“I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself,” he’d told me, running a hand through his hair in that way he does when he’s frustrated. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like?—”
“It’s fine,” I’d interrupted because I couldn’t handle the sincerity in his blue eyes or the way my heart was doing a little dance in my chest. “Let’s just move on. Please.”
And we did move on. We went hiking on Saturday, with Felix carrying Ellie in the backpack carrier and pretending not to notice that I had to stop every ten minutes to catch my breath, followed by a picnic with sandwiches from the deli in town. Yesterday was lazy and domestic, my favorite kind of day. Felix made a loaf of honey and oat sourdough while I read approximately four thousand books to Ellie, then dined on the plastic food meal shemade in the play kitchen Felix had delivered to my house, one that’s a more manageable size than the one at the cabin. Ellie seems to love it just as much as the gourmet version.
The weekend was easy and comfortable, like we’d been doing it for years instead of weeks.
Which is exactly the problem. Comfortable is dangerous. Comfortable makes you forget that Felix Barlowe announced that he never wanted kids. It makes you overlook the fact that his marriage proposal came from obligation rather than affection. And it makes you want to believe that just maybe this could be your life.
But I learned a long time ago that comfortable doesn’t last. My mom was comfortable until the car wreck that ended her life. My relationship with Sadie was comfortable until I started dating her secret crush, not realizing I was twisting a knife in her back. My engagement to Bradley was comfortable right up until the moment I realized comfortable was just another word for “settling for someone who treats you like a pretty accessory instead of a human being.”
But now I’m doing the bucket list challenge, and there are things I need to accomplish to prove I can stand on my own two feet. Number one: Get my career back on track. Number two: Stop relying on other people to define my worth.
Except this weekend made it hard to remember what’s so wrong with leaning on Felix’s very broad, very sturdy shoulders instead.
Which is why the visit to Casey and a potential return to my job are so important. I need to prove to myself that I can do this—be a mother, have a career, build a life—without becoming so dependent on anyone that I forget I’m capable of it all by myself.
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror. My blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and I’m wearing my favorite navy dress. I look like someone who has her life together, even though I’m growing a tiny human inside me who enjoys making me vomit at the most inconvenient times.
“Fake it till you make it,” I mutter, then grab my purse and head toward the entrance.
The automatic doors slide open, and I’m hit with the distinctive antiseptic hospital smell. My stomach does a little roll in response, but then blessedly settles again. I’m giving credit to the toast I had for breakfast. I might want to stand on my own two feet, but I’ve got no problem letting sourdough prop me up.
The volunteer at the front desk, Ed Masterson, looks up with a bland smile that turns into something real when he sees me. “Piper Hart, I’ve missed you. Tell me you’re back.”
“Only for a visit,” I answer with a smile that feels only slightly strained. “I have a meeting with Casey.”
“That’s a start.” Ed nods his approval. “You know the way.”
Yep. Past the gift shop with its shiny balloons and overpriced stuffed animals, up the elevator to the third floor, then through the double doors with the cheerful rainbow mural that some local artist painted years ago.
Casey Plummer is standing at the nurses’ station, which appears to be the same organized chaos of charts and computers it was three weeks ago. I hear the faint sound of a child crying somewhere down the hall.
Casey’s dark hair is in its usual no-nonsense bun, and she’s wearing scrubs with cartoon dinosaurs all over them. She’s in her early forties with three kids of her own, and has the kind of calm presence that makes her perfect for managing a unit where emotions run high. Her face breaks into a genuine grin as I approach, and my guilt over how I left intensifies about ten thousand percent.
“Piper, it’s so good to see you.” She comes around the desk and pulls me into a quick hug as a nurse I don’t recognize looks on. “Let’s go to my office. Janie, you good here?”
Janie nods. “Got it covered.”
“Thanks,” I say automatically to the young woman, then follow Casey down the hall. Her office is about the size of astorage closet, but it has a door that closes, which is the important part as far as I’m concerned. She gestures for me to sit and settles into her own chair with a sigh.
“Long day already?” I ask.
“Long month. We’ve been short-staffed since…” She pauses, clearly rethinking whether to finish that sentence.
“Since I bailed without notice?” I supply with a wince. “Casey, I’m so sorry. I know I left you in a terrible position. Seeing Bradley and Marie here was just?—”
“I get it.” My former boss leans forward, her expression kind. “Breakups are hard enough. Ones where your ex shows up at your workplace with his new wife might be their own special circle of hell. You don’t owe anyone an apology for protecting your mental health.”
The relief that washes over me is so intense I nearly tear up, which is probably hormones mixed with a healthy dose of gratitude for this woman’s basic human decency.
“I might like to come back,” I tell her. “If that’s possible. I know I probably burned some bridges, but I love working here. I was thinking maybe I could try something different than peds.”
“You’re one of the best nurses I’ve seen,” Casey agrees without hesitation. “Any unit in this hospital would be lucky to have you, but I need to be honest about something.”
That vaguely ominous statement causes my stomach to churn once again. “What is it?”
“Dr. Carlson’s wife started here two weeks ago, and she’s been picking up a lot of shifts. If you come back, there’s a good chance you’ll be working with her.”
