By ten-fifteen, we’re done. I strip my gear and head straight for treatment. Same room, same table, same quiet understanding from the staff. Today it’s Erica.
She works my shoulder and upper back, fingers pressing into a knot that never fully loosens. Chronic inflammation, a partially healed AC joint separation that went untreated for too long. The kind of injury that should’ve been seen immediately, should’ve been rested, should’ve been protected.
It wasn’t. I tell people it came from junior hockey. A bad hit into the boards. Wear and tear.
The truth is simpler and uglier. It came from taking a beating, the ones that started when she left. From being thrown into a doorframe hard enough that something tore, and no one took me to a doctor because the one who cared enough was gone.
You learn fast what hurts less.
Erica tapes it and checks my range. “Same spot?”
“Same spot,” I say.
“You good?”
“I’m good.” Because I am, I learned how to be.
When I check her location this time, she’s at the tower.
Me:
Good Day?
My phone rings and I smile as I answer. “Hey.”
“I can type and talk at the same time, and I’m trying to get this report done, so.”
“Glad you called,” I say, leaning against the building. “Good day?”
“Oh, right. Yes. No issues.”
“Plans?”
“Reports, then, heading that way to get pictures of Claudia being her bad ass working mom self and surprising Noelle with lunch.”
“Then?”
“I like the bed at The Bridgeview. I think I’ll go check in with Dad and his staff, and,” she pauses. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t need to check in, the room’s yours as long as you need it. And you won’t have unexpected guests.”
“Um …”
“It’s set, you’re good.”
“You didn’t have to do that, I’m?—”
“A bad ass working woman, carving out time for the people you care for. You’ve got to let people look out for you, too, Tsarina.”
“I’ve had a lifetime of people looking out for me. I think?—”
“Looking over you, it’s different than looking out for you.” She doesn’t say anything for a bit, so I ask, “Does it feel different?”
“Yes,” she admits quietly. “But you don’t have to do that.”
I laugh, “I don’t want to replace the people who clean your toilet or bring you coffee at work or your girls, or anyone you love, I just really fucking like being your weighted blanket.”
She sighs softly and contentedly. “I like that too.”
