I make quick work of cleaning the rich, warm-tone hardwood floors with the Swiffer and spraying down the couch and two armchairs we have in the living room with Lysol before grabbing all the trash off the coffee table and tossing it into its respective bins. I grab a few cleaning wipes and start wiping the coffee table down before freezing. I probably should clean it properly with some furniture polish, but I just did a deep clean in here a few days ago. That should be fine, shouldn’t it? No, I’m going to clean it just to be sure.
Ugh, why is my brain like this?Something as simple as cleaning up turns into a multi-step process just because of that night all those years ago. Everyone else has seemed to process what we saw and are living a healthy and fulfilling life, but not me. Another thing to check off the list of reasons I’m so fucked up.
“Are you hungry?” I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of my friend's voice coming from behind me.
Stacey giggles softly, running her towel along her red hair to soak up any remaining water. She no longer has the sickly green hue to her skin. Her coloring is much better than it was earlier, which is a sign that she must be feeling better. Thank goodness, because the last thing I want to do is deal with any more puke. Her favorite pale blue Nirvana T-shirt has replaced the ratty shirt she had on, tucked slightly into a pair of black pajama shorts.
“I thought you were in the shower?” My hand grasps the front of my shirt, willing my heart not to beat out of my chest. “Are you finished puking? I’m not dealing with puke again today. I just can’t.”
Stacey shakes her head slightly as she grimaces. “I haven’t puked since this morning. I think it was just some twenty-four-hour bug or something.”
I narrow my eyes in her direction, trying to decide if she’s telling me the truth, which causes her to laugh loudly.
“If I randomly start puking again for any reason, I’ll go to Parker’s place. The team won’t be starting rookie camp for another few weeks. I think he said mid-August, so he won’t be the least bit worried about the risk of getting sick. Besides, he loves me.”
Parker and Stacey have been dating for a few years now, having met when she tagged along with me to a Timberwolves game. They hit it off immediately, much to my father’s chagrin, and have been dating ever since. I don’t know why my dad thought Parker and I would be a good fit for each other. We have nothing in common other than him and the Timberwolves, but he and Stacey are a different story. I have a feeling that we might be hearing wedding bells in their future.
“Of course, he does. There’s not a thing about you not to love, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll give them what for.”
“You’re the least violent person I know, Michele, but it’s the thought that counts.”
“That it does.” I smile before heading back into the kitchen to grab the furniture polish and finish cleaning the table. “Please give Parker my thanks for keeping me safe from your cooties.”
“Anything else you’d like me to pass along?”
I open my mouth to beg him to call my dad and see if they’ve decided about the open physiotherapist position, but I slam it tightly shut. I could’ve made this all easier on myself by just asking my dad for the job in the first place, but that would’ve been a complete disaster.
Dad has warned me away from anything to do with being part of the National Hockey League (NHL). He has been a coach all of my life, hockey is in his blood and mine, but according to him, I deserve better. Not that I agree with him. There is no greater reward than helping someone achieve their dreams.
It was hard enough telling him and my stepmom I wasn’t going to become some fancy doctor or surgeon like they had hoped. The disappointment in their eyes was almost enough to make me go right back to school and change my major, but Kyle and Stacey talked me out of it.
There is nothing wrong with choosing to be a physiotherapist, which is just a fancy way of saying I am a physical therapist, but according to Dad and my stepmom, I deserve better. Whatever the hell that means. A physical therapist and a physiotherapist do the same thing, but a physiotherapist emphasizes manual therapy, like massage and joint mobilization, more than some physical therapists, which is the perfect profession for someone who wants to work with athletes.
It took a few months for them to come around, but they weren’t as passive-aggressive about their displeasure as they used to be. The snide comments are few and far between nowadays, but if I get this job, that is likely to change. I guess I’ll be back to limiting my time around my family. I love them all, but I can’t be around them all the time. Especially when they’d rather pull me down than build me up and support me in my new career.
This is one of the many reasons I couldn’t tell Dad about applying for this job. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know if he’d help or hurt my chance at snagging this position. Dad has always said I deserved more. But I can’t remember the last time he asked me what I wanted. And I want this job. I didn’t want to be given this opportunity because my dad was the head coach for the Timberwolves. I wanted it because I earned it.
“Nah, that’s okay.” I force a smile and spray the table with the furniture polish, wiping the surface clean before changing the subject. “You said something about food?”
“Yes! I’m freaking starving, but I don’t think my stomach could handle anything too heavy.”
I don’t even bother to look up as I fluff the brightly colored throw pillows she insisted we have on our couch. Apparently, it gives the room some character, whatever that means. Once I have them fluffed to my satisfaction, I give her my full attention. “How about your favorite soup?”
“The lemony one with chicken in it?” Her eyes light with excitement as she bounces from foot to foot. If there’s one thing Stacey loves more than Parker, it’s this soup. My mom used to make it every time we had a sleepover at my house when we were younger. It's taken me years to perfect the recipe, but a few months ago, I finally got it right, much to my best friend's delight. I usually only make it for special occasions, but we both need a little pick-me-up today.
“That’s the one.”
Stacey does a little fist pump in the air before answering. “Heck yeah, but can you not make it so salty this time?”
“It was one time, Stacey,” I groan, rolling my eyes. I swear you make someone’s favorite soup incorrectly, and they never let you live it down.
“But that one time almost gave me high blood pressure.”
“You’re so dramatic.” I wave her off, focusing on placing the pillows back into the perfect order on the couch. “I’ll get it started once I finish cleaning up your mess.”
“Thanks! Love you. I’m gonna call Parker and tell him what you're making for me. He’s going to be so jealous.”
With a firm plan in place for dinner, I head back into the kitchen and open the fridge. I need to double-check that we have all the ingredients we need. I pull out the crisper drawers and find celery, onions, and carrots, exactly what I need for the recipe. Luckily for Stacey, I also had the forethought to take chicken out of the freezer this morning before heading in to cover both our shifts. I don’t know if I can take a crowded grocery store right now. My medication is doing its job to bring my anxiety level down, but I don’t want to do anything to trigger it again. Not that I ever know what that is on a good day. It could be literally anything from seeing a dirty tissue sitting next to the trash can instead of inside it to someone sneezing on the back of my neck during the height of the pandemic. Yes, that happened. People are fucking disgusting, but I digress.
