I narrow my eyes at her, fixing my buttons. “I’m just having a little fun while she’s in town.”
“She’s been in town for a while. I wonder if she’s trying to make it permanent?” she asks, popping her brows.
“Nope. Don’t go there.” I say that part mostly for myself, if I’m honest. “I’m sure she’s anxious to get back to Nashville.”
“Mm-hmm,” Joey says. “That why you’re renting a guitar from the music center?”
“I swear to God,” I huff, clocking in as I bring my lanyard over my head. “You two are a bunch of gossips.”
Joey brings her hand to her chest in a terrible imitation of being affronted. “We don’t need intimate details. We’re just curious. You’ve been single a while, and it’s nice to see you’ve broken the streak.”
“I’m not talking about what may or may not be happening with Mac because I can’t let myself think about it too long without going crazy.”
“Okay, then,” Dr. Zamora says, taking the hint, “let’s get to work.”
Thank God.
As I check today’s charts, though, a familiar dread rises. At least two patients on the docket have had multiple miscarriages, and one is pregnant again. This is fantastic news, but I can only think about the sound she made when she realized she was miscarrying the last time.
As with anyone in my line of work, there are a few days I’ll never recover from, and that was one of them. Maybe other healthcare professionals can approach that with clinical neutrality, but I never have. I live and die with these patients’ dreams, and the thought of supporting another high-risk pregnancy leaves me with a rock in my gut.
It makes my little bit of happiness with Mac feel selfish and fragile and so fucking necessary. While the stress of this job eats away at me, making out with Mac over morning coffee—as silly as it sounds—restores me.
When I let my imagination get involved, I wonder if she’ll ever consider moving to Colorado permanently or if I’d be willing to move to Nashville.
Ha. Two months in, and I’m already trying to pack up a U-Haul and abandon a career I spent years building, all while imagining I could ever leave this land so connected to Dad.
Idiot.
In a spot of perfect—or terrible—timing, the door chime goes off, and I look up, unable to help the smile on my face when Mac walks in. She spots me right away and holds up my insulated lunch bag.
“Forget something?”
I let out a sigh. “Did you make Ed go and pick you up?”
She utilized his services last week while I was at work, and it ended in tears. Mostly mine.
She shakes her head and juts a thumb behind her right as Mason pops up with Freddy in tow.
“I made these two lovesick puppies bring me in.”
Freddy snorts. “That’s rich coming from you.”
I always freak out a bit when someone talks about our…whatever this is…in front of her. But, like always, she rolls her eyes and more or less ignores it.
Setting the bag on the counter, she leans in for a chaste kiss right as Dr. Zamora bustles up to the front.
“Alright, alright. Save the making out for later. I’ve got both DanaandJoan headed to labor and delivery.”
I check the chart in my hands. Dana was supposed to come in today for a screening. “Damn, she’searlyearly.”
Dr. Z’s usually bright demeanor darkens. “I know. Thankfully, the last scan was good, and the kid is a little big for its developmental age, so I think we’re out of the danger zone. Still in the worry zone though.”
“Need me to go with?”
She shakes her head. “You can take my appointments this afternoon. You know Shelby trusts you.”
Shelby is my high-risk patient.
