“Good.” Because this poor little baby needs consent for surgery. What a freak thing. “Call up to the surgical floor. I want an OR prepped and ready the moment he comes out of CT. Let’s also make sure he’s typed and crossed.”
“On it.” I let the ER trauma team finish up and get him to CT while I head upstairs to get myself ready. My guess is he has a bowel and liver laceration, but I won’t know for sure or how bad they are until I get in there. Once my feet hit the elevator, I type out a text to Skylar.
Me: You okay? How’s it going up there for you?
Thankfully, she replies instantly.
Skylar: Hanging in there. Michaela was a bit snarky at first but seems fine now and says she’s happy and excited for me. I didn’t tell her about the pregnancy. Haven’t seen Josh again. Do you want me to run your coffee up?
My lips twitch, and I throw her favorite line to me back at her.
Me: Why are you being nice to me?
Skylar: I’m a loving and doting wife.
Me: Liar.
Skylar: Fine. I’m really not. But I am thankful for what you did for me this morning. I know you’ve been on all night. I bet you could use it.
Me: That would be great. I’m about to go into the OR on a poor baby who climbed and fell out of his crib.
Skylar: Damn. I’m sorry. That’s awful. I’ll see you in a few with your coffee.
I’m looking forward to it.
I don’t type that. But I am. Even when I know it’s a recipe for disaster.
24
ASTON
The rest of my day didn’t improve much. It was nonstop surgeries, and in one of them, an equipment failure caused a dangerous situation for the patient on the table. I ended up having to open her up instead of using the laparoscope. Then there were weird orders for one of my patients that I had to completely redo before wrong doses of medications were administered. After that, things settled a bit. Josh assisted in a surgery in the afternoon and managed to keep his mouth shut and do his job. Even if anger was pouring off his body in waves. It only fueled the whispers and gossip, but I knew that was going to happen.
I don’t trust him. I know he’s not finished with this, and the moment he discovers Skylar is pregnant, who knows how he’ll react?
By the time I get home, every part of me is exhausted. My mom texted me two hours ago to let me know they’d dropped Zoey off with Skylar after preschool, who only had an eight-hour shift today. It was news that brought a smile to my lips. It reminded me of why I’m doing all of this. Zoey.
And when I walk inside to find the two of them in thekitchen listening to music and singing along as Skylar makes something that smells insanely good and Zoey helps her, that reminder morphs into something else. Into a pleasure-pain so fucking sweet I can hardly breathe for how it pinches my chest and knocks the wind out of me.
My girls laugh and sing. Skylar helps Zoey use a knife to cut up a cucumber for the salad. Pride takes over Zoey’s face as Skylar praises her work. For a moment, I allow my mind to drift. To wander to places it shouldn’t. I picture wrapping my hand around Skylar, feeling her belly where her baby is growing while I kiss the top of Zoey’s head followed by Skylar’s lips.
It’s corny and cliché. Like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, and it makes me smile and inwardly laugh at myself for how ridiculous I’m being. But I also know that if this were real, if I could go into the kitchen and do that, I’d be the happiest motherfucker on the planet.
I’d feel like I finally had it all. Instead of perpetually feeling like everything is just out of my grasp or slipping through my fingers.
For now, I’ll hold onto this piece for Zoey. I already know I won’t get the other pieces for myself. I know it’s loneliness. Simply temptation. An existential crisis or two.
I’m married, but it’s not real.
I have a thing for my best friend’s little sister, and it’s unreciprocated.
I haven’t had sex in I don’t even know how long, and it doesn’t seem like that’s changing anytime soon.
My focus is my daughter and work, and there isn’t much left after either of those things for me. That’s life. It’s just how it is. It won’t be like this forever. I have to remember that. I can get through this if I can focus on something to hope for, but right now, I don’t know what that hope is. It’s a mythical notion, a vague concept, so that makes this a bit tougher.
It makes me think about and focus on things—onpeople—I shouldn’t be.
Snapping myself out of my Nightmare on Hallmark Holiday moment, I take off my coat and hang it up in the closet.
