“Not since my new hip,” Leora added, ratcheting up my anxiety.
“It’s low impact,” they claimed, showing off scars and telling stories that, don’t get me wrong, were pretty fucking amazing.
But now here I am, inhaling the scent of antiseptic and pouring sweat from the pain, too many grandmothers fussing over me as a nurse informs us, “Dr. Vasquez will be right in.”
Yeah, that tracks.I’d pleaded with the universe that he wouldn’t have to bear witness to my stupid injury, thinkingsurely it’s late enough…
Not for a workaholic.
Karma issonot my boyfriend, and speaking of, Noah—who also isn’t my boyfriend—is texting me. Asking me which nights I’m free this week.
How do I type “it depends on whether my finger is broken” without the use of my right hand? My pulse races faster, the screaming pain not enough to keep me from my bigger concern…
How will I possibly get everything done in time for the open house like this?
Ruth and Leora and I were skating and even racing and laughing, and then we wound up in an area I wasn’t as familiar with. It had, what you might call, a big hill.
I only found outhow bigas I crested the top.
“At least the pads did a good job of protecting your knees,” Wanda says, gently patting my thigh. Ruth and Leora are on my other side, taking turns holding and patting my non-injured hand.
Grandma Helen remains stoic, as is her way when anyone is injured. It’s like she’s pissed off human bodies are too fragile, but also…pale and timid and a little afraid?
“Fu-fu-fu,” I say as another sharp jolt fires up my arm, trying to remain respectful of the women that threw me to a pair of bubbies on rollerblades.
Fucking shit, this hurts!
There’s a light knock, and then Carlos strides in, the cedarwood and spice scent of his cologne cutting through the antiseptic hospital smell. His attention remains on the X-rays in his hands, his expression giving nothing away as he flips through them.
“Good evening—” This is where he obviously realizes there are so many of us, his eyes widening for a moment before he quickly recovers. “I see we have a full room. I’d ask how we’re all doing, but I have a little bit of an idea.”
A consoling, dimpled smile spreads across his face as his gaze lands on me. “Mia.”
He takes a seat on the stool and rolls closer on squeaky wheels. “I’ve looked at your X-rays,” he says, glancing from my face to my contorted finger.
“It’s broken, isn’t it?” I ask, already wincing.
“The good news is it’s dislocated,” he says, and he has a really twisted sense of what’s considered good. “The bad news is—”
He yanks my finger so hard I see stars and they’re streaking through me and I might’ve screamed. But then it’s over. “I have to reset it.”
I’m “lucky” that it’s a simple dislocation, no fractures or torn ligaments. He fits me with a blue foam and metal brace that’ll ensure everyone knows I hurt myself, covers the treatment plan, and then asks Wanda, Grandma Helen, Leora, and Ruth if he can have some time alone with the patient.
They ooh and aah and thoroughly embarrass me, leaving my cheeks rosy pink as they tell me they’ll be in the waiting room.
“Nah, you ladies go on home,” Carlos tells them. “I’ll bring Mia—my shift technically ended an hour and a half ago, so she’s my last patient of the day anyway.”
Great. Now I’m dizzy and my thumb is throbbing, and I’m afraid I’m about to have one of those chats with Carlos that inevitably ends in awkwardness.
No regrets, my ass.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I shift the weight of the box in my arms to my hip so I can unlock the vacant unit I turned into a pristinely decorated model and let myself inside. It’s a bit of an awkward juggle, what with the finger splint I’ve been rocking for almost a week, but I make my way inside and drop the box on the kitchen counter.
By the time I give up on finding a pair of scissors and use a mangled paperclip to slice the packaging tape, I’m cautiously optimistic, and doing my best not to freak out, about the culmination of everything I’ve worked so hard for coming to a head this evening.
The open house is a finish line of sorts, one I hope to cross with arms triumphantly raised. Our goal is to have seventy-five new interest forms by the end of the event—a lofty but necessary number—as I’ll have failed my mission if we don’t get sixty units contracted within the next two weeks.
