Jesus, how the hell did that end up on my seat?All the crayons were in Harper’s backpack.How do kids make so much mess in such a short period of time?
A honk behind me has me jumping in my seat and brings me back to reality.
Channelling my last shred of mental strength, I put the car in drive again and pull into the first open parking spot I can find.
Harper is still sniffling as I unbuckle her and hoist her into my arms, careful not to bump the arm she’s holding protectively over her chest.Her head instantly goes to my shoulder, looking for comfort.At least that’s what I’m hoping she’s doing and that she’s not rubbing her snot all over my sweater.
I speed walk to the ER doors, weaving in and around cars, bumpy sidewalks, and other people.I only get side-eyed once, but I think that’s mostly due to the Toronto Nighthawks sweater I’m wearing, not because I’ve been recognized.
I don’t want to have to deal with a fan at the moment when all my attention needs to be on Harper.
The automatic doors open, buzzing their welcome.I barely have a moment to get my bearings before the noise of the crowd consumes me.My eyes dart all over the place, trying to figure out which way I need to go.
Okay.It’s okay,I say out loud, mostly for Harper’s benefit, but I need the reassurance too.Hurrying to the right, I enter a large waiting room.There are rows of chairs with people waiting, various looks of pain, annoyance, and boredom on their faces.
The receptionist’s desk is tucked into the far corner, glowing under fluorescent lights that buzz like they’re one power surge away from giving up.I make a beeline for it, Harper clinging to me tighter the closer we get.
Hi,I say, out of breath.Panic and relief swirl in my chest.We finally made it.Help is on the way.My niece fell off a trampoline at a birthday party, and her arm’s…uh…doing something it definitely shouldn’t be doing.
There’s a beat of silence as the receptionist ignores us.My eyes scan the Plexiglas barrier that’s around the desk.Am I missing something?Do I need to ring a bell or take a number somewhere?Fuck me, this is torture.
I know I’m a little distanced fromthe common person’sexperience, what with having a team of medical professionals at my fingertips as a professional hockey player, but damn.Does the system have to be so complicated?
The receptionist finally looks up, eyes flicking from Harper to me, then back again.Her expression shifts in slow motion, boredom morphing into suspicion, then recognition.She’s not going to take pity on me.Oh no, she doesn’t look the type, but she must see the utter desperation and panic in my eyes and decides to hold her tongue.
Silently, I give her a small nod of thanks.
We’ll get her checked in,she says, but her gaze lingers a second too long.I don’t break eye contact.I can’t back down from this.
I offer her a tight smile and shift Harper higher on my hip.My back strains in protest.Perfect.
The receptionist hands me a clipboard thick enough to qualify as a non-disclosure agreement.Fill this out, please.And we’ll need her health card.
Yes, yep.I take the clipboard and pen with my one free hand like a circus performer balancing spinning plates.No problem.
Moving slowly away from the reception area, I sit in a discoloured plastic chair that has all the ergonomic support of a medieval punishment device.I cringe as the seat moans under my weight, and I suddenly feel eyes on me, judging me as I make a noise in the otherwise hushed room.As quickly as I can, I duck my head.Harper curls into my side, sniffling, tiny breaths hitching every few seconds.
I flip to page one.
Name.Easy.
Harper Leah Rose Crane-Mayfield.
Address.Date of birth.Social.
Boom.Boom.Boom.
Easy.
Relationship.
Wait.What?Relationship?She’s nine.Why the hell would she be in a—oh.Relationship to me.
Got it, got it, got it.
Uncle.Delusional uncle who thought he could help out his sister and brother-in-law for one afternoon by taking his niece to what he considered a low-stakes event.Colossal mistake.
Children’s birthday parties are not for the weak.I thought I was physically, mentally, and emotionally strong.I was wrong.Very wrong.Kids have a way of spotting your insecurities from a mile away and commenting on them for all to hear.With a goddamn smile on their face.
