by Anthology
Sucker punched in the gut she says the one thing I can’t say no to: “She’s your goddaughter. What if something happened to me? Allen doesn’t want her and all I have are my aging aunt and uncle who still live next door to your parents.”
I am not doing this.
This is crazy.
I’m not looking for a husband.
I could at least talk to him and find out what is going on.
I’m only doing this to put Diana’s mind at ease.
A deep breath and a chug of too hot coffee, I’m asking the next semi-logical question, “Where’s his office?”
CHAPTER TWO
Milo
“What do you mean my Visa cannot be extended longer?” Gripping the bridge of my nose I stare at my office ceiling hoping for divine intervention. I’m pissed I can’t get this nonsense resolved today, right now before I go on rounds again. White popcorn board sports a stain in the corner that predates me and looks nothing like Jesus. The space is smaller than my pantry at home. I don’t care about the corner office, but an upgrade from the closet would have been nice being the lead physician here.
“Sir, as I’ve told you. You simply stayed too long and to do so further jeopardizes your ability to come back to the United States for a set period of time.” The immigration officer on the phone babbles off legal recourses, but the gist of it is that my sponsor, Dr. Albert Conners died before he finished filing my sponsorship paperwork last year. It’s taken them this long with all the bureaucratic red tape to catch up to me. His protégé and my rival obviously didn’t bother to file my petition for residency when he inherited Albert’s effects from his office. Of course, it would be Dr. Nash’s screw up I have to fix. Good with kids and cancer research, but a total asshole to the rest of his colleagues here, especially me since I threaten his top spot.
A glance at my watch indicates I have to make afternoon rounds, but not before I envision strangling the immigration officer through the phone. She keeps giving me the run around, talking in circles and I think that maybe a part of her is enjoying the hassle this is causing me. I can stay, but I can’t stay, and no one, not even the immigration officer can give me a clear answer as to why or how to fix it except I need three copies of everything notarized. I’ve already spent forty-five minutes dealing with this bullshit calling three different agencies within the US Department of Immigration and Naturalization to no avail. Apparently saving lives doesn’t rank high on good reasons to miss filing my visa extension or permanency for residency, but still.
The piles of unopened mail are stacked high on my desk along with what ifs that permeate my brain. I’m not terribly organized. I practically live and breathe working at the hospital. My house pretty much looks unlived in and I sometimes sleep on the reclining chair I moved here from the labor and delivery floor because it’s more comfortable than the futon this office came with.
Grasping at straws I say by way of explanation hoping this will buy me some time, “I’m half Canadian.”
“We were not aware of this, but regardless you might do better relocating to Toronto for the time being until the paperwork is properly filed.” Because I’m sure they’ll need triplicate fucking copies while I twiddle my thumbs up North freezing my ass off. No thanks.
“I can’t just relocate to my mother’s country until this is fixed.” I argue to a deaf audience.
“Do you have a lawyer, Mr. Lazare?” Her dismissive tone leaves me flabbergasted.
“No. I didn’t think I needed one.” Idiot that I am, I raise my voice hearing the patronizing breath she takes through the phone. Personally, I’d never been to Canada, not even for a medical conference, but I don’t tell her that. The vein in my forehead pulses. This is a problem of my own making, but I don’t want anyone, especially my patients to suffer.
“Then you’ll have to return to your country of origin.” Yeah, that is so not happening. Between the UN conveys that couldn’t deploy food and water to the refugees, there was nothing left of my dad’s hometown in Georgia since the military occupation well over a decade ago. My remaining relatives live on the coast of the Black Sea while mom and dad moved to London to get away from the ravages of civil war. No way in hell am I going back there. My work is here. My life is here. Just last week there had been an attack from a terrorist group at the capitol city airport. Maybe it wasn’t the stuff front and center on the news stations, but my parents kept in touch with family and going back was not an option.
“Ma’am, I am a doctor. I work at a children’s cancer center. My patients depend on me. There are stipulations for researchers and those in medical fields and engineering.” I know at least that much.
“As I have explained several times Mr. Lazare, you need to be on a plane out of American in less than forty days in order to comply.”
“It’s Doctor Lazare. Doctor. Milo. Lazare.” I grit my teeth. This is obviously going nowhere. “My patients are getting experimental chemotherapy treatments. I can’t just leave America.” The throbbing vein is about to pop dealing with this paper pusher who is of little help to me.
“I’m sorry but those are the rules, Dr. Lazare. Forty days. Contact me if you have further questions.” She lacks empathy scolding me with her smug shit eating grin I imagine through the phone. I bet this woman kicks puppies and steals candy from kids.
“Fine.” I roar disconnecting the call. I think of all my kids bravely battling the cancer devastating their little bodies and I’m helpless to help them if I’m not here.
I swing my chair around looking out the equally small window in my office. A sea of cars from my ocean view of the parking lot sit below me. My steel grey BMW bike rests in my designated spot. I’d give anything to get outside and ride my baby right now taking it outside the city to open it up on the roads near the coast. The privilege of achieving materialistic comforts as opposed to the dirt floor hovel my dad grew up in isn’t lost on me. I don’t have anything left in Georgia to return to. Even going to my parents’ home in London isn’t a huge hardship, merely an inconvenience because it isn’t by choice. Life isn’t fair. I know this. My patients know this first hand, but I had false hope my banked karma would get me out of this mess.
Distraction made me miss the soft knocking. Another harder knock and I swing back facing the door.
“Come in.” I growl turning back to shuffle papers I should be reading and sorting so I can find the right ones to file the Visa extension despite knowing the paper pusher on the phone won’t read them.
“Bad time?” I look up and see my favorite patient’s aunt standing in the doorway. Correction, I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I do. This woman in front of me is one of the reasons why Maisy Roberts will grow up to be a spitfire because I’m determined to cure that little girl. I think she’s technically a family friend turned godmother, but you can see the love and devotion she has for the little girl. I admire that.
“Piper is it?” I try to remember the names of the supportive people in my patient’s lives, but it’s hard. I have so many and my focus is on them, not necessarily pretty relatives and friends. However, Piper is easy to remember. With an unusual name and stunning looks, she’s consumed a few of my own fantasies I try blocking out. Coming around the hall on my rounds one afternoon I was gifted to see Piper playing a game with Maisy in one of the therapy rooms. Her laughter and smile warmed me that day after delivering bad news to another patient. I took the good in this work when I could. Piper visits often, at least four or five times a week for hours at a time. I could try and deny it all I wanted but it was hard to miss the tiny lock of pink hair in her ponytail that matches Maisy’s.
Maisy’s mother, Diana mentioned once that Piper works at a gym and it shows. It’s hard to overlook her tight, lean muscular body under her workout clothes which seem to be the only thing I ever see her wearing on her visits. My hands could span her trim waist with ease though they would prefer getting tangled in her long dark hair. Clutching the edge of my desk, I dismiss thos
e thoughts thankful for the metal frame in between us.
“Yes.” She doesn’t fully come into my office without looking in the hall first before shutting the door behind her leaving us alone. I sit up in my chair watching her. A floral scent tickles my nose pleasantly and kills the sterile hospital smell that usually lingers in here. I’m staring at her from head to toe taking in the loose top and skin-tight pants that look painted on her body indecently while hot pink sneakers that look more suited to a twelve-year-old cover her tiny feet.
“What can I help you with? I’m about to do rounds shortly so I’ll be checking in on Maisy.”
I watch her shift from foot to foot and wring her hands in front of her. She’s never sought me out before and I’m curious.
“Uh, I was speaking with Diana, and uh…”
“Is Maisy alright?” I stand grabbing my charts. I flip through to hers and note the current chemo regimen we are using on her leukemia. That little girl is a heck of a fighter and I have a good feeling we will be able to get her into remission on this round.
She grabs my free hand in hers. It feels familiar, right almost. God it’s so warm and distracting with her touching me. She’s the kind of woman that makes it hard to focus if I’m not careful.
“Maisy is fine. It’s just that Diana has this strange idea that you’re leaving before her treatment finishes.” Piper steps closer, and the movement shifts her ponytail letting me inhale her distinctive scent. Its honeysuckle and maybe lavender. Those bright yellow flowers that grow in bushes around my house. Annoying to cut back and once I do, I always regret getting rid of them when the smell doesn’t make it to my bedroom balcony. I have a feeling Piper isn’t going away either.
“Oh. That.” I brush it off. Amazing how quickly gossip travels in this place, and I put the charts down. I’ll have to speak to the charge nurse on the floor, nip this in the bud. There’s no need to worry anyone. According to the immigration officer I had forty days to figure this out and I would, but I don’t tell her that.
“Diana said you could be deported and banned from returning because you’ve been here a while.” A worried expression wrinkles Piper’s face. “Can they do that? Legally?”
Exhaling, I step away breaking her hold on me and rake my hands through my hair. It’s probably better than grabbing her and shaking her though I miss her contact no matter how brief.
“I honestly don’t know. I guess they can do whatever they want.” It’s part of my fear and one I hadn’t truly considered. These things didn’t happen, or at least they shouldn’t. I came here for medical school on a student visa filled with hopes and dreams. I hadn’t met the full residency requirement because I changed jobs due to funding and research opportunities never staying in one place long enough to file. Of course, wanting to get ahead is costing me now that I am settled in one place.
“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be asking you these questions.” Her ponytail sways over her shoulder, a swish of dark hair and a peekaboo lock of pink tempts my empty fingertips.
“No. You shouldn’t.” Annoyance fills my tone. She winces and I’m immediately sorry. Her beloved niece is sick, of course she’s worried. I don’t blame her for being concerned, I’m merely pissed I can’t fix it.
“How is it that you never became a citizen?”
She’s nosey too. This is the million dollar question I don’t have an answer for her.
“I guess I never considered it, but it doesn’t matter now. If they decide I have to leave, I will transfer Maisy’s case to Doctor Nash.”
“What? No!” Piper shouts, her face pink. Hey, I dislike the guy personally, but professionally he is a good doctor.
I’m also not used to anyone telling me no and it grates on my nerves. I’m responsible for a lot of people and have to exercise incredible control in stressful times. My patience is being sorely tested by this woman whose head barely reaches my chin. A whole lot of moxie in this one, my mother would say.
“What do you mean no?”
“No, you can’t transfer her case.” She isn’t pleading, she’s demanding, pouting really. I take a gentle approach with my patients. It’s harder when it’s an adult I am grudgingly attracted too. She’d look good over my knee; few swats might change her tune and bring me some much-needed peace. I decide to keep that to myself. If anyone knew about my after-work kink I bet that uptight immigration officer would send me packing.
Piper rushes me and clings to my coat invading my space. I don’t have the heart to untangle her when I’m drawn in by honeysuckle and her pliant body close to mine.
“Doctor Nash wants to take Maisy off your chemo cocktail, but it’s working. Nothing worked before, but this is. We need you, Maisy needs you.” Taken aback, this is the first I hear of Doctor Nash wanting to change treatment. I need to look into this. I need to trust he will make the best decision possible for my patient’s care in lieu of my potential absence I haven’t resigned myself too.
I take her hands in mine squeezing them gently hoping she doesn’t plan on jumping me in here behind closed doors even if the idea gets me hard.
“Look, nothing is happening yet. I’ll figure this out.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to reassure more, myself or Piper.
Her face turns upward, big brown eyes bore into mine reminding me of dark chocolate. The good kind from Belgium I tasted during my backpacking tour of Europe before medical school. Not too sweet or bitter, just smooth notes with a hint of caramel like the hint of pink hair she’s sporting. I love chocolate and I like Piper, but I push that aside with the reality that I don’t mix work with pleasure.
The space fills with a ballooning silence as if something epic is coming.
“We can get married then.” A hopeful gleam in her eyes darts to mine and then the floor. Well, I hadn’t anticipated that.
“I-I’m sorry what?” Piper manages to surprise me. I’m speechless. Shocked is one feeling, but my groin tightens looking at her before the brain shakes this off. It’s crazy. Like I said, I don’t mix work with relationships, just ask the score of unhappy nurses I turn down or the candy striper volunteers I’m old enough to parent.
She inclines closer breasts pressing into my chest which oddly doesn’t feel contrived. I’ve had a few women throw themselves at me over the years, but this isn’t one of those times. I can feel the bead of her taut nipples and pray my reptilian brain calms the fuck down. Her eyes plead and my mouth goes dryer than the best pinot noir. Thinking of wine makes me question her age.
“How old are you?”
“Marry me.”
The two phrases are said simultaneously.
She repeats steamrolling ahead. She’s serious and there’s that subtle demand in her voice. I don’t have an immediate comeback beside the obvious no because it shouldn’t be her asking. Call me old fashioned.
“No, Piper.” I’m stoic not touching her afraid I might do something I regret with her blatant offer. Visions of pushing her back against the desk and peeling her gym pants down her legs to bury myself deep within her cloud my judgement. Stupid frontal cortex. All I want to do is forget today ever happened and she’s tempting me with something I have no right to consider.
She doesn’t give up; my very own persistent overgrown honeysuckle bush stalks me around the office. “Marry me and stay.” She pokes me in the chest, her short nail nearly slipping between the space of my dress shirt.
I back up. She follows and we continue this dance until I realize how ridiculous it is to be running from her in the enclosed space. I’ve got a good head over her in both size and bulk. I stand my ground but it’s useless with the kinematic force of her personality. I’m concerned if I don’t keep moving she’ll catch me and latch on like a spider monkey.
“Piper, no.” She’s making me angry or maybe I’m angry in general over all of this and the unexpected visit she’s graced me with.
“Look, I’m sorry this is a shitty a proposal, but we need you here.” Piper trails around my desk slowl
y backing me up against the wall. She dips as if she’s going to get down on one knee. Her face fierce and wild.
“No, absolutely not.” I grab her hands and help her back up more roughly than I intend pulling her flush against my chest. She hisses and I pull away afraid I hurt her. “I’m sorry.”
“Coffee burn.” I see the bright red patch in the soft spot of her hand. A superficial burn and I take my time examining it.
“You need to be more careful Piper.” Our hands lock and I rub my thumb over the spot attempting to soothe it. I’m not having anyone, let alone this woman get on her knees for me. I do not need saving and if I want her on her knees it won’t be for this reason.
Hurt fills her expression and my chest burns knowing I caused it. She speaks softly, eyes half lidded and I lean in to hear her through the curve of her pouting lips. “I can get a ring? If you want?” I like her proposal far far too much. I hold her back trying to gain some sanity so she can’t cajole or rub against me confusing me as if I have no control over myself.
“Piper, this is madness. No one is marrying anyone. No rings. No weddings.”
“Maisy and Diana are important to me.”
“They are important to me too.” She gives me a disbelieving look. Why does this woman make me want to argue and fight when I feel my most defeated this afternoon?
“We don’t even know each other,” I reason.
“It’s crazy. I know.” I’m glad she’s agreeing with me even if she’s pursuing this.
As doubtful as I am, her idea isn’t terrible. However, it’s not the course of action I want despite her pouty lips, dark as sin eyes and a body worth slamming against the wall so hard it jars my medical degree from its hooks.
“I doubt it would even work. The immigration officer seems pretty interested in getting me on a plane out of here.”
“But–” I put my finger to Piper’s lips hushing her.
She wiggles like she’s bursting to say something more and I resign myself to letting her down as easily as possible. “I don’t think a surprise wedding will appease them.”
