Nash
Page 22
Sunny was upset. Two different staff members had called off, and not only did she have to go in and cover one of the shifts but she needed me to go in as well. I was scheduled to work that night, so it meant being at the hospital all day, which sounded awful considering Nash had kept me up well into the early hours of the morning, but it offered me an easy way out of dealing with the day-after awkwardness, so I readily agreed.
When I got off the phone he lumbered sleepily to his feet, got dressed without giving me any kind of guilt trip or hassle, gave me a quick kiss on the mouth, and told me to give him a call when I got a chance. He left without any kind of interrogation, any kind of uncomfortable dance around the topic of are-we-or-are-we-not-doing-this-again. He left the ball firmly in my court and made it clear that it was entirely up to me if I wanted to keep it in play or not. He put me in charge, which wasn’t something I was used to outside of my career, and I had to admit the power of it, the choice being mine, made the entire situation with him easier to get my head around. It also made the fact that I was well on my way to admitting I had to forgive him for past sins the only option if I was going to move forward with whatever it was we were now doing with each other.
When I got to work it was chaos. Injured partyers from the night before abounded. There was a horrific home-construction accident involving a chain saw and a missing hand; a cop rushed in that had been involved in a domestic dispute with a couple and got a knife in the gut for his effort; a toddler had gotten into the bathroom cleaner under the sink; and two women in labor: one was breech, the other was having premature contractions. I didn’t have time to think about anything else or worry about the curious looks Sunny was giving me whenever we were in the same room or passed each other in the hall. I was dragging majorly by the time my actual shift in the late afternoon started and was in the break room guzzling coffee like it was lifeblood when my tiny little boss finally cornered me.
“Soooo?”
I jolted and sloshed the hot liquid over my fingers. I gave her a dirty look and found a paper towel to clean up the mess.
“So what?”
She rolled her eyes at me and poked me in the arm. “So how was the date with the doctor? You sounded exhausted this morning when I called, so I assume it went well. I bet you made a beautiful pair.”
I tried to keep my face impassive but I couldn’t keep looking her in the eye. Not when I had ditched the awful doctor and spent the rest of the night being thoroughly debauched by Nash.
“I ended the date early.”
Her eyes got big and she wrinkled her nose up at me. “You had him take you home early?”
I sighed and tossed my paper cup of now-lukewarm coffee into the trash.
“He was a jerk and so full of himself. His friends were appalling and the party was really just a group of people standing around trying to outdo each other. I was uncomfortable and bored, so I called a friend and left early. Dr. Bennet and I are really not compatible.”
She gave me a considering look.
“The guy with the nose ring?”
“What about him?”
“Is that the friend you called?”
I refused to feel bad about it or ashamed. There was nothing wrong with Nash. In fact there was so much right with him I was having a hard time remembering why I needed to watch my tender heart and fragile feelings around him in the first place.
“Yes.”
She made a noise and followed me out of the room. One of the medical assistants handed me a new file and told me there was a patient waiting in one of the rooms for me.
“I know based on first glance you wouldn’t think he was a really nice guy, but really he is.”
She shrugged and started walking the other direction from me. “What I think really doesn’t matter, I guess. Do you even realize that you’ve been grinning all day? I’ve never seen you do that. You always look so serious and intent, but today”—she took her index fingers and tugged up the corners of her own mouth—“you are just one big ball of cheer. That makes me happy for you. I don’t care who put the smile there, Saint, I just care that it stays.”
I was smiling, I hadn’t really thought about it. I was also sore and tired, had a hickey on my collarbone, and my favorite pair of black underwear was in the trash. I would also never be able to rock my knee-high boots again without having X-rated recollections of last night. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sold on the fact I could get involved with a guy who had disappointed me so much in the past, that I could trust all these things he was making me feel about him and about myself, but there was no denying I felt lighter, more normal than I ever had with a guy before.
He was the only one I had managed to have a normal, sexy, and sensual time with and I wanted that, wanted more than that really, if he was willing to offer it up. Not only did I desire this Nash, I think I actually liked him and had to admit that I cared about him. We were so entangled in this entire thorny mess I wasn’t sure how either one of us could get out of it without drawing some kind of blood and suffering pricks of irritation.
I didn’t have the luxury of turning it over in my head to the point of exhaustion. My second shift was just as busy as my first, and by the time I crawled home, I was too tired to function, let alone contemplate what I was going to do about Nash or about us. I worked the next two days in a row, and though I wanted to text Nash or give him a call to let him know I was at least thinking about him, I couldn’t seem to find the right words. On the third day I decided to do something out of the box. I sent him flowers to the tattoo shop, a pretty bouquet of roses in red, yellow, and orange that matched the fire tattooed all over him. The colors were fitting in another way as well. Red meant romance and maybe even love, yellow was kindness and friendship, and the orange passion and enthusiasm … we had those last two covered for sure. I did it partly because the idea of sending a big, tattooed brute of a guy flowers made me laugh, and partly because I wanted to show him that he was on my mind.
I didn’t stop to think if he would think it was dumb, didn’t get insecure or worry about how he would take it. I just did it and sent along a card that simply said: Thanks. I was thankful for the ride, thankful for the night in my bed, and mostly thankful for him just being him. I hoped he would understand all of it.
By the end of the day, I got a picture text message of the giant bouquet sitting in the center of the desk in the very masculine shop. No one was in the picture, but several pairs of tattooed hands were in the background throwing up the devil horns in approval. It made me laugh. Nash’s response was short and sweet:
Never got flowers before … They are as pretty as you are.
Thank you.
I didn’t know what to say to that, but it made me feel like everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. I sent him back a smiley face and went back to work. Work was always my go-to when I had things in my life that I couldn’t seem to get a handle on.
When I got home that night I was going to call him finally but was waylaid by an emergency phone call from Faith. Apparently my mom had run into Dad’s new girlfriend at the grocery store and an ugly scene had ensued. Things had been broken, property had been damaged, and my mom ended up with assault charges leveled at her. Faith had begged Dad to convince his girlfriend not to press charges, knowing Mom would pay for the things in the store she had destroyed, but he was zero help. He wanted Mom to get help, to get over it, and I couldn’t say I totally disagreed with him. The whole situation sounded ridiculous and completely out of control. My mom had gone too far, and my words about not wanting to bail her out of jail were coming back to haunt me.
It was either have Faith load all the kids up in the car and drive her pregnant self to Brookside in order to bail Mom out, or bite the bullet and do it myself. Of course that was the only option even though it was absolutely something I didn’t want to do. So I left work, drove up to the mountain, and went and bailed my mother out of the slammer. It was ludicrous and like something off a cheesy reality-TV show, and it made me really wish I had managed to find the time to touch base with Nash because for some reason, talking to him always made me feel better.
My mother was less than thrilled to see me. Maybe because she was embarrassed. Maybe because she was covered in some kind of unidentified sticky substance and was sporting smudged makeup and an unmistakable black eye. Or maybe it was because she was led into the waiting room of the tiny precinct by a police officer younger than me still wearing handcuffs and looking pitiful. Or maybe it was because he was calmly telling her not to miss her court date and that she might want to consider starting anger management classes because the judge was sure to require them for her.
She caught sight of me and her head dropped a little. I took her arm and guided her out the front door and into my car. She didn’t say a word to me, but I could see that she was crying silently. I was torn between the urge to hug her and the urge to throttle her, but my frustration at her, the situation, and the state of the family had reached its breaking point.
I huffed out a sigh and looked at her out of the corner of my eye.
“Okay, Mom. I need to know what the plan here is. Are you just going to keep chasing every kind of pill you can get prescribed to you with a gallon of wine every day and use that as an excuse for all your behavior? Are you going to cross the line and actually hurt someone, maybe even yourself? Are you so lost in hurt and anger that you’re going to miss being a part of your daughter’s pregnancy because she is scared of what you might do? I hate to break the news to you, Mom, but no one … I mean NO ONE … is going to be willing to ride to your rescue anymore if you keep this up. At some point accountability needs to come into play.”
She didn’t respond, just continued to sit quietly crying in the passenger seat while ignoring me. I didn’t know what else to say to her. This had gotten so far out of hand too long ago and I wasn’t sure how to pull it all back in. When we got to her house I pulled into the driveway and turned to look at her. She sniffled a little and looked at me out of red-rimmed eyes.
“Your dad was my high school sweetheart. We dated all through college and I sacrificed everything so he could go to dental school. I gave him a beautiful family, and I thought we were happy. It hurts so much worse when I think about the idea that he just fell out of love with me than the fact that he moved on. How can someone’s feelings for another person just go away, Saint? After everything?”
My heart twisted for her.
“I don’t know, Mom, and I can’t pretend to understand how badly Dad hurt you, but I do know what you’re doing isn’t making you or anyone else feel better about it. Dad might have fallen out of love, but you still have two daughters who love you and grandkids who miss having a happy and healthy grandma to spend time with. We matter, too, Mom, and all of us hate to see what you’re doing to yourself.”
“I just want him to hurt as badly as he made me hurt.”
“Well, that isn’t going to happen.”
“It isn’t fair.”
I shook my head. “No, it really isn’t, but trust me, getting divorced and having to start over is the least in life that isn’t fair. I had to watch the parents of a way too young girl realize that their daughter died for no other reason than people can’t figure out how to be nice to each other. It isn’t that hard, just be nice and people might not have to suffer needlessly, but that isn’t the world we live in, so young girls die. That isn’t fair, Mom. People falling out of love is vicious and it sucks, but there are far worse things you could be going through. I know that sounds harsh but it’s very true.”
Something moved across her gaze and she looked away from me.
“I forget what a remarkable life you’ve made for yourself, Saint. The strength you have to have to do what you do is admirable and I very well may have lost sight of that in all of this. I hope you know that beyond everything else, I am very proud of you.”
When I got off the phone he lumbered sleepily to his feet, got dressed without giving me any kind of guilt trip or hassle, gave me a quick kiss on the mouth, and told me to give him a call when I got a chance. He left without any kind of interrogation, any kind of uncomfortable dance around the topic of are-we-or-are-we-not-doing-this-again. He left the ball firmly in my court and made it clear that it was entirely up to me if I wanted to keep it in play or not. He put me in charge, which wasn’t something I was used to outside of my career, and I had to admit the power of it, the choice being mine, made the entire situation with him easier to get my head around. It also made the fact that I was well on my way to admitting I had to forgive him for past sins the only option if I was going to move forward with whatever it was we were now doing with each other.
When I got to work it was chaos. Injured partyers from the night before abounded. There was a horrific home-construction accident involving a chain saw and a missing hand; a cop rushed in that had been involved in a domestic dispute with a couple and got a knife in the gut for his effort; a toddler had gotten into the bathroom cleaner under the sink; and two women in labor: one was breech, the other was having premature contractions. I didn’t have time to think about anything else or worry about the curious looks Sunny was giving me whenever we were in the same room or passed each other in the hall. I was dragging majorly by the time my actual shift in the late afternoon started and was in the break room guzzling coffee like it was lifeblood when my tiny little boss finally cornered me.
“Soooo?”
I jolted and sloshed the hot liquid over my fingers. I gave her a dirty look and found a paper towel to clean up the mess.
“So what?”
She rolled her eyes at me and poked me in the arm. “So how was the date with the doctor? You sounded exhausted this morning when I called, so I assume it went well. I bet you made a beautiful pair.”
I tried to keep my face impassive but I couldn’t keep looking her in the eye. Not when I had ditched the awful doctor and spent the rest of the night being thoroughly debauched by Nash.
“I ended the date early.”
Her eyes got big and she wrinkled her nose up at me. “You had him take you home early?”
I sighed and tossed my paper cup of now-lukewarm coffee into the trash.
“He was a jerk and so full of himself. His friends were appalling and the party was really just a group of people standing around trying to outdo each other. I was uncomfortable and bored, so I called a friend and left early. Dr. Bennet and I are really not compatible.”
She gave me a considering look.
“The guy with the nose ring?”
“What about him?”
“Is that the friend you called?”
I refused to feel bad about it or ashamed. There was nothing wrong with Nash. In fact there was so much right with him I was having a hard time remembering why I needed to watch my tender heart and fragile feelings around him in the first place.
“Yes.”
She made a noise and followed me out of the room. One of the medical assistants handed me a new file and told me there was a patient waiting in one of the rooms for me.
“I know based on first glance you wouldn’t think he was a really nice guy, but really he is.”
She shrugged and started walking the other direction from me. “What I think really doesn’t matter, I guess. Do you even realize that you’ve been grinning all day? I’ve never seen you do that. You always look so serious and intent, but today”—she took her index fingers and tugged up the corners of her own mouth—“you are just one big ball of cheer. That makes me happy for you. I don’t care who put the smile there, Saint, I just care that it stays.”
I was smiling, I hadn’t really thought about it. I was also sore and tired, had a hickey on my collarbone, and my favorite pair of black underwear was in the trash. I would also never be able to rock my knee-high boots again without having X-rated recollections of last night. I still wasn’t a hundred percent sold on the fact I could get involved with a guy who had disappointed me so much in the past, that I could trust all these things he was making me feel about him and about myself, but there was no denying I felt lighter, more normal than I ever had with a guy before.
He was the only one I had managed to have a normal, sexy, and sensual time with and I wanted that, wanted more than that really, if he was willing to offer it up. Not only did I desire this Nash, I think I actually liked him and had to admit that I cared about him. We were so entangled in this entire thorny mess I wasn’t sure how either one of us could get out of it without drawing some kind of blood and suffering pricks of irritation.
I didn’t have the luxury of turning it over in my head to the point of exhaustion. My second shift was just as busy as my first, and by the time I crawled home, I was too tired to function, let alone contemplate what I was going to do about Nash or about us. I worked the next two days in a row, and though I wanted to text Nash or give him a call to let him know I was at least thinking about him, I couldn’t seem to find the right words. On the third day I decided to do something out of the box. I sent him flowers to the tattoo shop, a pretty bouquet of roses in red, yellow, and orange that matched the fire tattooed all over him. The colors were fitting in another way as well. Red meant romance and maybe even love, yellow was kindness and friendship, and the orange passion and enthusiasm … we had those last two covered for sure. I did it partly because the idea of sending a big, tattooed brute of a guy flowers made me laugh, and partly because I wanted to show him that he was on my mind.
I didn’t stop to think if he would think it was dumb, didn’t get insecure or worry about how he would take it. I just did it and sent along a card that simply said: Thanks. I was thankful for the ride, thankful for the night in my bed, and mostly thankful for him just being him. I hoped he would understand all of it.
By the end of the day, I got a picture text message of the giant bouquet sitting in the center of the desk in the very masculine shop. No one was in the picture, but several pairs of tattooed hands were in the background throwing up the devil horns in approval. It made me laugh. Nash’s response was short and sweet:
Never got flowers before … They are as pretty as you are.
Thank you.
I didn’t know what to say to that, but it made me feel like everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. I sent him back a smiley face and went back to work. Work was always my go-to when I had things in my life that I couldn’t seem to get a handle on.
When I got home that night I was going to call him finally but was waylaid by an emergency phone call from Faith. Apparently my mom had run into Dad’s new girlfriend at the grocery store and an ugly scene had ensued. Things had been broken, property had been damaged, and my mom ended up with assault charges leveled at her. Faith had begged Dad to convince his girlfriend not to press charges, knowing Mom would pay for the things in the store she had destroyed, but he was zero help. He wanted Mom to get help, to get over it, and I couldn’t say I totally disagreed with him. The whole situation sounded ridiculous and completely out of control. My mom had gone too far, and my words about not wanting to bail her out of jail were coming back to haunt me.
It was either have Faith load all the kids up in the car and drive her pregnant self to Brookside in order to bail Mom out, or bite the bullet and do it myself. Of course that was the only option even though it was absolutely something I didn’t want to do. So I left work, drove up to the mountain, and went and bailed my mother out of the slammer. It was ludicrous and like something off a cheesy reality-TV show, and it made me really wish I had managed to find the time to touch base with Nash because for some reason, talking to him always made me feel better.
My mother was less than thrilled to see me. Maybe because she was embarrassed. Maybe because she was covered in some kind of unidentified sticky substance and was sporting smudged makeup and an unmistakable black eye. Or maybe it was because she was led into the waiting room of the tiny precinct by a police officer younger than me still wearing handcuffs and looking pitiful. Or maybe it was because he was calmly telling her not to miss her court date and that she might want to consider starting anger management classes because the judge was sure to require them for her.
She caught sight of me and her head dropped a little. I took her arm and guided her out the front door and into my car. She didn’t say a word to me, but I could see that she was crying silently. I was torn between the urge to hug her and the urge to throttle her, but my frustration at her, the situation, and the state of the family had reached its breaking point.
I huffed out a sigh and looked at her out of the corner of my eye.
“Okay, Mom. I need to know what the plan here is. Are you just going to keep chasing every kind of pill you can get prescribed to you with a gallon of wine every day and use that as an excuse for all your behavior? Are you going to cross the line and actually hurt someone, maybe even yourself? Are you so lost in hurt and anger that you’re going to miss being a part of your daughter’s pregnancy because she is scared of what you might do? I hate to break the news to you, Mom, but no one … I mean NO ONE … is going to be willing to ride to your rescue anymore if you keep this up. At some point accountability needs to come into play.”
She didn’t respond, just continued to sit quietly crying in the passenger seat while ignoring me. I didn’t know what else to say to her. This had gotten so far out of hand too long ago and I wasn’t sure how to pull it all back in. When we got to her house I pulled into the driveway and turned to look at her. She sniffled a little and looked at me out of red-rimmed eyes.
“Your dad was my high school sweetheart. We dated all through college and I sacrificed everything so he could go to dental school. I gave him a beautiful family, and I thought we were happy. It hurts so much worse when I think about the idea that he just fell out of love with me than the fact that he moved on. How can someone’s feelings for another person just go away, Saint? After everything?”
My heart twisted for her.
“I don’t know, Mom, and I can’t pretend to understand how badly Dad hurt you, but I do know what you’re doing isn’t making you or anyone else feel better about it. Dad might have fallen out of love, but you still have two daughters who love you and grandkids who miss having a happy and healthy grandma to spend time with. We matter, too, Mom, and all of us hate to see what you’re doing to yourself.”
“I just want him to hurt as badly as he made me hurt.”
“Well, that isn’t going to happen.”
“It isn’t fair.”
I shook my head. “No, it really isn’t, but trust me, getting divorced and having to start over is the least in life that isn’t fair. I had to watch the parents of a way too young girl realize that their daughter died for no other reason than people can’t figure out how to be nice to each other. It isn’t that hard, just be nice and people might not have to suffer needlessly, but that isn’t the world we live in, so young girls die. That isn’t fair, Mom. People falling out of love is vicious and it sucks, but there are far worse things you could be going through. I know that sounds harsh but it’s very true.”
Something moved across her gaze and she looked away from me.
“I forget what a remarkable life you’ve made for yourself, Saint. The strength you have to have to do what you do is admirable and I very well may have lost sight of that in all of this. I hope you know that beyond everything else, I am very proud of you.”
