“Did she delete her number from your phone? You’re lucky she still speaks to you. Then again, maybe you’d prefer she didn’t. Did she leave you any dignity after the nipple nonsense?”
I chuckled. “Pretty sure she said that no one’s nipples were ever going to be interested in me, based on my behavior.”
Jimmy made a face, and probably daunted by my lack of game, dropped the subject. The conversation switched to Jimmy’s work, love life, and family. He was working as many hours as he could get, trying to advance his career, and I respected that. I also worried. Firefighting introduced a world of danger that was outside my experience. My imagination conjured images of him trapped in a burning building, struggling against the flames. The worst that could happen to me while writing was eye strain.
Jimmy dropped me off at home after our dinner, and I checked my email as soon as I was by myself. Reliving social failures with Jimmy reminded me that I didn’t want to be alone. But I knew my limits. Keeping to email was safe. It was late, but I hoped that Tamra had responded to my questions.
Nothing. She was probably busy. Living her life. Not waiting for my email. Disappointment flashed through me. The lack of response was expected, but that didn’t erase my drive to keep moving forward. I could do approach my research differently, but Tamra had piqued my curiosity. I wanted to learn more about her life.
Without a current project in the works, I decided to call it a night. Unfortunately, I tossed and turned until the early hours wondering if I should buck up and introduce myself to Tamra. Different scenarios of our meeting played out, each new idea introducing yet another creative way for me to make an ass of myself. I was in no hurry to live out those fantasies. Tomorrow, I’d check my email and hope that Tamra’s response would be enough.
Chapter 8 - Tamra
Eva could probably hear my squee through our shared wall when I got Virginia’s email. She had sent several thoughtful questions, and I wanted to take my time with my answers, so I didn’t respond right away.
I wasn’t delaying to draw out my relationship with her. Not stalling. Nope, not me. I was just excited to work with a real, live author and help with research. It made me feel like one of the cool kids, when I usually felt like part of the background. Reading had long been an escape. Now my hobby and social media were providing me an opportunity to connect with others on my favorite topics.
I was rarely the star of the show. Not at work. Not in my family. With three other siblings, I often got lost in the shuffle growing up. I tried to find my thing, my talent, but nothing worked out. I wasn’t a cheerleader like my oldest sister, Jennifer. My own short gymnastics career ended early after a broken foot. I struggled to squeak out any intelligible notes on the flute in band. Unlike my sister, Vanessa, I wasn’t first chair material. Getting hot and sweaty on the basketball court held no appeal. Nick was the all-star athlete in the family. Nothing stuck. Nothing fit. Quitting became my thing. My family began to doubt that I’d ever cobble together a degree or a career. Luckily, after three major changes in college, I found nursing.
There was some truth to the idea that parents lowered their standards with each child. By the time they got to me, my folks were just glad I was breathing. They didn’t have high expectations for me or themselves as parents.
It was hard to get a word in among my outspoken family, and eventually, I quit speaking up. The silent sister. The quiet one. Being invisible had its advantages. Even if it was lonely.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like to spend time with my family. My older sisters were both married, and they’d blessed me with multiple adorable nieces and nephews. My youngest brother had announced his engagement months ago, leaving me as the only single person in my family. I was dreading his wedding in a few weeks. The pitying looks and awkward questions about my single status from relatives would make it hard to fade into the background.
If I brought a date they might leave me alone, but I hated the idea of subjecting someone I barely knew to my family. My sister Vanessa was okay, but Jennifer lived for power trips and snark. Even if Nick and Mindy had a small wedding as they claimed to be planning, family alone would push the guest list well over fifty people. Fifty plus nosy, but well-meaning relatives who would be difficult to dodge. As tempting as it sounded, even I wouldn’t bring a book to my own brother’s wedding.
At work, I made the mistake of mentioning Nick’s wedding to Gina.
“Oooh, Tamra. What are you going to wear? Do you have a fabulous dress?” she asked with interest.
I laughed and looked down at my blue scrubs. “Pretty sure I don’t own a fabulous dress, but I have enough scrubs to last through the apocalypse.”
She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “Tamra, as your life coach, I do not approve. We need to bibbidi-bobbidi-boo you up. I may not be able to provide a prince, but a night off and a great dress should be doable.”
Was she my life coach or my fairy godmother? I could argue that I didn’t need either, but we both knew it would be a Big. Fat. Lie.
“What about going shopping together? I’d love to go with you. Or you could try one of those dress rental places if you don’t want to buy something,” she continued.
That was a thing? Now I knew I wasn’t cool. “Dress rental? Like a consignment shop?” I asked.
“No, like a true rental. There’s a runway rental service online that will ship you a dress for a weekend. Then you send it back when you’re done.”
I shook my head. I needed clothes, not couture. My goal was to blend.
“What a time to be alive. I’ll see if my sister has something, but we’re not quite the same size anymore, and she’s going to be at the wedding too. I’ll check out that service, and if I don’t see anything I like, maybe we can go shopping.”
I laughed when Gina gave a fist pump of victory. I had no idea she’d be this excited about going shopping together. We rarely hung out when we weren’t in scrubs, so I didn’t think my wardrobe was a big deal.
That night when I got home, I made myself a frozen pizza. The tiny specks of pepperoni looked lost in the sea of gelatinous cheese, but pizza was convenient, if not satisfying. Virginia was probably cooking something delicious for this week’s post. I should try one of those meal prep kits as my next foray into self-improvement. It was sad to live in a perpetual state of dinner envy.
With Virginia in mind, I reviewed her email again and worked on drafting my response. Agreeing to coffee felt like a much bigger step than exchanging comments online, but my dance classes had shown me that I shouldn’t write off new experiences without trying. Giving people a chance to get to know the real me, awkward moments and all. That was called bonding, right?
I was trying to be thoughtful and showcase the aspects of nursing that made me love it. My best grammar was a must. Something about writing to an author made me paranoid. They had editors to make them look good, and I didn’t have that luxury.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Labor & Delivery Questions
Hey Virginia,
I’m happy to help. Here are my answers. I’d love to get coffee and discuss any follow ups.
What are your hospital’s shifts? Some hospitals use rotating twelve-hour shifts. Mine has a combination of eight, ten, or twelve-hour shifts depending on the department. I work second shift at Sacred Heart in Tacoma which for us is an eight-hour day, which starts in the afternoon. My schedule is pretty predictable, and my seniority means I have weekends off. A lot of deliveries happen on my shift, but most babies arrive during the first shift. Believe it or not, most babies are born right around 8:00 a.m. We’ve got our own rush hour.
What are the standard job roles? RNs (Registered Nurses) help manage the delivery process and care for our patients. We monitor the stages of delivery and get the doctor when mother is ready to deliver.
OBGYN (Obstetrician Gynecologists) Doctors, Midwives, or Laborists help with the actual delivery. They’re us
ually calling the shots and catching the babies at the end. RNs handle the infant cleanup and APGAR scoring while the docs wrap up with the mothers, delivering afterbirth and suturing if needed.
Anesthesiologists are the rock stars. Ask them and they’ll agree. The nurses have a pool on the total marriage proposals they get in a given year. Patients are THANKFUL for that pain relief.
CNAs (Certified Nursing Assistants) vary by hospital. We have more on shift during the busiest times, typically first shift. Assistants help us with stocking and communicating with family in the waiting room.
What do you love about your job? When everything goes smoothly and the hospital plays the lullaby over the speakers. It’s our victory lap and a moment to breathe. I also get to see that first moment of bonding, that moment of pure love and wonder between parents and their baby, and it never gets old.
What do you hate about your job? The heartbreak. Potentially making a mistake that wrecks an entire family.
What are some funny things that happen in the delivery room? I’ve seen one dad make it all the way through delivery only to pass out when he realized his wife was having twins.
What do people get wrong about what it’s like as a nurse? That it’s all sunshine and rainbows; some days are tense and scary when we have a high-risk delivery.
What is something you wish people knew about being a nurse? I’m not a magician, and our focus is health and safety. First-time moms often come in with elaborate birth plans. One memorable mom wanted to burn incense when it came time to push. She was pissed and threatened to shove the incense stick where the sun didn’t shine in a particularly tense moment. My friend on shift teased me about being my own worst enema for weeks. I do my best to provide comfort, but there are some things we can’t allow if they create risk for others. An asthmatic mother laboring in the next room would be put at risk by incense, so it’s against hospital policy. Sometimes nothing goes to plan, and I can only do my best to keep the parents focused on delivering a healthy baby.
What is something you wish people knew about labor and delivery?
I think I answered this one above, but I’ll let you know if I think of something more.
Hopefully that answers some of your questions. I hope I’ve done it justice. Let me know if you want to meet up for more clarification. Also, I’m dying to ask, and I haven’t seen any teasers online. For your next book, is Nate finally getting his own story?
T
I read over my email what felt like ten times before saving it as a final draft. I couldn’t resist sneaking in a question about Nate’s character. Hopefully, Virginia wouldn’t mind my prying. His story was on my ‘most wanted’ list. I’d sleep on my draft, then send her my response before the weekend. Maybe my nerves would be calmer if I looked at it with fresh eyes in the morning.
TRYING TO RECREATE Virginia’s latest recipe and taking my second pole dancing class were part of my strategy to avoid obsessing over the email I finally sent to Virginia. She hadn’t responded yet. Distracting myself with food and dance seemed like a good way to avoid fixating over what I’d shared. Too much? Too little? Having a small role in helping create the books I loved had me itching to read what she wrote, and even I knew that took time. Focusing on my successes in dance class, making progress on my goals, helped ease the ache of waiting.
I checked my Twitter feed after a sad microwaveable frozen ravioli dish and leered over Virginia’s dinner post. She’d made chorizo enchiladas, and I could practically taste the ooey gooey cheese and sour cream. Mouth-wateringly good. That woman was magic in the kitchen.
I dressed like a pro for my second class, in legwarmers and kneepads. If I wanted to continue in nursing past the age of fifty, being kind to my knees was a must. The thigh-high turquoise leg warmers made me feel a little bit sultry. It wouldn’t be hard to pretend I’d purchased them for the added sex appeal, instead of helping me slide on the dance floor and protect my shins on the pole.
My loose hair, strappy black athleisure top, and yoga pants were relaxed and easy to move in. Scrubs were my professional armor and gave me a sense of control, but dressing for dance whispered of freedom and soft sensuality, and I naturally moved a little more loosely in my new clothes.
I greeted Meghan when I arrived at the studio and sank down on my mat to wait for our lesson to start. I recognized some familiar faces from the intro group filtering in and nodded to them.
“Which musical artist inspires you?” Meghan asked our group as an icebreaker. “Prince is one of my favorites. He has epic music that reeks sensuality. I can find a song for every mood.” I saw a lot of nods around the room.
My shoulders tightened as everyone else started sharing their favorite musicians. One voluptuous woman named Becca with deep mahogany skin told us that Beyoncé was her inspiration, and I could totally see it. I was dying to watch her dance; she radiated sexy confidence and had the plus-sized curves to back it up.
My mind flipped through different options. Somehow, I didn’t think the lullaby we played over the speakers at work after every new delivery was what Meghan meant. It didn’t inspire me to dance, but it did give me a thrill. In the car I usually listened to alternative, pop, or country. I’d been loving the sultry sound of Two Feet lately, but it might be too obscure. Instead, when it was my turn, I blurted out, “Classic Aerosmith.”
Meghan smiled and didn’t let me off the hook with that. “Any particular favorites? They have a huge catalog.”
My chest constricted, and I scrambled to name an Aerosmith song. Any Aerosmith song; but my mind was blank. I finally said, “All of them.”
Her supportive nod of approval eased my tension.
I sank into my mat, relieved when the public speaking part of class was over. For some reason it was easier to strut and roll my hips with suggestive abandon than speak in front of a group of strangers. Too many eyes on me speaking made me squirm.
Throughout the class, Meghan played songs from our favorites, and “Crazy” made me grin. She’d chosen well. This week’s spin combination was a step turn into a backspin around the pole. Meghan was all fluid lines when she demonstrated. She grabbed the pole high on the inside, and her outside leg swept the air as her inside leg wrapped around the pole at the ankle. She spun around the pole backwards, slowly sliding down, until she landed on her knees. Dead sexy, but I was terrified about pulling it off myself.
Meghan did her best to demystify the move. “You just let your inside leg wrap around the pole, which slows your momentum. Then arch your back slightly, and it will look amazing.”
I believed that. I believed that she looked amazing. Me? Not so much. However, I adjusted my trusty kneepads and partnered up with another classmate at the pole and gamely gave it a try. I gripped the pole up high with my right hand and secured my left forearm against the pole closer to my face. I kicked my right foot out and back around, letting it drag me. My inside leg kind of did what it was supposed to, but I didn’t get much momentum going, so my spin turned into an awkward slide down the pole to my knees. Not exactly the look I was going for.
I gave my partner, a petite blond named Jillian, a sheepish glance and motioned for her to try. Maybe I could figure it out by observing someone else. I watched in envy as Jillian stepped up to the pole and with a deep breath, wrapped her arms around the pole and perfectly executed the maneuver. I wanted that to be me.
“Beautiful,” I said. “What’s your secret?”
She grinned. “Thanks. It’s all in the grip. You want to pull the pole toward the floor, like you’re driving it into the ground.”
I stepped up to try again. This time my grip was tighter, and I got more spin and slid gracefully to the floor.
Jillian cheered for me, and I smiled, letting my shoulders drop and push back. I was going to be amazing at one of my new hobbies or bruise myself silly trying. Cooking looked like an unlikely candidate at this point, but I still had hopes for dance. We practiced a few more times as partners before learning more chore
ography as a group. Mirrors would have let me see how I was doing, but maybe not knowing was better.
“Okay, Athenas. Shut those eyes and let yourselves feel the music. You can follow me if you need to, but I’ll be calling out the moves the first time through,” Meghan said.
I tried to follow Meghan’s advice, but the second time through, I couldn’t resist. I slit my eyes open to peer at the curvy, Beyoncé-loving Becca and confirmed that she was, in fact, amazing. Becca confidently tossed her hair and strutted like she owned the studio to perform her fireman spin. Damn. I could definitely learn a thing, or ten.
For so long my confidence in the delivery room hadn’t carried over into any other part of my life. It was time to change that. I tilted my chin up, thrust my shoulders back, and executed my own slow saunter to the pole. Maybe it was a tad wobbly for the first few steps, but I leaned into the unsteady feeling and used it to slow down, swaying my hips with each movement. I ran a hand through my hair, then down my body, feeling each dip and curve of warm skin under Lycra. Slow. Seductive. Powerful. Taking my time let me sink into my body and the moment. Feel every breath. For once, I reveled in pretending I was the center of attention. Even if with our eyes closed, no one was watching.
After class, I peeled off my sweaty kneepads and leg warmers to change into my flip-flops. Becca was doing the same next to me, and I worked up the courage to compliment her. “I’ve been watching you,” I said.
I realized how that sounded. After I said it. I rushed to clarify, “I mean, during the performance time. You’re a great dancer. I love your walk. I wish I could walk that well.”
Mister Romance Page 5
