Abruption

by Riley Mackenzie

  “Looks like the two of you have your hands full.” She laughed a fake fucking laugh.

  “Hey, bud. How ya feeling?”

  Finn gave me thumbs up and flipped his iPad around to show me his latest selfie. My son was obsessed. Whoever started the “electronics are bad for kids” campaign never saw my son smile.

  “Cool, dude. Listen, Maya’s going to stay with you, Dad’s going to be right outside talking with …” Jane, Julia, Jenny—

  “Jules,” she said, saving me the trouble. Right.

  Jules and I stepped out to the nurses’ station and I got right to it. “Status? His labs back? Why isn’t the room set up for a tap—what are you waiting for?”

  Silence. She defiantly crossed her arms, stretching the fabric of her scrub top. I had zero clue what crawled up her ass, but the last thing my boy needed was a prima donna with a temper.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked, annoyed at the fact I had to ask and even more annoyed that I couldn’t peel my gaze from her cleavage. I gave myself a quick pass. I was a male, and I had eyes—we couldn’t help ourselves.

  She cleared her throat. “I think we got off to a bad start.”

  Oh, here we go, women and their feelings. I didn’t have time for this. Finn didn’t have time for this. Nice rack aside, my son was sick and needed an experienced nurse, not someone fresh out of school wanting practice and looking to make friends. She must have read my mind.

  “Just so you know, I’ve been a PICU nurse for a little over four years, and I’ve worked with lots of kids with CP. I’ve read over Finn’s history. He’s remarkable. Cognitively, he’s right on target, if not beyond, and I can only imagine the intense physical therapy he’s undergone to already be walking with braces. It’s a testament to his parents and to Maya. I know how hard it can be, how time consuming. Your child is your number one priority, and when I’m at work, my patients are mine. So I’ll tell you, even though it’s not any of your business, but it might put your mind at ease: I’m thirty-two, this is my second career, and I’m more than qualified to take care of your son. As for his status, his labs are all back. White count is normal, urinalysis is negative, and as you know, cultures won’t be back for forty-eight hours. His last set of vitals was an hour ago, and I was just about to take his temperature again. Hopefully, he’ll be afebrile and can avoid a tap.”

  She had balls, I had to give her that. And she seemed to have a clue.

  “Fine. Finn seems to feel comfortable with you. I’ll tell the charge nurse she doesn’t have to reassign you.” Her jaw dropped and I felt guilty. But I wasn’t apologizing. This was my son, my whole life. I didn’t have that luxury of being the old me, the laid-back, glass half-full guy. “And will you call Dr. Guillroy? Tell him I’m here now, so we can get this over with.”

  “Speak of the devil.” She pointed to Finn’s pediatrician walking up behind me.

  “Guy.” We shook hands. Guillroy was point man for all of Finn’s care—neurology, ophthalmology, gastroenterology, physical therapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy—and he was damn good. “I saw his labs, Guy, and I’m on the fence whether he needs a tap right now.”

  Maya stepped from the room and waved us over. “Hello, Dr. Guillroy, nice to see you. Sorry to interrupt, but Finn seems warm again and his cheeks are flushed. I think he may be spiking. This is how he looked early this morning.”

  “100.3,” Jules announced to the room, with her line of sight directly pointed at me.

  Goddamnit. Right on the cusp.

  In the ten minutes we stepped out, Finn’s cheeks and forehead had flushed. Without speaking, Guillroy asked for consent. Fuck.

  “Do it. Call neuro,” I instructed. We needed answers.

  Maya bit back a sniffle, while Jules squatted beside Finn and asked, “Did you tell Dad what’s so yummy in your tummy?”

  Finn’s pink face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yemon, Dada, yemon in my tummy.”

  Man, that smile.

  “And tell Daddy what I promised to bring to you since you’ve been such a trooper today?”

  He giggled. About to spike a fever and have a needle jammed in his back, and he was smiling and giggling.

  “Bawoons, Dada.”

  “That’s great, bud. You’re one lucky dude.”

  Guess she managed to get balloon guy to come back. Hmm. Not bad.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I would cave to any request to see these two little dimples.” Jules poked Finn’s cheek, and my boy giggled again. Maya even relaxed enough to laugh, and I felt my cheeks tighten with what I could only assume was something resembling a smile. I hadn’t smiled since walking through the ER double doors this morning.

  Jules stood up from her squat and ruffled his hair, which in return made me swipe a hand through my own roots. Bad habit, I guess, one I never realized until my two-and-a-half-year-old started raking his own hair and saying “Dada hair.” Now it was a running household joke.

  She circled to the other side of the bed and bent over to reach behind the side table. There were those tits again. I shook my head as if to erase the memory. Like that would happen. Whoever made the deep V in the scrub top was a genius or male. A male genius. Too bad this was not the time to appreciate his work.

  “All charged,” Jules said, handing Finn his iPad. “You promised to make me a movie. Don’t you forget.”

  It took all of two hours and she discovered the way into my son’s three-year-old heart. Impressive. She might have been a little too chipper for my liking; others might call it confident and friendly, but it worked. I hoped her clinical skills were as impressive.

  The tap was uncomplicated. My son made Power Rangers look wimpy—he didn’t utter a peep. And as promised, balloon guy arrived just as the last piece of tape was placed over the small square bandage covering his puncture site.

  I stepped out into the hall, leaving Maya to handle the drama of balloon sword color decisions, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. Was this ever going to get easier? My boy deserved a break.

  A deep voice calling for Jules interrupted my pity party. The sharp suit leaned on the elevated counter where Finn’s perky nurse was typing her notes. He was sporting more hair product than a man should ever use and sucked at flirting. I would know, back in the day when life was simple and I could breathe easy, I rocked the flirt.

  “Lucca, what are you doing here?” Jules almost stumbled her words.

  No idea why, I grabbed Finn’s chart and pretended I didn’t have the thing memorized. Eavesdropping twice in one day, what the hell was up with that?

  “You weren’t picking up your cell, and I had a late lunch meeting around the corner.” Bullshit. Hair gel dude needed better game.

  “Yeah. Sorry, we’ve been swamped, several new admissions.”

  “Not a big deal. Thought I’d stop in. See how the hospital is treating the new manager.”

  “Lucca, shh.” Jules sprung from the seat with her index finger against her lip and circled the counter. I must have missed the secret. “Assistant manager,” she corrected him.

  For as confident as she seemed with me, she was worried about stepping on toes in the long chain of entitled nurses. I didn’t get it. Must have been a nursing thing. As long as you were good at your job, who gave a rat’s ass what your title read? Not sure how it evolved, especially in medicine, but the higher the title, the more flat asses and pushed paperwork. Manager or not, so far, Jules was as hands on as it got. I hoped it stayed that way for Finn’s sake.

  “Same thing,” he dismissed and then tapped the tip of her nose. “Anyway, tomorrow night I’m taking you out to celebrate. You can wear some Gucci pumps and I’ll spin ya around the dance floor. Dinner at Il Besito first.”

  Of course Hair Gel suggested a restaurant with a three-month wait for reservations. The only reason I knew that was because I’d been in search of some real Mexican food since I moved to the East Coast. Besito was rated as the best in one of those magazines. Disappoi
ntingly, it didn’t even come close to a Route 1 taco shack.

  “Good. It’s settled. Tomorrow you’re mine.”

  I couldn’t believe Hair Gel didn’t wait for her to answer. And did he really just growl mine? What was this, the fifties?

  Why the hell am I even listening to this? It’s not like I’m jealous.

  I took a gamble on a party girl concerned with the latest hotspots and fashion accessories once and look how that turned out.

  “Hey, Dr. Hunter. How’s Finn? Tap went well. Smooth.” I looked up from pretend reading and lifted my chin to greet Meg and her pearly whites. The third-year peds neuro fellow was an integral part of Finn’s medical team, and also a pretty girl, who, on more than one occasion, made me aware she was quite available. A different time—my old self—I might have bitten. But Meg knew my deal, one of the few here who did, and she also knew I had nothing to offer. That being the case, she didn’t let the rejection get in the way of our working relationship. She was cool like that.

  “You were great, thanks. You were the only one I trusted to do it.”

  “Like I’d let anyone else lay a finger on that boy. He’s my favorite patient. I’ll stop in tonight to check on him, change his bandage. Call me for anything.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to make a trip back. I’ll change the bandage,” Jules interjected. She must have finished ironing out her date details.

  “Thanks, but Meg’s got it. If you could just make sure he gets his meds on time, I’d appreciate it.”

  Meg’s eyes widened at my response, and Jules looked at me like I was a total ass. Shit. I just did it again. Was this really the new me?

  “Ma, she’s nineteen … no, Ma, listen to me ... Ma, she’s not the devil. She’s NOT trying to kill you.”

  Seriously? If anyone overheard my end of this phone conversation, they would assume my mother was insane. She might be teetering, but who was I to question her sanity? After all, she did raise three girls. Okay, maybe she had a little more work to do with Mercedes, but close enough.

  “I have to go, Ma, I’m at work … yes, I will speak to her, promise … I really have to go … Ma … Ma, I. Have. To. Go … Love you, too. Ciao.”

  Mercedes strikes again.

  I ended the call and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. I loved my family to death, but they bordered certifiable. And even though my baby sister should probably be labeled an angel, navigating peer pressure, college, and boyfriends all under Alonzo and Cecilia Chiappetti’s roof, I could also see my parents’ side. I may have talked her out of branding herself with a car insignia, but I guess in her mind an eyebrow ring didn’t seem as permanent.

  I massaged my temples and silently thanked God for the five millionth time that my scholarship to Columbia covered room and board, and I got through the self-expression stage without any additional holes. Before I self-inflicted (more) wrinkles, necessitating a premature trip for Botox, Cara popped through our shared office door.

  “Oh, Jules, you’re still here. The front desk’s looking for you—I told them you left. Thought you were only covering until ten?”

  “I was. I just stayed to work on my pilot proposal.”

  “Look at you, two months on the job and already making a difference. Let me know if you need anything, I’d really love to help. I think your pet therapy program is an awesome idea. You’re inspiring, girlfriend.” Cara was my nurse-manager counterpart and a real sweetheart. She was a few years younger and hard into the dating scene; otherwise, we would have probably hung out more.

  “Thanks. I can use all the support I can get.” And I meant it. My presentation before the hospital board was a week away. “Do you know why the front desk needed me?”

  “Oh no, it wasn’t them. Dr. Hunter was looking for you. I have to run—I’m already late for spin class. Call me later.”

  The sun, moon, and stars must have aligned and I missed it. Why else was Guy Hunter looking for me? All admissions came through me, so I would have known if Finn was being readmitted, and thankfully, I hadn’t laid eyes on that cutie pie since his overnight stay eight weeks ago. His extensive work-up turned out negative. He never spiked again and was released with a clean bill. More often than not, this was the case with fevers of unknown origin. Thus, the name. It was frustrating as all hell.

  As for Hunter, Sr., I wish I could say I hadn’t seen him either, but I wasn’t lady luck. We had two awkward run-ins. Yep, not one but two.

  The first was a few days after Finn’s discharge, when I randomly caught him and two of his residents from the corner of my eye and did what any normal, polite human being standing alone in an elevator does when the doors begin to close on people approaching. Okay, so maybe normal people take note of their arms being weighed down with a tray of makeshift craft supplies before waving at the elevator sensor, but that was beside the point.

  Needless to say, it wasn’t pretty—my cheeks lit up and Poppa Personality forwent the customary “thank you,” rolling his steely blues. His residents graciously rushed to pick up everything I dropped (which was just about everything). The orbital dismissal was complemented nicely with his declaration: “I’ll take the stairs.”

  Dick.

  There I said it. But he deserved it.

  Actually, he deserved it after he dismissed me in the ER and told me he didn’t have time to speak to me, thinking I was a new grad. Then he deserved it when he repeatedly rolled his eyes like a spoiled teenager and scowled every time I opened my mouth with valid freaking points and suggestions. And he really deserved it when he humiliated me, making me blush yet again in front of the neuro fellow when he said he didn’t trust me to essentially change a Band-Aid. So I wasn’t feeling guilty for saying it. Nope. Not at all.

  The second charming experience was right after my initial lobbying with the hospital board. Ecstatic they asked me to organize a formal proposal, I zoned out and smacked into Hunter and Dr. Guillory. Literally. With unlady-like force.

  Luckily, my new favorite pediatrician steadied me on my three-inch heels before I face planted. I might have deserted corporate America, but I still strongly believed in the effectiveness of the power-suit with pumps, especially in the boardroom. Guillory laughed off the collision and asked, “What’s the rush, hot date tonight?”

  Totally awkward, but I went with it. “You know it!” Somehow the humor was lost on Hunter, who, again, rolled those freaking eyes after scanning me head to toe.

  Double-Dick.

  Now it was slipping right off the tongue.

  Whatever. His issue with me was just that—his issue. I wasn’t losing sleep over it, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.

  “Hey, ladies. You know what Dr. Hunter needed?”

  “Child, if I only knew, I would’ve already auctioned off my husband. Found it. And given it to that man on a silver platter.” Lorraine looked at her front desk partner in crime, high- fived her and erupted into a fit of giggles. Two grown women gone gaga.

  Look, I wasn’t blind. He was definitely attractive, but he was also a double-dick.

  “Cara said he was looking for me.” I tried to regain their focus.

  “Ya think? He only called three times, then dragged that tight, scrub-covered ass up here to harass us. Do us a favor when you see him. Tell him that just because he’s all sorts of delicious, we can’t just drop everything at his request.”

  “We can’t?” Coco asked and Lorraine lost it.

  “Ooh-kay. Thanks, ladies. I’ll figure it out.” Couldn’t say I didn’t try. The ladies were too busy fanning themselves to see me leave.

  Last stop, my office for my coat and purse and then my stomach had a date with some food. Or maybe not.

  “Um. Hey.” A waft of clean outdoors and something else temporarily distracted my hunger pains and filled my small office. Looked like he found me. His towering frame leaned against my desk.

  “I was writing you a note.”

  “I can see that.” I eyed the paper with my name scribbled at
the top. He hadn’t gotten too far.

  “I called.”

  “I heard.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek, as if he was annoyed with me, and paused to inhale before asking, “Why couldn’t they find you?”

  Huh? Not sure how to answer, I didn’t. Instead, I crossed my arms and shrugged. I owed him nothing, and I certainly wasn’t going to coddle him after his recent immature behavior toward me.

  “So you’re going to make this difficult?” he asked.

  Tempting, but instead I countered with, “What do you need, Dr. Hunter?” The intoxicating effect of his smell wore off and my hunger pains were back.

  “I need your help.” His eyes softened. They weren’t apologetic or overly friendly, they were … genuine. “Finn’s asking for you.”

  “That’s all you had to say.”

  Because it was.

  During our brief trot down the few flights, he explained (shockingly not acting like the D-word) how Finn needed routine follow-up blood work, which he usually had drawn in the ER by one of few nurses Guy trusted and Finn was comfortable with. Until today. Finn supposedly wasn’t “cooperating.”

  It was blatantly obvious from across the bay that Finn was in the throes of a good old-fashioned meltdown. There was flailing; there was screaming. He looked like a mini-possessed lunatic, and if he wasn’t flinging his body around on the bed, he would have gone boneless. Actually, Finn looked like he perfected that phenomenon lying down.

  “Hey, buddy. Whatcha throwing a temper tantrum for?” I approached the little screamer with caution.

  Guy glared at my question. “Something must be wrong. Finn doesn’t have temper tantrums.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Dad … he’s three. He’s not special. And he’s having a temper tantrum. One of the best I’ve ever seen.” And he might look like an angel, but no, your child doesn’t walk on water. I didn’t say that last part, but I was tempted. For a surgeon, he wasn’t the brightest and needed to pull his head out of his ass. I dismissed the two nurses handling Finn like Venetian glass and took over. Their collective sighs after Guy approved made me chuckle a little.