“Who wears jeans while pregnant?” I ask, as I’m trying to keep pace with two of the fastest women alive. “And why are we running?” I pant out.
“Well, who wears jeans at all these days?” Abby chimes in, pulling the hood over her head as she rushes toward an awning.
“I’m just trying to get out of the rain. Plus, Hannah is with my boys and CeCe in the suite, so I want to get back before they make her pull her hair out.” Mia rushes ahead.
Once we’re back in Ford and Abby’s family suite, I take my coat off and place it on the chair next to the sweetest three-year-old I know. Abby’s niece CeCe sits on the big red chair with alarge bucket of soft pretzels and a box of apple juice on the tray in front of her. Her hair is up in pigtails with custom made bows, one with the number nine and the other with a seven. She has on the cutest white t-shirt that says, “Go Daddy!” on the front with the number ninety-seven on the back.
“Hey, my girl!” I say as I take a seat next to her. I’ve known CeCe since she was born and feel an overwhelming sense of protection over her. She’s always just beenmy girl.
“Hi!” CeCe smiles, offering me a pretzel as the kickoff happens and we both get settled in for the game.
Watching them play in the rain makes it look ten times more dangerous than it does on your average Sunday. The field is slick and you can tell it’s affecting how the game is going. As the day progresses, CeCe and I continue to sit together, cheering for each positive play and yelling at the referees on the bad calls. She huffs and puffs when she hears a penalty called on Chase and her tiny arms cross over her chest.
“Those guys don’t know what they’re talking about,” I whisper, giving her a wink and she smiles at me again.
“Booooo!” CeCe yells, following the crowd as another call doesn’t go our way. I always enjoy watching the games with her. I think she understands more than we probably give her credit for. I’ve always been a football fan, even before my life was so intertwined in it. So, it’s fun to see it through her eyes now.
I hear Mia tell the boys for the sixth time to “sit down and watch Daddy” but they just turned one and I can’t blame them for having no interest in sitting still to watch a game. It amazes me how much energy they have for such little people. I had them sitting on my lap at some point to take some of the chasing off of Mia, but that was short lived.
“Okay. I’m throwing in the towel. I made it to halftime,” Mia says, with her hands rifling through the diaper bag. She pullsout two tablets and turns them on. “Don’t judge me. I need ten minutes.” She sighs heavily.
“Are you kidding? I’m never judging you.” I laugh. “I’m in awe of you. You’re a superhuman.”
I can’t help but think of this morning. I have yet to tell the girls what happened, but I already know they’ll both be out for blood once I do. It still annoys me to even think about what he said. Although, I am glad we broke up, because I know I didn’t picture anything like kids or marriage with him. Even though those are definitely things I want one day, he just wasn’t right for me. I’m worth more than just a fun time. With the right person, just as I am, I’ll be exactly what someone needs and I’ll be good at it.
Another long shift, another day of actively avoiding seeing my ex. I was doing really well until I needed a consult on one of my pediatric patients and I let my chatty mouth keep me in the room too long.
“Okay, I’ll just get going and let Dr. McCall answer anything else. Feel better, Simone,” I say, waving to the eight-year-old with a broken arm. Broken bones are a common occurrence for kids, especially those that like to live on the edge a little and give their parents minor heart attacks daily.
As I’m walking out of the room, I walk right into Damien, one of my colleagues and quite frankly, the only person who helps keep me sane most days. This morning, I told him Drew and I broke up simply so he’d help me in avoiding having to be around him much today. I’ll be fine as the days go on, but one day apart wasn’t enough and I’m already annoyed at his crooked eyebrows and mediocre smile.
“Were you able to avoid the snake today?” Damien asks as we walk together down the hall. Both of our shifts are coming to an end and I couldn’t be more thankful for a Monday that flew by like today.
“Mostly. Of course, he had to slither in for the last patient of the day,” I say.
“You know you’re too good for him, right? Break up or not, I’ve always thought that. He just has really great hair, that’s it. And that’s what got you hooked to begin with, wasn’t it? The dark locks of glory?”
I laugh at Damien’s comment, feeling grateful I have him around to lighten the mood.
“The hair. Definitely.” I slowly nod, and he leans down, giving me a hug before he leaves. Even after a twelve-hour shift he still smells utterly incredible. His boyfriend works with a fragrance company so I’m not completely shocked, but whatever he has Damien wearing is definitely long lasting.Can withstand a twelve-hour hospital shift in the Emergency Roomwould be great for marketing.
My phone dings with a text from Abby as soon as I walk in my apartment. Her and I haven’t been able to spend as much time together as we’d like just due to your basic adulting, aside from Sundays at the football stadium or someone’s house for an away game.
Abby
I’m starting to think I’ll never see two pink lines. Another negative
I sigh at the text message, not even knowing what to say anymore. My heart hurts for her and Ford. I wish I had the words to say that would comfort her or some kind of advice to beable to give that might help make her situation easier, but there isn’t anything I can do to ease the pain she feels.
I’m sorry this has been so tough. I love you
I’ve learned in the last year as Abby’s shared more on the ins and outs of what she and Ford are going through that she doesn’t want my two cents. She doesn’t want someone to sit here and tell her not to stress over it. She doesn’t want to hear that everything happens for a reason, or it’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen. She’s tired of being told to “just have a lot of sex” or the “when it’s meant to be, it’ll be” cliché. She doesn’t need to hear that. My job is to love her and support her, no matter what. All she needs to know is that I’m here, for the good and the bad and the uncertain.
Tossing my purse on the bar stool, I turn the light in the kitchen on. I barely had time to eat today and a granola bar with a string cheese is definitely not substantial enough to last me much longer.
Although, reality sets in when I realize that I’ve been neglecting my apartment for the last few days and my refrigerator reminds me that it’s bare when it makes a sad, creaking noise as I open it. I could be upset by this or I could look at it as an opportunity to get tacos for dinner from the food truck outside my building.
I pass it nearly every day and there’s always the sweetest older man sitting at one of the picnic tables right beside it. I have no idea if he works at the truck, owns it, or if he’s just a frequent visitor, but he smiles every single day, rain or shine.
