I roll my eyes. I’ll have to steal her phone and scroll through her text messages to find out. But the likelihood of me being able to do that is slim to none. The device never leaves her side.
“Well, do you at least have a date for when he’s getting in? Maybe I can pick him up at the airport.”
Daphne zips her lips closed.
Frustrated to no end, I ignore the temptation to double park, tell her to get out, and make her walk the rest of the way to the clinic, but that still won’t get me any answers. I remind myself to be nice. It’s the holiday season, and Daph is my only sister. Ava 2.0 is supposed to be more understanding and patient. Except when it comes to matters involving Fernando. She’s as greedy as the Grinch.
There’s a nervous energy swelling inside of me, like a storm brewing beneath the surface. I’m dying to know what else she’s keeping from me. Knowing that he’ll be home also means I need to rush out and pick up a few little Christmas gifts. I chew on my lip. I’ve gotten to know the man well, but there are still a lot of mysteries left to uncover. Should I reach out to his friends at the rink and ask for their advice? I shelve the thought for later as we pull up to the practice.
I park in my reserved spot in front and cut the engine. “You redesigned the sign and logo too?” I say, slowly sliding out of the car.
“Uh-huh. The old sign was just text. It was faded and the colors were all wrong. Talk about being ineffective. You needed something eye-catching that screams you’re an all-animal vet practice. Something that would make people stop and look.”
“This definitely does that,” I say, continuing to stare at the neon sign. It contains hot-pink, yellow, and blue lights with the words “Sequoia Valley Animal Hospital” in swirly letters. There’s a dog, cat, and turtle standing on either side of the text wearing stethoscopes and headlamps, and a bird perched on top of the Y. “I love it.”
“Glad to hear it.” Daphne rubs her hands together. “Wait until it gets dark. That’s when the sign really stands out.”
As we approach the front door, my sister sticks her hands over my eyes. “Daphne!”
“I don’t want you to look until I make sure everything is set up perfectly. I only get one shot at impressing you. If I take my hands away, do you promise not to look until I tell you to?”
“Fine,” I huff.
She releases me and runs around the reception area, her shoes squeaking against the floor. I hope the inside is a little more toned down and the walls aren’t hot-pink or sunshine-yellow.
“Okay, everything’s good. On the count of three, you can look. One, two, three!”
My eyes flutter open and I gasp. The clinic doesn’t resemble the same space I’ve worked out of for the past four years. It looks more like a play area than a waiting area.
The walls are thankfully a muted sky-blue. The seating area has been divided into three distinctly different spaces—one for cats, one for dogs, and another for other pets. Each is a different pastel shade.
“It was all Vicki’s idea to add the fake grass, the fire hydrant, scratching posts, cat tree, bird perches, and fish tank. She thought if you had a patient who could burn off some of their energy before they were taken to the back, it would help them relax.” Daphne snaps her fingers together. “Oh, and she said she’d have no problem making sure the reception area stays clean.”
I let out a deep breath. “That’s good, because things like the fake grass are going to be high maintenance.”
“That’s what I told her, but let her figure that out. Come on, there’s a lot more to show you!”
She escorts me over to the nook that used to serve as the customers’ coffee bar. It’s been replaced with the specialized food we carry.
“This is a much better use of the space,” I say, running my hand over the newly installed shelving units. For once, it doesn’tlook like a closet has exploded. Everything we carry has a dedicated space.
“Agreed. We decided that each waiting area should also have its own coffee, tea, and water bar. That way a pet owner doesn’t have to cross over into ‘enemy territory.’” Daphne makes air quotes. “The last thing you need is for a big dog like a Great Dane to stir up a parrot, iguana, or whatever other animal you have waiting to see you.”
As we approach the reception desk, I see the rows of filing cabinets we previously had crammed into the space have been removed. In their place is a clean white wall with the new logo and a list of the prices for our basic services. There’s also a glass display cabinet advertising my monthly low-cost vaccine clinic and pets available for adoption.
“Vicki digitized all your patient files. We kept them in case you wanted access to them. For now, the cabinets are in your office, but I’m hoping you’ll let me haul them out of here. They’re clunky and don’t fit the new aesthetic of the place.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I shake my head. “What I can’t wrap my head around is how you’ve managed to achieve all this in just two weeks.”
“It was a lot of early mornings and late nights to work around when the clinic was open, but totally worth it,” my sister says with a gleam in her eyes. “And we’re not even done with the tour yet.”
We continue our field trip through the exam rooms, break room, kennels, my office, and the storage room. I’d hoped the exam rooms would get a new coat of paint, but I never imagined that literally every room in the clinic would receive an overhaul.
“So what do you think? Do I get the Dr. Brown seal of approval?”
I’m at a loss for words. All I can do is nod as a few tears slip out, and hug my sister tightly. “It’s the best Christmas present ever. Thank you,” I say softly.
“You’re welcome. And I hope you don’t mind, but I’m featuring it on my website.”
