by Mimi Strong
As much as she was dying to get in the last word, Nora stood and left the office, her head bowed.
She left the building without talking to anyone, and went home.
They were bound to notice she wasn't leaving the house to go to her job, so she told them everything.
Nora's parents were more understanding than her uncle had been. They had heard about Murray's antics previous to this, and in fact, had been the ones to advise Kylie and Nora keep a notebook.
Nora thought of telling her parents that Aaron Edward was back in town, but she didn't relish opening that package of bad feelings. They blamed him for the accident and the loss of her foot. She had never fully confessed her role in the events.
Aaron probably wanted to demonstrate what a decent guy he was by apologizing again. What he didn't understand when he was a kid, before his family moved away to start fresh, is you can't keep apologizing over and over. It's like asking for forgiveness, and if people aren't ready to forgive and forget, apologies only make them feel worse.
Nora's parents had been good to her, and she didn't want to put them through another apology, over something that could never be fixed or forgiven.
Thursday morning, over breakfast, Nora's father tried to reassure her about her job at the radio station. He said, “Don will come around. It's not easy being the boss. That's why I've never been interested in management. If I'm going to deal with childish tantrums, I'd rather they be from actual children.”
“Dad, I didn't have a tantrum.”
Nora's mother looked up from the pancake batter she was pouring onto the griddle. “To me, it sounds like you did. I'm reminded of those fights you used to get into with the boys at school.”
She said it the way only a life-long school teacher could.
“I'm a grownup,” Nora said.
“If you're such a grownup, why did you ask for Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes?”
“Grownups can like fun things.”
“Since you'll be home all day, I've left you a list of errands.”
“Mom!”
She acted put-out, but the truth was, she didn't mind contributing, and it would give her something to do.
On Friday, the list of chores was longer. Nora did half of them and retreated to her room, where she curled up with Razzles and had a nap for the first time in years. The sunshine on her patchwork blanket felt good.
Kylie phoned, waking her up. Apparently, things at the station had been strange with Nora gone. The whole schedule had been shuffled around to cover her shifts, and the official memo stated Nora would be on stress leave for six weeks.
“Six weeks? Lucky me,” Nora said. “Thanks for the report, Kylie. I hope I haven't made your job any more difficult.”
Kylie sighed into the phone. “I only regret I didn't slap him myself, sooner, months ago, so we could have avoided all this.”
“You sound a little under the weather. Have you had lunch yet? I hope you're eating well. You have to keep your strength up, because we still have Yoga on Sunday with Tianne.”
“I don't know… ”
“It gets better, I swear. The first time is the absolute worst.” Nora wanted to address her friend's health and talk about how concerned she'd been when she'd realized how skinny the girl was, but over the phone didn't seem right.
“Fine. I'll see you Sunday. Oh, I gave Bobby your home phone number, because—”
“WHAT?”
“Because he said you weren't picking up your cell.”
“Great, that's all I need.”
“He's really sweet,” Kylie said, and proceeded to give a rundown of all Bobby's good qualities. He was cute, he had an interesting job, and most importantly, he liked Nora.
“He just thinks he likes me,” Nora said.
“So, what's the difference?”
Nora tried to explain, but she couldn't. Kylie was twenty-four, only three years younger, and yet, she seemed so young. They finished the phone call with some business talk, and after they hung up, Nora tried to nap again, but she couldn't find the same comfortable spot.
At five o'clock, she sat up with a start. She had an appointment with the second plastic surgeon in forty minutes, across town, and she was still in her pajamas.
She rushed out the door, sleep still in her eyes, and sped to the doctor's office.
This facility, the second plastic surgeon's office, was the one that had the fancy website with all the embedded videos of customer testimonials. A disclaimer text across the bottom of the screen explained that the people talking were paid actors, and their scripts were composites from genuine patients. Nora wondered, how genuine was a composite?
The waiting room was decorated with ornate oval mirrors straight out of a fairy tale, and paintings featuring inspirational words, like breathe and hearts reflect love.
The receptionist, a short-nosed girl in a crisp, white jacket, was chatty and gave the impression it was no problem Nora was a few minutes late. “Dr. Garrett's always happy to steal a few minutes for dinner, since we work late Fridays.”
Nora took a seat and a magazine, trying not to stare at the receptionist's short nose. Had she been born that way, or was it from surgery? Nora didn't think she'd look right with a nose quite that short. Angling up the tip during surgery does give a patient a more youthful appearance, but there was such a thing as too youthful, especially if you wanted to be taken seriously in your career. It was bad enough Nora was likely gathering a reputation for being hot-blooded and slapping people; she didn't need to look like a teenager.
When Dr. Garrett came out to greet her, Nora did a double take. Not only was Dr. Garrett a woman, but she looked like she could be a relative of Nora's. She also had tightly curled hair, though hers was nearly brown, and the two women were the same height and build. If you were to isolate her features, you could say they had the same basic face shape, same mouth, and very similar eyes. The only difference between the two, besides the medical degree and white coat, was Dr. Garrett had a perfect nose, like one you'd see on a statue of a goddess.
When they sat down in the doctor's office, Nora wondered if the woman would say anything about their similar looks, or if that would be considered rude.
“So, what can I help you with?” Dr. Garrett asked.
Nora laughed nervously. “It must be part of the training that you never assume what someone's here for, right?”
Dr. Garrett looked at her computer screen briefly. “Nora, you're here for… a nose consultation, is that correct?”
“Well I'm not here for a facelift.”
The woman blinked twice. “Oh, a joke!”
“Just a little one. I work in entertainment. I'm on the air at a radio station, so it's a job hazard that I feel the need to say things to fill the air.”
“Very interesting. Why do radio announcers always talk that way? That mwah-wah-wah without spaces between the words?”
“It's to keep the audio levels from spiking, plus it just sounds better.*”
“If we do the surgery, there may be some modest changes to the sound of your voice. The surgery doesn't affect your vocal chords, of course, because those are in your throat. It may resonate differently through your nose, but it won't change your basic sound. It won't change your character.”
“Good to know.”
Dr. Garrett then explained the procedure using very easy-to-understand terms, and spoke about some technical details such as angles and artistic principles for aesthetic balance. The woman didn't seem to possess much of a sense of humor, but she was clearly passionate about her work, and confident about being able to give Nora, as she put it, “the proper nose that ought to have been assigned to your lovely face.”
“How soon can you fit me in?” Nora asked.
“Next week. I do surgeries in the morning, so you'll come in at five, and you can go home in the afternoon. Someone must be here to drive you home. You can not, under any circumstances, take a cab, or ride your bicycle home.”
No
ra laughed. “Oh, I'm not a bicycle person.”
“Excellent. Now, let's do the computer imaging so you can see your new nose ahead of time, and then you can take some time to think about whether or not you'd like to proceed.”
Dr. Garrett took Nora's photo and loaded it up on the computer. The software was specialized, and the results were nothing like the crude adjustments Nora had tried on her computer at home. The face on the screen was still her, but better. Her nose was no longer the focal point, it was just an organ to breathe in and out of. She saw her eyes as she imagined other people saw them, and they were pretty. She had pretty eyes.
Dr. Garrett printed out some copies of the photos for Nora to take with her.
Out at reception, Nora spoke with the short-nosed girl, and tentatively scheduled a surgery date. Nora would have to call in to confirm after she'd had a few days to think, as well as arrange for payment.
On the way home, Nora thought about the other doctor, and how nice he had been. She'd love to share a table with him at a charity function, or something like that, but he wasn't the one she wanted working on her face. If someone was going to peel back the skin on her nose, break the bone, and reshape the cartilage, she wanted it to be Dr. Garrett.
When she got home after the appointment, Nora moved some money from her savings account to her credit card and confirmed the surgery by email. She printed out the page with the list of after-care supplies, which included a medicated rinse to wash the insides of the nostrils post-surgery, and put it on the fridge, next to her mother's grocery list.
She also pinned up the modified photos Dr. Garrett had given her. Her parents needed to go through their own stages to get to acceptance of the idea, and she didn't need to be there when they did it.
On Sunday, Tianne called Nora to say she couldn't teach yoga that day or have lunch, due to the baby being sick. It wasn't anything serious, but she wanted to be home in case his fever went up.
“You should still go to yoga,” Tianne said over the phone. “There's a substitute teacher and he's great. He has the cutest Jamaican accent and he smells like peppermint.”
As enjoyable as that sounded, Nora had a better idea, so she called Kylie and arranged for them to go on a hike instead. “We shouldn't be inside a sweaty room on a gorgeous day like this,” Nora said.
As she took down Kylie's address so she could pick her up, Nora realized she'd never been to Kylie's apartment. After all this time of being work friends and eating lunch together—Nora her leftovers packed by her mother and Kylie her chicken and mandarin orange salads—she still had a lot to learn about Kylie.
Kylie's apartment was only two blocks away from where Bobby lived, though it was on the busy main street, and the building was an older three story walk-up. Nora rang the buzzer, and Kylie buzzed her in, so she took the stairs up to the apartment. Kylie gave her a quick tour of the modest digs, looking chipper with her wavy brown hair in a ponytail, and sporting brand new hiking boots.
“You might want to pull the tag off those,” Nora said. “Nobody needs to know this is your first hike.”
“I really admire how you don't let anything slow you down,” Kylie said, her gaze traveling down to Nora's feet and darting back and forth between the two of them. They left the apartment and Kylie locked up.
“You can't tell which one is real, can you?” Nora asked as they walked down the stairs to the lobby.
Kylie's cheeks turned red. “Oh, was I staring? I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. I guess I'm curious, but it's rude, isn't it? You must be so sick of people being curious.”
Nora stopped in the lobby and pulled up the legs of her sweatpants, revealing the prosthetic on her right leg. “Honestly, I don't mind, not with friends or with little kids, though I draw the line at taking it off and passing it around.” She tapped lightly on the ankle joint. “The real technology is hidden inside here.”
“May I?” Kylie reached forward, and with permission, touched the surface. “It's squishy! Like a… ” Her cheeks turned even more red.
“Yes, it's silicone, just like they use for certain toys. Or so I've heard.” She used her joking radio voice, the one of the uptight old lady character, “I'd never use such a thing.”
“Oh, me neither,” said Kylie. “And I certainly wouldn't give it a name.”
They got in the car, and even though Kylie didn't look over, Nora pointed out the adjustments she'd had made to the car to accommodate her foot. Some people with a right leg prosthetic choose to get a left-foot accelerator, but because her prosthetic was below the knee, Nora had more than enough control to use a right-hand pedal. She did, however, have the metal bar added alongside the brake pedal, to protect against getting her foot accidentally lodged underneath.
Kylie nodded and moved on to admiring the silly figurines attached to the dashboard.
Nora noted Kylie had only brought water, no snacks for the hike. She'd thought ahead and brought extra. Maybe Kylie was one of those people who didn't eat because she didn't get hungry. Nora hoped that was the case.
They drove to the location and parked on a grassy area off the side of the road, alongside dozens of other vehicles, most of them more expensive than Nora's.
The trail was called Billy Goat Lane, thought it should have been called Billy Goat Incline or even Endless Stairs, because of the constant uphill angle.
Her prosthetic was rated for light sport use, such as this, but it was still a challenge to keep her balance when she got winded.
Nora hadn't attempted the climb in over a year, and she regretted not hitting the stationary bike more often for cardio. The women stopped for bottled water and to catch their breath. Kylie accepted a granola bar and bit into it cautiously.
A man's voice came from down the slope, behind them, “See, I told you there'd be hot girls. Hello, Nora and Kylie!” It was Bobby, with his red hair dappled by sunlight, and his cheeks flushed from exertion. He spoke to his companion, another man of about the same age, or possibly as old as thirty-something.
“Hello yourself,” Kylie said, crumpling up the granola bar wrapper and stuffing it in her pocket.
“This is my new friend Ivan,” Bobby said of the other man as they made introductions, including Nora and Kylie's place of work. Bobby seemed calm and professional, not letting on he had any hurt feelings toward Nora, but it could have been his sales training. Ivan was less polished, and puffing from the climb. He was thin and wore his brown hair in a low ponytail. His clothes looked like they might be hemp, and he wore sport sandals with wool socks on his feet. The man did not work in advertising.
“I work for the enemy,” Ivan said, shaking Nora's hand. “I'm at The Badger. In promotions.”
“No kidding,” Kylie said. The Badger was the rock frequency of the other family of radio stations in town. Nora's uncle Don would have loved to have bought up every station in town and not had the competition from The Badger and its siblings, but the CRTC didn't allow such things.
Bobby asked Nora, “Can we join you ladies, or are you going to punch us? ☺” He gave her a smirking look.
“Great,” she said. “Does everyone in town know?”
He shrugged. “No. Just the people with… internet… and ears. I think your ratings are going to hit the roof when you get back from your, uh, vacation.”
The four of them started back up the hill. Kylie stumbled, and the two men raced to grab her by the elbows to steady her. They were attentive the whole way up the mountain, with Nora a few steps behind, thinking dark thoughts about the two men who were clearly charmed by adorable Kylie, in her little pink gym shorts, showing off both of her tanned, smooth legs.
When Kylie stopped to drink some water, Bobby offered to carry her the rest of the way on his shoulders. Nora wondered if he was fawning over the girl to make her jealous, but then Ivan offered Kylie the same. Nora imagined the two of them as actual billy goats, butting each other with the tops of their heads to compete over Kylie.
Nora tripped over a branch
and went sprawling. The other three stopped and watched, none offering to help her up. She'd seen that happen before, and imagined it was about her disability, and people not being sure if they should help or if it would be an insult. Ivan probably didn't know about the leg, though, and he didn't offer a hand either. No, it had to be about the looks from the chin up. Kylie had the kind of face that made men want to be helpful and Nora did not.
Nora counted down the number of sleeps until she had her surgery.
Soon. Soon she'd be fixed.
They reached the top, and made a picnic out of their shared food. To outside observers, like the other families and hikers, they probably looked like they were double dating.
When Bobby pointed out some chicken salad Kylie had dropped on her shirt, Nora looked at his hands, with their smattering of freckles and reddish hair, and decided she did want to sleep with him again. She wanted to throw him down on his dark gray sheets, with the lights on, and spank that butt. She wanted to get on top of him and make him forget about every other girl.
“You're quiet for someone on the radio,” Ivan said to Nora.
“Just thinking about some things I want to do,” she said, giving Bobby a hard look. He pulled away from Kylie and tilted his head, as though he could read her mind. They stared into each other and a smile played across his lips. Maybe he was picking up on what she was thinking. If the other two weren't around, she would have jumped on him right then and there, kissing and groping him like some horny teenager.
Bobby kept giving her looks, even as they packed up the lunch and got walking again.
The hike back down Billy Goat Lane was more difficult, and Nora remembered why she didn't come more often. Going up was easy, but coming down the steep inclines, even with the wooden steps that volunteers had installed in some of the trickier sections, would be hard enough for a person without a disability.
Halfway, she caught up with Bobby and grabbed onto his muscular forearm for support. “You need me?” he asked her quietly, so the other two, ahead of them, wouldn't hear.
“I don't need you. I want you,” she said, squeezing his arm. “If you'd like, I could come to your house after this, for coffee.”
