“All she said was Immy fell off her skateboard and landed wrong on her arm.” She leans forward in her seat. “Can’t you drive any faster?”
“Immy doesn’t have a skateboard.”
“Mercer’s skateboard. Turn left here.”
A white minivan honks when I turn in front of it. “How far away are they?”
“Right behind us. The clinic is on your right. Right here. That’s the driveway.” She unbuckles her seatbelt and the metal buckle clanks against her window.
I nod. “It’s okay, Sunny. I’m sure she’s fine.” If it had been a near-death experience for Immy, we would have received a very different phone call. Of course I’m worried, but now that I’ve heard Mercer on the other end of the line I’m thinking more clearly.
I park next to the curb outside the entrance just as a little green junker car sputters up behind us.
“That’s them,” Sunny says, slamming her door after her.
By the time I lock my car, Sunny has a weepy Imogen in a reverse-backpack bear hug and they’re walking into the clinic with Immy’s arm resting on a pillow I recognize from the suite. I jog to catch up, feeling like yesterday’s leftovers. Since when does Immy run to someone else when she’s upset?
“Hello? Did you forget someone?” I tease, rubbing Immy’s back.
Her face is buried in Sunny’s shoulder, but I hear her whimper.
“Anders.” It’s all Sunny says, but her tone conveys an entire lecture. This isn’t the time. “We’ll get you all fixed up, kiddo. I promise.”
“Okay.” Imogen sniffs. “My arm hurts really bad.”
Her little voice muffled by Sunny’s t-shirt makes my heart squeeze and I take in the sight of them out of the corner of my eye. Sunny rubs a circle on Immy’s back. Something in my brain rewiresas I watch her comfort my daughter. I can’t name it, but I know my future is not the same one I had planned a month ago. I am stunned speechless.
Sunny’s soothing voice cuts into my thoughts. “I know, honey. They’ll give you some medicine to make it feel better.”
My mind is whirling as she calms my daughter. How am I already having white-picket-fence thoughts about her? How has this woman become such a critical part of my life—our lives—in such a short time? This is dangerous territory. I don’t trust myself here, but it feels right.
I rush to the door to hold it open for the women. Mercer walks past and whispers, “Seriously sorry about your kid. I thought she’d be fine, I promise. She seemed like she knew what she was doing.”
“It’s fine. She probably thinks she knows how to ride a skateboard because she saw it on YouTube.” And she can be convincing when it comes to getting what she wants. I have no idea who she inherited that trait from.
Twenty minutes later, Imogen is seated on Sunny’s lap on the exam table, explaining to the doctor that she saw Tony Hawk do a kickflip on YouTube, so she thought she could do one. He nods his bald head, like he’s including this information in his analysis of her x-rays.
Sunny and I exchange a look at the mention of YouTube. If I’m reading her right, her face is telling me that Immy needs less time watching videos online and more time with her feet in the grass. I agree. If more of my nannies engaged with Immy the way Sunny does instead of parking her on a tablet, my daughter might not have a potentially broken arm. But I also wouldn’t know the joy of a Fruit Roll-Up ice cream sandwich, so it’s a catch twenty-two.
The geriatric doctor turns to Sunny. “I don’t see a fracture on the x-ray. Your daughter is very lucky. I’ve seen quite a few fractures from skateboarding in my years.”
Sunny’s cheeks turn rosy. “Oh, uh—”
“She’s my daughter.”
The doctor shrugs. “In any case, it’s only a sprain. We’ll wrap it up, and with some rest, that should take care of it. She can alternate ibuprofen and acetaminophen for the pain.” He wraps her wrist in an elastic bandage, explains how to ice it to reduce swelling, hands me a stack of papers, and closes the door behind him. In the end it feels like healthcare we might have received in a drive-through. I guess now we pull up to the second window to pay?
“Can we go home now?” Immy whines against Sunny’s shirt.
Her voice is delicate in my daughter’s ear. “Sure, kiddo. Your dad’s car is parked right outside.” She moves to put Immy on her feet, but she protests. That sprained wrist is affecting her entire body. She’s in limp noodle mode and Sunny is stuck on the table under her.
“Can I take you, Im?”
She shakes her head and tightens her one-armed hold on Sunny.
“Here…” I grab Sunny’s hand and wrap my other arm around her back, pulling her to her feet. She stumbles forward, and for a painfully brief moment we’re in each other’s personal space. I’m close enough to smell her hair. Neither of us is moving. Her brown eyes blink up at me and I can’t stop myself. I lean down and press a kiss against her forehead. Sunny sucks in a breath and I linger, because this isn’t enough. I can’t back away.
“I’m smushed,” Imogen whines between us.
