Nearing September

by Amber Thielman

  “Hi,” I said, taking a bag from her. “I didn't know you were coming.”

  “Sorry,” Lindsay said. She set down one of the bags and looked at me, her expression bitter with accusation. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, not at all. Sam is working, and Piper is at school.” I wanted to add, yeah, you’re interrupting my alone time, but I didn’t.

  “Good then.” Lindsay stepped forward and rested her lips on mine, allowing her slender fingers to trail down my chest and abdomen. I felt my entire body go rigid as her hand rested on the zipper of my fly. Lindsay slipped her tongue between my lips, gently massaging the area below my belt.

  “Hold on, Linds,” I gasped. “I think we need to talk.”

  “We'll talk later,” she murmured. I closed my eyes, feeling her fingers working at the button of my jeans. I met her lips with the passion of my own, embracing the smell of the sweet Chanel perfume she often wore. Her blond hair was soft in my hands, lips smooth as silk.

  “Lindsay,” I said again, and had to gasp to catch my breath. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Later, Nick,” Lindsay whispered, and I knew it was a lost cause. As my lips met Lindsay's one more time and her hands caressed the skin below my clothes, I found myself thinking of one person who was not my girlfriend—I thought of Sam.

  Sam

  It was ten p.m. when I found myself back at Nick's apartment. I was worn out, tired, and my feet were killing me—but I had enjoyed my first day.

  “It smells like sex in here,” I said, closing the front door behind me and dropping my work bag. I wrinkled my nose. “It stinks.”

  “Sorry,” Nick said. He stood up from the recliner to greet me, and I tried my best to ignore the tiny trill of annoyance that tugged at my patience. I'd been working all day while he had been home screwing a girl—typical.

  “Is Piper in bed?” I asked. I limped to the kitchen for a beer, feeling the blisters forming on my feet— the aftermath of the new shoes I'd had to invest in.

  “Conked out,” he said. He, too, grabbed a beer, seating himself at the dining table across from me. “How was work?”

  “Do you care?” I asked, and then felt sorry for snapping at him. What he did with his time was of no concern to me—I didn't have to like it; I just had to accept it.

  “Well,” he said. “I asked, didn't I?” He sighed and peeled the wrapper from his beer absentmindedly.

  “Work was good,” I said, and I meant it. The hospital was the first sign of normalcy I'd had since arriving in Seattle. “I really enjoy the people I work with. It's like being back at home.”

  “That's good,” Nick said. He nodded at me and took a drink of his beer. “I apologized to my agent today,” he said. “So now I'll have the chance at another gig.”

  I took another drink of my beer and smiled at him. “That's great,” I said. “Good for you for being the bigger person.”

  “It was rough,” he said. His face was so somber that I had to laugh.

  “I bet it was,” I said and tossed the crumpled beer wrapper at him. I was just about to reach into the fridge for another beer when I caught sight of his neck—spotted the angry red hickey hiding beneath his chin. Suddenly, all humor was gone, and I felt a shocking jolt of sorrow travel through me.

  “You okay?” Nick asked. “You look like I just kicked your dog.”

  “I'm fine,” I murmured. I set the full bottle of beer on the counter and kicked off my sneakers. “Just tired. I'm going to bed.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I guess you would be pretty tired.” I hated how crestfallen he looked—but he had no room to be sad and pitiful. That was my job. The only thing he needed to do was call up his girlfriend for a late-night bang.

  “Goodnight, Nick,” I said, passing by him to climb the stairs to the bedroom. As I got ready for bed, I checked my phone for the umpteenth time that day, feeling both hurt and angered that Richard had yet to text or call me. I had two text threads opened—only two. One was Tasha, and the other was Nick.

  Nick

  I lay alone on the living room couch that night, staring up at the pitch-black ceiling as I listened to Sam's snoring in the room upstairs. God, she was loud. The only person I'd ever known that could give Sam a run for my money was Emily—no wonder the two had been best friends.

  Thinking of my sister made my chest tighten with pain. So often I had failed to care about what was or wasn't going on in Emily's life—so many missed phone calls, ignored texts. It had never occurred to me that something like this could happen—something so rare and yet so possible all at once. It hurt me to think about what I would change now, had we been granted more time. Death and loss happened every moment of every day, and yet every person in the world never thinks it will happen to them.

  I rolled over onto my stomach, checking my phone for missed calls from Lindsay. After we'd gone at it against the kitchen counter, I had bid Lindsay a good night, promising to get a hold of her the next day for lunch or dinner. I had no intention of ever having another meal with Lindsay again. I knew, despite how much I was dreading it, that Lindsay and I would be no more. Before Piper, I wouldn't have even considered it. But now—I had to do what was best for the kid, and that didn't involve Lindsay.

  Sam

  I was jolted awake Tuesday morning by the shrill ringing of my cell phone. Eyes still halfway closed, I fumbled around on the dresser, pressing the phone against my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Samantha? It's me. It's Richard.”

  “Richard?” I sat up, jolted into consciousness. It was six-thirty in the morning, half an hour before my alarm was set to go off for work. If it was six-thirty in Seattle, that meant it was nine-thirty in Miami. Richard was usually busy at work by this time. “What are you doing calling so late?” I asked. “Or early, I guess.”

  “How are you, Samantha?” Richard asked, brushing off my question. I fell back onto my pillow, sighing, wondering if there was anything I could say to him without sounding bitter and resentful.

  “I'm fine,” I said. “Thanks for calling. I assumed you'd just forgotten about me.”

  “No,” Richard said. “Nothing like that.” He sounded distracted, as though more important things were on his mind. There was a moment of silence as I waited for him to speak—I had no idea what to say to him. It almost felt as though moving to Seattle had ultimately sent my life back home into a tailspin of confusion.

  “It's good to hear from you,” I said. I tried to sound convincing, but my patience with him was wearing thin. “I already got a job down here at the hospital. I enjoy it.”

  “And your classes?” Richard asked.

  “I'm finishing the semester online, then for spring I'll apply at the university here.”

  “Be wary of falling behind,” Richard said. “Yale won't take somebody who half-assed their college career.”

  “I think that considering the circumstances, I'm not doing too badly,” I said. I sat up again, feeling irritation gnaw at my patience. Count on Richard to ignore me for weeks and then spend the entire conversation degrading me.

  “Listen, honey, I have to get back to work,” Richard said. “I will call you later, and we can talk more.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I love you.”

  “Me, too.” There was a beep and then the line went dead. I shut the phone and tossed it aside, unsure of what emotion was trying to make its way to the top. I was furious that it had taken him so long to call me, but I was also relieved that he had done it. It angered me that so many of my good days depended on Richard.

  “Sam?” After a rap on the door, Nick opened it and came in. He was holding a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. Tied around his midsection was an apron. “Breakfast?”

  “You look adorable,” I said, trying not to laugh as my ill thoughts of Richard vanished. “I would love some breakfast.”

  “Me, too!” Piper called, stepping into the bedroom behind him. She was still in my pajamas, hair wi
ld about her face, tangled and crazy like Emily's used to be in the mornings.

  “Caviar and Spam, it is,” he said, turning to nudge Piper playfully on the shoulder.

  “Gross,” Piper said, making a face at him. “Isn't caviar fish?”

  “Fish eggs,” I said, laughing. I had the overwhelming desire to hug Piper then—to hug her and never let go.

  “Well, come on then, ladies,” Nick said, backing out of the room. “Otherwise I will eat it all before you even have a chance.”

  “Caviar and Spam?” I asked. “All yours, dude.” I rolled out of bed and dressed quickly in the bathroom, drawing a light jacket around my shoulders. It was the end of August in Seattle, nearing September, and it was only a matter of time before the tolerable chill in the air would intensify as autumn arrived.

  “What are we really having for breakfast, Uncle Nick?” Piper asked as we followed him down to the kitchen.

  “No one liked the Spam and fish egg idea?” I asked. My expression was crestfallen. Piper giggled, and I was relieved to see that yet again she didn't have the torn and tattered bear in her grip. “How about bacon and eggs and toast?”

  “With hash browns?” Piper asked. I grinned, remembering Emily's fascination with the shredded potatoes.

  “Like mother, like daughter,” I said. I watched Nick flit about the kitchen as he prepared breakfast, looking so cute in my purple cooking apron. I made Piper a steaming mug of cocoa and made Nick and me some strong coffee.

  “How is school, Pipes?” Nick asked as he cooked. The girl shrugged as I sipped my drink, slurping the mini marshmallows from the top of the mug.

  “It's okay, I guess,” she said. “There's a mean boy who won't leave me alone, though.”

  “Who's being mean to you?” I asked, making chopping motions in the air with a pair of scissors.

  “His name's Dereck,” Piper said. “He's really rude, and he won't leave me alone.”

  “Is he teasing you?” I asked. Piper nodded, grinning at Nick as he set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her.

  “Do you like this kid?” I asked. He set a plate down for me, too, and then filled his own plate with food before joining us at the table. “Because you know what they say—a boy will tease you if he likes you.”

  “That's not very nice,” Piper said. “Why can't they just be nice?”

  “Trust me,” I whispered. “They don't grow out of it.”

  “I heard that.” Nick shovel a forkful of eggs into his mouth, his shaggy, dirty blond hair falling into his eyes. As I watched him, my fingers twitched, the desire to run my hands through his hair overwhelming.

  “Are you okay, Aunt Sam?” Piper asked after a moment, drawing me back to reality. “Your face is really red.” I dropped my fork, humiliated, turning away just as Nick's eyes landed on me. Was he—smirking?

  “It's warm in here,” I said, trying to cover up my embarrassment. Piper shrugged and resumed eating, but I refused to look away. For a long, trying moment, Nick and I stared each other down, silent, unmoving. My gaze seemed to light a fire in him, and I felt the heat rise in a flush beneath my clothing. After a long, nerve-wracking sixty seconds and one intense hot flash, I forced myself to look away, composing myself.

  “I have to go,” I said. “Wouldn't want to be late for work.”

  “Wouldn't want that,” Nick murmured, and it took everything I had not to meet his gaze again. I didn't want to go to work—I wanted to drop my clothes and spend the day running my hands over Nick's bare chest.

  Jesus. I put the palm of my hand to my forehead, wondering why I was thinking such inappropriate things. It was Nick—Nick.

  “Bye, Aunt Sam,” Piper said.

  “Bye, lady luck,” said Nick, gathering my things. “Have a good day at school.” I waved over my shoulder at Nick before hurrying out the door, trying to regain my composure. My skin was tingling and burning as I walked to the bus stop, trying to keep my head on and my thoughts straight. Why was this happening to me? Why did I feel so desperate to be close to him—to feel him against me? It was Nick, for Christ-sakes.

  Pushing thoughts of Nick out of my head, I boarded the city bus and rode it to the hospital. It was a decent day in Seattle—bright, but chilly, and an impending storm hovered behind the mountains.

  “Excuse me, honey,” an elderly woman holding a map leaned over towards me. “Could you tell me how to get to Pike’s Place?”

  “Actually, yeah.” Smiling, I took the map from the woman and outlined the route with a pen. “It's not far from here.”

  I remembered visiting with Nick and Piper.

  “Oh, wonderful,” the woman said, placing her hand over her heart. “All you locals have been so kind to my husband and me—we're just pesky tourists, I know.”

  “Oh, no, I'm not a local,” I said quickly. “I’m originally from Miami.”

  “Ah,” the woman said, nodding politely. “You live here now though? Seattle is your home?”

  Home, I thought. It had been years since I'd considered any place home, including Miami. Maybe Seattle was it—maybe Seattle had always waited for me.

  Nick

  “Why didn't you tell me you had a kid?” Paul's face was scrunched up in irritation, the wrinkles on his skin standing out under the dim Washington sun. His tiny, beady eyes seemed to get lost in the rolls of his face.

  “I literally told you about Piper a few days ago,” I said. He reached for his glass of ice water, sipping it nonchalantly.

  “Nick.” Paul sat back hard in his chair, tugging at his shirt collar. “How are you going to work if you have a child to raise?”

  “I have help, Paul; it's not like she's an infant and I'm a single parent.”

  “Kids require time,” Paul said. “They require lots and lots of time. Unfortunately, so does your career.”

  “It's fine.” I took another sip of my water, trying to play it cooler than I felt. “Piper is a piece of cake. She goes to school, comes home, and does homework, and does it all over again. The girl is a saint.”

  “Fine,” Paul said finally. He shook his head and reached for his glass of scotch. “But if one of them must suffer because of this, make damn well sure it's not your career.”

  Sam

  My feet hurt like hell. And my back was feeling sore again—and my neck. Hell, even my boobs seemed to hurt. Never in Miami had I been on my feet so long. There, it had been controlled, a perfect schedule to abide by every day. In Seattle, I hit the ground running the moment my sneakers touched that ER floor—and I loved every minute.

  Leaning up against the nurse's station with exhaustion, I raised my hands above my head and stretched, popping my back with a groan. Breaks were limited here.

  “Oh, hey, bella dama,” someone said behind me. “¿Estás listo para caer?”

  I turned, startled, coming face to face with a Cuban woman with stunning long black hair that cascaded down her back and over her shoulders.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, flushing. “No hablo Española.”

  “I figured,” the girl said. “But I had to try, right?” She smiled and held out her hand. She was dressed in scrubs, I noticed, and her badge said Emergency Room RN. “I'm Kit,” the nurse said. “Kit Harper.”

  “Samantha Carson,” I said, and shook her hand. “Just call me Sam.”

  “Welcome to MMC,” Kit said. “I've seen you running around all day. I'm impressed, though, you're quick on your feet. Pre-med?”

  “Yes, and thanks.”

  “It's about time this hospital hired someone like you,” Kit said, pushing herself off the desk as we headed towards the lounge. “I don't know how much different Seattle is from Miami, but nobody can take anything seriously here.”

  “It's like that everywhere,” I said with a laugh. “Even in Miami.”

  “You don't look like a Miami girl,” Kit said, sizing me up. I flushed under her gaze, but I wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or offended.

  “Well, you look exactly like a Miami
girl, and I mean that in the best of ways,” I said with a laugh. And it was true. Kit was stunning, the kind of woman you'd find walking down Long Beach flaunting a gold bikini and bug-eyed sunglasses. She reminded me a lot of Tasha.

  “You look like a Miami girl, too,” Kit said. “You've got the body, and you've got the walk.”

  “Oh, God, yeah,” I said with a snort. “If a Miami body means a twelve-year-old boy before puberty, then I'm all over that.”

  “Don't underestimate this, girl,” Kit said, admiring me from head to toe. I raised my eyebrows. “Your skin is positively glowing, and you've got the best hair I've seen all year.”

  “Really?” I asked doubtfully. I reached up and touched my mop of red curls, cringing. “I can think of another description for it.” Grabbing my lunch from the fridge, I poured myself a cup of water and sat down with Kit at the breakroom table, digging into my tuna sandwich and chocolate cake.

  “Are you married?” Kit asked as we ate. “I see no ring.”

  “Not married,” I said. “I have a boyfriend back home in Miami.”

  “Por que en Miami, bebe?” Kit asked. “Why not here, in Seattle, with you?”

  “It's—complicated.” I poked at my chocolate cake, feeling my appetite fade. “He's very successful. He’s a surgeon. It’s impossible for him to move here now.”

  “Ah, I see.” Kit picked at her lunch, disinterested. “Not much candy here, in this great city?” Briefly, I thought of Nick but then shook away the thought at once.

  “Nope.”

  “Bueno,” Kit said with a grin. “You can be my wing-woman.”

  “Challenge accepted.” Still giggling, Kit and I finished our lunch and headed back to the ER just as the paramedics were wheeling a trauma in.

  “The fun here never stops!” Kit shouted to me, taking the report from the medic. “I hope you like the action.”