Chapter Twenty-Three Everleigh
Chapter Twenty-Three
Everleigh
“You’re up early,” I say to Will the next morning, surprised to see him in the kitchen at six on his day off.
“I’m heading up to Somers,” he mumbles, pouring coffee into a stainless steel thermos.
I button my white blouse’s cuffs and lean against the counter next to him. He inspects me as if I’m too close, and I am.
“Did something happen to your dad?”
“He was having chest pain and labored breathing. They’re running tests. My mom isn’t handling it well. I’ll be back Thursday evening for my Friday shift.” He tightens the lid and then sticks two pieces of bread into the toaster.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. You can unplug your curling iron and not burn my house down or destroy it while I’m gone.”
I gnaw on the corner of my lower lip for a few seconds. “Seems like a tall order, but I’ll do my best.”
Will’s eyes narrow, and he purses his lips to hide his grin. “I’ll have Maren and Ozzy check in on you.”
“Fantastic.” I frown when I tip the coffeepot over my mug and find that it’s empty. “What about Jamie and Calvin? Do you not trust them to babysit me?” I return my mug to the cabinet. Looks like I’ll be stopping for coffee on my way to work.
“Calvin’s pretty busy fighting fires. And Jamie is . . . well, I just don’t want her to have to feel responsible for you.”
“Isn’t Maren fighting fires?”
“Yes, but she’s not . . . just don’t worry about it.” He opens a jar of peanut butter and spreads it on his toast.
“She’s not what?” I swipe my finger along the inside of the jar and suck the peanut butter from it. Does he know about the baby? He must because he’s acting weird.
“What the fuck?” He scrunches his nose. “This is my peanut butter. You can’t stick your finger in it.”
I shrug, sucking the rest of it off my finger. “It’s a condiment. Condiments are shared.”
“Are you out of your mind? Peanut butter is not a condiment.” He inspects the jar as if he can see my germs.
I reach for my phone on the edge of the counter and make a quick search. “Oh, look!” I show him the result on my phone for Is peanut butter a condiment?
“You can’t read,” he grumbles. “It says it ‘can be considered a condiment.’ But I did not purchase it as a condiment, so it is not one in this house.”
“I had a good time last night,” I say because playing with Will is too easy and way too fun. This is probably not the best morning to bait him, but I just want to see his smile. It’s my favorite smile in the world.
“See ya Thursday.” He ignores my comment, wrapping his toast in a paper towel.
“Try not to miss me too much.”
“That won’t be a problem.” He shoves his feet into his black boots and balances the wrapped toast on the lid of his thermos while opening the back door.
“Is this your water bottle?” I hold up the green YETI.
He glances back and sighs. “I’ll come back in for it.”
“I’ll follow you out with it. I have to leave, too, so I have time to stop for coffee since my roomie didn’t leave any for me.” I hike my tote over my shoulder and click my heels to the door.
He stalks toward his Bronco. “There’s more coffee. You just have to make it.”
“I think a latte sounds better.”
He opens his door and sets the thermos and toast inside, and then turns back toward me, taking the water bottle. “Thanks,” he begrudgingly murmurs.
“You’re welcome. For the record, I’ll miss you.”
“Good for you.” He climbs into the seat, but I’m blocking his way to shut the door. “What is it, Everleigh?” He rubs his temples.
“I’m going to make you proud while you’re gone.”
“How so?” he asks with another heavy sigh.
“I’m going to lose my panties for a stranger in the bathroom of a bar, but I’m not going to speed and get a ticket because you ruined that fun for me.”
“Great. Whatever.” He starts his Bronco, and I step backward so he can close his door.
Loving William Landry is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s probably the dumbest thing too. As I walk toward my car, his brakes squeak before he gets two houses away. He jumps out and strides back toward the house with purpose.
“Did you forget something el—”
He cuts me off by grabbing my face and kissing me.
My heart explodes—eviscerated. His calloused thumbs brush my cheeks, and his fingers tease the nape of my neck.
It’s a hard kiss that ever so slowly softens until our lips are barely touching, until his vetiver scent fills my next breath.
It takes everything inside me to keep from crying tears of joy.
Dr. Reichart has left the building. It’s just young Everleigh, a hopeless romantic standing on shaky legs, sharing breaths with the man of her dreams.
“Keep your panties on until I get back. Okay?” he says with a lopsided grin an inch from my lips.
“I knew you were going to miss me.”
Wiping my lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand, he turns and struts back to his truck. “That’s not what I said.”
As I fix the hair he loosened from my neatly tied bun, I give his backside the stink eye. As if he knows it, he glances over his shoulder and smirks.
I’m going to miss him exponentially more now.
“She’s a toddler.”
An unfamiliar man’s voice stops me before I open my office door, coffee in hand and Will’s kiss still burning my lips. It’s coming from across the hall. The clinic is expanding, and they’re adding a new psychiatrist—Dr. Swan, an older guy from Boston. Not Will’s age. Even older.
“She’s brilliant, and patients love her,” one of my nurses, Kelsey, says.
My back straightens. I’m the toddler?
“Treating patients requires more than academic knowledge. It’s about experience and well-honed intuition,” he says. “A twenty-eight-year-old doesn’t have the wisdom or the right interpersonal skills to do this job.”
I knock on his door, and Kelsey opens it, her face immediately morphing into a cringe.
“Good morning. Would you mind giving me a moment with the warlock?”
Her blue eyes widen, lips pressed between her teeth to hide her grin, and she quickly nods before skittering down the hallway.
Dr. Fossil glances up from his desk, readers low on his bulbous nose, thin, dark-gray hair combed straight back. “You must be her.” He removes his glasses and sits up, back straight.
“Yes. I go by Dr. Her.” I step in front of his desk and pick up a framed picture. “Grandkids?”
He narrows his eyes, and I smirk. In the photo he’s standing next to a blond woman, who looks close to my age, and two boys probably under five. No doubt his much younger wife and kids.
I return the photo to the desk. “There is one male nurse and a male PA in this clinic. The other thirteen employees are women, including myself. For your well-being, I suggest the two of us deal with your complex array of disorders (superiority complex, chauvinism, entitlement, NPD, or good old fragile masculinity) privately. I know every employee’s name, their significant others, the names and ages of their children, their birthdays, and I buy lunch for everyone on the first Monday of the month.
The people who work here and those who receive treatment are Team Her. So please be mindful of that.”
He studies me for a few seconds, jaw clenched. “I figured you’d list your résumé to earn my respect.”
“You know my résumé. I’d venture to guess you’ve lost sleep over it. Perhaps you think of my résumé while masturbating, whiffing your tee shot, or dripping coffee on your tie.” I nod at the spots on his tie.
He flips his tie out and frowns at the dark-colored dots.
“Okay. Good talk, Mitchell. Let me know if you have any more questions. My door is always open.”
I spin on my heel. Kelsey and several other staff members scatter the second I open the door.
When I’m safely in my office, I call Will.
“We’re not going to dissect what happened,” he says without a “Hi” or any sort of greeting.
“Will, I already dissected it. It’s not about that.
There’s a new doctor at the clinic, an older guy.
Even older than you. And he thinks I’m too young, too inexperienced, and probably too feminine to do my job.
It irked me, so I embarrassed him by saying he probably masturbates to my résumé.
Of course, I know I should apologize and calmly address any concerns he has about my age and gender.
It’s important to have a healthy relationship with colleagues, and really, it’s essential to positive outcomes for patients.
But I was on a huge high walking into work this morning because my roommate and I had a discussion about my panties, and then I overheard Dr. Mitchell Swan running his mouth about me, and we hadn’t even met yet.
But none of this is your problem. I’m just using it as an excuse to call you. ”
“Everleigh?”
“Yeah?”
“Dr. Swan is an asshole.”
I grin. “That’s what my dad would say too.”
“Speaking of dads, I’m afraid my dad is going to die.” Will’s words (his vulnerability) punch the air from my chest.
I clear my throat. “It’s natural and understandable that you would feel—”
“Don’t shrink me.”
On a slow exhale, I sit in my desk chair. “I’m afraid you’re probably right. I’m sorry. Life is really fucking unfair.”
“I don’t want to be there when it happens. Does that make me a terrible son?”
What?
Tears burn my eyes, and I can’t speak. He has no idea what he’s doing to me. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Jesus, Everleigh. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“You don’t want me to sugarcoat it. You don’t want me to shrink you.
Will, not wanting to be there when he dies doesn’t make you a terrible son.
But intentionally avoiding it or abandoning your mom if she needs you is terrible.
And, no, I would never say that to a patient, but you’re not my patient. You’re . . .”
“The asshole who took your virginity and ran.”
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling while simultaneously grinning and wiping my tears. “I was the asshole who didn’t tell you my age.”
“Can you put that in writing? I might decide to frame it.”
My grin fades. “Please let me just say this. Losing a loved one is a profound experience. The people in our lives shape who we are and give meaning to our existence, especially our parents. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be here.
This is your experience. There is no right or wrong, which means regret is unavoidable. ”
“Are you charging me for this?”
“No. I called you about Dr. Swan. We’re bartering.” I look at my watch. “But I have to go. I have actual patients.”
“I think you run a glorified daycare with video games.”
“Sounds like jealousy.”
He chuckles. “You might be right. Later.”
“Bye.” I stare at my phone screen for a minute. Then I set it on my desk and flop my head down beside it onto my crossed arms. “I’ve got it bad.”