four ECG electrodes on his wrists and his ankles and the remaining six on his chest.
His beautifully defined chest. Damn, Emma, stop staring at his abs!
As I suspected that night he first came to the ER, the tattoo adoring his upper arm also covers his left pec. The abstract pattern of bold, black lines going on in seemingly endless circles is so stunning.
Ugh, why does he have to be so hot but, at the same time, so insufferable? I’m having difficulty concentrating on what I’m supposed to be doing because I can only think of the former—how hot he is. Focus, Emma!
Before mentally undressing him again—as half of the work is already done—I try my luck and start a conversation. “How did this happen? ”
Jack closes his eyes with a sigh. “I wanted to fix a broken ultrasound device on the maternity ward, and for some stupid reason, I forgot to pull the plug. Just not my day.”
“Aw, that sucks. But you don’t have to get hurt whenever you want to see me.”
Oh, crap. An uncomfortable flush of heat surges through me. Did those words leave my mouth? My eyes scan the floor for the crevice to show itself so it can swallow me whole, but no such luck.
“Duly noted,” is all he says. Well, grumbles is more like it, and I feel a little stupid for having said that.
A little? No, make that a lot. What the fuck was I thinking? That he would finally put that pretty mouth of his to use and smile at me or even ask me out? Judging from his response, I’m lucky if he talks to me at all after this. But why is he acting so differently today? When we spoke at Paul’s birthday party, he was so relaxed and even nice, but now he’s back to being sullen and brooding.
Silence fills the room during the recording, and despite the embarrassment, I can’t keep my gaze off him. His eyes remain closed, his facial features relaxed, and his chest rises and falls with every calm breath he takes. Such a different sight from the agitation he showed before.
The calmness feels off, though—forced. I can’t put my finger on it, but his entire demeanor and the fact that he shies away from all physical contact pull me in. The questions lie at the tip of my tongue, and the urge to dig deeper has a firm grip on me.
Only I know he won’t satisfy my curiosity. So why should I bother ?
He avoids my gaze when I remove the electrodes from his body and tell him to sit up and wait until the doctor gives his okay. And after I tell him he’s good to go, he takes off with nothing more than a “Thanks; see you.”
I internally scold myself for reacting to him like that when he clearly isn’t interested. But why did he convey a different impression when we talked at the party?
Ugh, what’s the use of mulling over things that don’t matter? It doesn’t matter whether Jack is interested, and he hasn’t been on my mind a lot lately, anyway. Something else has been.
The fact that I’m pregnant.
When I get home after my shift, I order my comfort food. Thai takeout is my go-to remedy for a shit day, and I’ve had a few of those lately. And today was one of the shittiest.
Things better look up soon, or I’ll gain a million pounds before the actual pregnancy weight gain starts.
While waiting for my food, I slip into my comfort clothes and pour my comfort drink—peach iced tea, only without the liquor these days. My favorite TV show completes the coziness, so as I eat and drink and watch, my ever-worrying mind quietens. Three days off work lie ahead of me, and I look forward to peace and quiet. Three days with no anxiety about what’s coming, and definitely three days of not thinking about this insufferable man. I don’t need this kind of confusion in my life.
When my phone rings, I’m inclined to ignore it, but Tessa’s name flashes on the screen. What upset could she possibly cause?
“Hey, Tessa,” I answer the call with a smile on my face.
“Hi, Emma. How are you? Am I interrupting anything?”
“I’m fine, just winding down after a long day.”
“Oh, sorry. I won’t be long. I was just thinking about our conversation the other week.”
I search my mind for the conversation Tessa refers to but come up empty.
“When you said you haven’t heard the guys play at O’Reilly’s yet?”
Oh, that conversation. I grimace, squeezing my eyes shut. “Um, yes, I said that.”
“Are you free tomorrow night?”
Say no! Just say no! Don’t let curiosity get the better of you! “Tomorrow?” Say you have to work; it’s easy! “Yeah, sure, I’m free.”
I’m such a goner. Where does this proclivity for unnecessary trouble come from? Yes, trouble. That’s what Jack is—giving mixed signals, having this brooding air surrounding him. His physical attraction lured me in, and as soon as he smiled and showed me a glimpse of a whole different side of him, I was a lost cause.
Only the news of my pregnancy lifted the fog, and now I’m back to indulging in something that’s bound to fail? Is this the notorious pregnancy brain? What happened to my resolution to stay away from all men? What happened to how he acted like a moron today?
“That’s great,” Tessa says. “Everyone you met at Paul’s birthday party will be there too. It’ll be so much fun. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
After ending the call, fun is what I cling to. Yes, it’ll be fun—seeing Tessa and everyone else again, deepening possible new friendships. That’s what it’ll be about: fun—and taking my mind off my worries about the future.
I’m taking this one day at a time, and it’ll all work out fine.