The leggings and mint high top Vans were comfortable enough to walk around the city in, but the matching sleeveless bow blouse made the outfit a bit dressy. Together they said: “I’m sick enough.” She couldn’t count how many times she’d arrived at doctors’ offices in sweats—nice, Victoria’s Secret sweats, even—and been dismissed because she looked too sick. Or how many times she’d worn something she’d normally wear to work and been dismissed because she looked fine.
Dressing for doctors was a precarious balancing act.
She grabbed the canvas black backpack she’d brought and filled it with essentials: more Advil, several bottles of water, a Percocet for just in case she needed it on her way back. Then she tucked her phone into the front pocket, donned her wrist braces, and grabbed her cane.
It was time to go.
As she’d predicted, it was cool and cloudy. Rain was definitely on the horizon. She stepped to the curb and watched the traffic. She’d seen people hail taxis a million times. It should be easy—especially in front of a hotel.
A bright yellow cab approached. She held her arm up and out. Though its sign proclaimed it empty and on duty, the driver whizzed by her. She frowned after him. Maybe he hadn’t seen her.
Another taxi neared. She held her arm up again. The cab slowed, then pulled to a stop in front of her. Shoulders relaxing in relief, she stepped toward it, leaning hard on her cane. Her wrist protested the weight. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to use it much.
Just as she pulled the door to the back seat open, a man in a suit slid into the cab.
“Hey!” She lifted a hand toward the sky. The man ignored her and slammed the door shut behind him. The cab took off. She gaped after it.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. Okay. So she’d had her first cab stolen out from under her. That was typical New York, she told herself. She could get another.
Again she watched the street, and again a taxi neared the hotel. She lifted her arm, glancing around for any would-be cab thieves. She’d whack them with her damned cane if she had to. The taxi didn’t even slow though, even though it too was empty and on-duty.
She gritted her teeth. “Am I fucking invisible?” Glancing at the time on her phone, she sighed. She didn’t have time to be ignored. If she was going to make it, she needed to get moving. Immediately.
She pulled up directions on her phone and headed toward the clinic. It was a little over ten blocks away. Piece of cake. She’d been on the track team in high school. Maybe she’d even snag a cab on her way there.
One hand held her cane, the rose gold rod keeping time with her right leg in support of her hip. She’d learned how to use it on YouTube. None of her doctors—nor the physical therapist she’d seen for six weeks—had helped her with it. In her other hand she held her iPhone.
Fifteen minutes ’til she had to be at the clinic.
She could do it.
She had to.
Though the weather was gloomy, the city itself was alive. People rushed past her on their way to their own places. She passed a naked guy wearing a glittery cowboy hat. He strummed a guitar and shouted out to people. She wished she had time to snap a picture of him to show Char later.
Char. Amarie wondered how she was making out. She couldn’t wait for the moment when they both occupied the same space at the same time again. A smile touched her lips. Already she was at the stage where she wanted to tell Char everything. She skirted a homeless man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. He eyed her suspiciously, as if she was going to set up shop next to him.
Ten minutes.
She had to be making good time. Moving to the side so that she didn’t accidentally bump into anyone, she glanced down and checked her phone. Her feet tangled together. She threw all of her strength into her cane arm, stabilizing herself. Her heart raced, but not from the near fall.
She was still nine blocks away.
Frowning at her phone, she stopped walking. She leaned her cane against her leg, putting her full weight on her better hip. There had to be something wrong with the directions app she was using. After all, it was a third party using Google’s API. It must be glitching.
She closed it out and opened Google Maps. Her stiff fingers fumbled with the touch keyboard, the letters jumbling up in the search box. She hissed in frustration.
Composing herself, she tried again. Hit enter. The app calculated her ETA. She was still nine blocks away. After all the time she’d wasted messing around with directions, she had eight minutes before she was late.
“Fuck,” she hissed. New York blocks must be using Texas measurements. “Okay,” she told herself, “better hustle.”
Though the cane helped keep the pressure off her hip, walking with it only slowed her down. It was going to hurt like hell, but she had to carry it. Fuck anyone who judged her. No matter what she did, she was going to be late, but she couldn’t afford to miss her appointment. She couldn’t.
Steeling herself, she held the cane so that it wouldn’t trip anyone—or her. Then she speed-hobbled down the street.
Each step was hot glass being forced into her joints. Tears stung her eyes, her mascara running into them. She blinked it all away and gritted her teeth. She couldn’t stop. She had to just keep moving. One step at a time. One foot, then the next. Left, right. Left, right.
She came to her first crosswalk. Four lanes of traffic streamed past her. Though she didn’t exactly have time to wait for the WALK sign, she couldn’t afford to get hit, either.
A woman carrying several books strode off the curb and out into the street. She barely glanced at the oncoming cars, even as the drivers leaned on their horns. A man followed her, his headphones cranked up loud enough that Amarie could hear what he listened to. He wove in and out of traffic, dodging cars as if they were merely fruit flies.
She stepped back from the curb, heart slamming against her ribs. She wasn’t even crossing, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t going to get hit. She glanced at the still green light. It was never going to change. She was never going to be fast enough to play Frogger, though.
By the time she reached the clinic, she was thirty minutes late. Despite the cool, gray sky, her curls clung to her forehead and the back of her neck. She winced as she approached the receptionist, a shock of pain radiating from her hip down into her knee and up through her lower back.
The receptionist rolled the glass window open. “Hello,” she said, bobbing her head in time to the music playing softly in the background. She wore a scarf around the most badass afro that Amarie had ever seen. “Your last name?”
“Locke,” Amarie said. “I’m a little—well, okay, a lot—late.” She smiled apologetically. “Is there any way the doctor can squeeze me in? I . . .” Tears clawed at her throat, burned at her eyes. She lifted her chin. “I couldn’t get a taxi. I had to walk.” Panic stretched her voice up an octave with each word. Each second sent a fresh pulse of pain through her joints, a constant blazing ache.
The receptionist’s eyebrows slanted in sympathy. “Hold on, let me look.” She tapped keys at her computer. “You were scheduled for 11:15, right?”
Amarie nodded.
“I’ll see what I can do. Unfortunately the doctor is booked back to back to back.” She punctuated each word with the stroke of a key.
“Thank you,” Amarie whispered. She swallowed hard, legs shaking under her weight.
“Go on and sit down, honey. I’ll come get you.”
Nodding gratefully, Amarie used her cane to get herself to the nearest chair. She collapsed into it, wishing it was the hotel bed instead. If she already regretted walking there, she would definitely be paying for it later.
A door opened and the receptionist walked out. She sat next to Amarie. “I’m sorry, honey. She’s booked solid today. Sometimes she’ll squeeze people in if she can, but it’s not that kind of day.”
Amarie nodded, afraid to speak. If she did, she was going to start crying. And if she started, she was
never going to stop.
The receptionist patted her arm gently. “You poor thing. Here, now, don’t cry. Dr. Warren said she can see you tomorrow.”
Nodding again, Amarie pressed her lips together and held her eyes wide. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. Still, there was no way she’d be able to walk so far again. She didn’t even know how she was going to get back to the hotel.
“You’re not from around here, huh?” The receptionist brushed curls out of Amarie’s eyes. “It can be overwhelming.” She smiled. “Dr. Warren had me call you a cab so you don’t have to walk back. Okay?”
Relief washed over Amarie and, against her will, a tear splatted onto her thigh. “Okay,” she whispered.
The receptionist drew her into a soft hug. “Don’t you worry. Everything is going to be okay.”
Amarie let herself melt into the receptionist’s arms, but she slammed down steel walls against the tears. She wanted to believe that it would be all right, but she couldn’t. Not with the pain storm that raged through her body.
Chapter 12
The elevator dinged and the doors rolled open. The couple Charlotte had been riding with stepped out onto their floor, arms wrapped around each other. She eyed the numbers impatiently. She itched to get upstairs to Amarie so she could find out how her appointment went.
Gears shifted and the elevator resumed its ascent. As a kid, she’d been terrified of elevators after watching some TV movie on Nickelodeon. She couldn’t remember the name. It had to do with a tower, or terror, or something like that. She shook her head at herself. Her nerves were getting the best of her when she was babbling at herself, in her own head.
At least she wasn’t doing it out loud.
Finally the elevator stopped. She stepped out onto her floor, practically skipping. They could order in room service. She was dying to hear all about Amarie’s appointment, then surprise her with a night on Broadway. As much as she tried to resist the other woman, she wanted her to have a good time in New York. Besides, she could use a night out for her own wellbeing.
She swiped her card key in the door and pushed it open. The scent of camphor, menthol, and spices burned at her nose. She blinked, eyes watering. The smell was as familiar as it was strong, though—Amarie’s Tiger Balm.
“Am?” She stepped over sneakers and discarded clothing that she didn’t recognize, and moved into the room.
Amarie sat reclined in the bed, her back and head supported by a mountain of pillows. “Hey,” she said softly, voice thick with pain. A TENS machine massaged her hips underneath two heavy, moist heating pads. Wires poked out, running all around her like some robot. She wore shorts and a tank top, and every visible joint that didn’t have TENS electrodes on it was slathered in Tiger Balm.
Char groped for words. She didn’t want to say anything insensitive, but she didn’t want to ignore Amarie’s pain, either. “I didn’t know they’d even give you all those pillows,” she blurted.
“Yeah,” Amarie said with a smile. “Apparently there’s no limit.”
Char shrugged out of her utility jacket and added it to the pile of clothing on the floor. “I’m glad you came to the dark side.” She sat down gently on the edge of the bed.
“Never,” Amarie whispered. “When I have spoons again, I’ll pick up.”
“I wish I could give you some of mine,” Charlotte said. She sighed. “I’m afraid to ask, but . . . How did it go?”
“It didn’t.” Amarie reached for the TV remote and turned the volume down.
Frowning, Char kicked off her sneakers. She drew her legs onto the bed and folded them. “What happened?”
Amarie looked down at her wrist braces. “I couldn’t get a cab, so I walked. Well, limped,” she amended.
“Oh no.” Char’s heart twisted. “I’m so sorry, babe.” The endearment slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Amarie’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. Heartbeats passed, the only sound in the room the air conditioner. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
“For calling me ‘babe’?” Amarie smiled. “I like it.”
“Okay.” Charlotte drummed her fingers on her thigh, suddenly aware of how bare her legs were, how close they sat together. How they happened to be on a bed.
She swallowed hard. The heat of Amarie’s body feathered into hers, their energy mingling. She wanted to melt into that energy, to let it fold her into its center. If she let herself go, she knew, that would be it.
“Anyway,” Amarie continued, “they squeezed me in for tomorrow. So it wasn’t a total bust. Just embarrassing.”
Without thinking, Char reached for her hand. “I wished you’d called me.”
“You were at your convention.”
“I would’ve come to get you.” She stroked Amarie’s hand with her thumb. “I would have.”
“It’s enough that you let me tag along. This is a big opportunity for you.” Amarie’s thumb moved along her own. “How was your day?”
Charlotte groaned. “You know Miranda’s? The pizza place?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “Miranda herself told me that I should go back to my crib.”
Amarie’s eyebrows wrinkled. “As in, MTV’s Cribs?”
“As in, it’s almost my nap time and I shouldn’t be playing with the grownups.”
“Aw, love.” Amarie squeezed her hand. “What a bitch.”
Sighing, Char scooted closer. She kept their hands linked while she gently laid down next to Amarie. “She’s right, though. I’m only twenty-one. I have no business starting my own business.”
“Rowan and Matt did,” Amarie pointed out. “Your best friends are kicking ass at it. Why can’t you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Releasing Amarie’s hand, she turned onto her side. “I’m sorry you had a shit day.”
“I’m sorry some old hag tried to tear you down.”
She grinned, but quickly sobered. Her eyes took in Amarie’s face, at the tautened corners of her eyes, tight with pain. “You’re paying for that walk now, huh?”
Amarie nodded. Wordlessly, she scooted closer and turned onto her side.
Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat while her world’s axis rearranged itself. Her face was only inches from Amarie’s. “If you’re up for it,” she whispered, “I wanna take you out.”
Amarie closed her eyes. “I’d love to go out with you . . .” Her lids fluttered open, tears pooling. “I just don’t know if I can even leave this bed.”
Nodding, Char exhaled. “I saw a billboard on my way back here. Hear me out. It was for a comedy club on Broadway. We would be sitting the whole time. And I’ll drive.”
“But parking,” Amarie said. “It’s so expensive here. Rare, too.”
“I can drop you off out front, then circle back to the hotel valet. No big deal.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “What do you think?”
Amarie nuzzled her face into the crook of her arm. “I think this bed is really comfy.”
Char mentally crossed her fingers. “It’s Zelda’s Lupie, Loopier, Lupus show.” She watched as Amarie’s eyes widened, her entire body going warm and formless as Amarie smiled.
“How . . . ?” A tear rolled down Amarie’s cheek, her smile widening. “How did you know about Zelda?”
Using her thumb, she brushed the tear off Amarie’s cheek. “I mean, I do follow you on Twitter.” She drew her hand back, studying it. It was as if it had a mind of its own. Like she was being pulled along on an invisible current, powerless to resist.
Amarie laughed. The sound stroked Char’s brain, lulling her. “Right. There are still tickets available?”
“There were. I grabbed the last two.”
“Holy shit.” Amarie used her elbows and rolled herself into a sitting position. “Are you shitting me right now? You better not be fucking with me.”
Char patted herself for her phone, then remembered she’d left her utility jacket in a puddle on the floo
r. “Swear.” She got off the admittedly very comfortable bed and smoothed down her dress.
Amarie twisted her lips to the side and looked up, stroking her chin. “I don’t know who I’m more excited to be with tonight. You or Zelda. She’s so hot.”
It was the perfect chance to ask her about her sexuality, Char mused, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment, either. Besides, it wasn’t any of her business—especially since she didn’t want to date Amarie. “Well, there weren’t any meet-and-greet tickets available, so you’re stuck with me.”
“What a bummer.”
Char gently tossed a pillow at her. “Come on. I figure we can grab some very cheap but very greasy and delicious pizza on our way.”
“Damn,” Amarie said. “I guess there’s no time to wash off the Eau de Tiger Balm.”
“It drives me wild, baby.” Charlotte tugged on her jacket. There she went again, letting her guard down and flirting. Amarie didn’t deserve all of the mixed signals, and she needed to stay focused. When they were apart, it was easy. She was going to have to try harder when they were in the same room.
“Everyone’s gonna smell it, though.”
“Who the hell’s gonna say anything at a spoonie comedy special?” She grabbed her card key and valet ticket, brandishing one in each hand. “Besides, I’ll defend your honor to the death.”
“With those?” Amarie lifted a skeptical eyebrow. Turning away, she moved to the closet. “Do I have like five minutes?”
Charlotte glanced at the time on her phone. “Yeah, why?”
“That dress is coming in handy.”
Tilting her head, Char’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” Amarie said. “You should probably dress up too.”
She glanced down at her wrinkled T-shirt dress and utility jacket. “What’s wrong with this?”
“Girl.” Amarie tucked an item in a garment bag under her arm. “I’m about to blow your mind. You’re gonna wanna keep up.” With that, she limped into the bathroom.
Any Other Love Page 11
