by MJ Fields
I pull my phone from her hand. “I’m not going back there.”
“As your shrink, I’m proud of you. As your friend, I need to remind you to live a little, Lizzie.”
“Hey, how are you?”
I look up and see nurse Bridget and Calliope, the yoga instructor, walking toward us.
Before I have a chance to answer Bridget, Calliope smiles. “Perfect, you’re broken.”
Bridget laughs. “What she means is she’s been toying with the idea of a new rehab style yoga.”
Confused, I look at her. “I’m not sure—”
“Be my guinea pig, and I’ll pay you.”
“Guinea pig?”
“Come to class, let me work with you. I’ll pay you for your time.”
I shake my head, wondering if maybe she knew I stopped coming because I was broke. “That’s very generous of you, but I couldn’t accept payment for —”
“Fine, then free classes for a year after I’ve had my way with you and you’re healed.”
Pulling down my road, radio blasting Lizzo’s “Good as Hell” and singing at the top of my lungs, I’m feeling good. I’m also jittery as all get out from the exuberant amount of coffee that I drank with Tonya for the past four hours while discussing Dr. Nail-It-or-Screw-It.
When I pull into the driveway, I notice a moving van down the street. Since Mrs. Kingsley passed away five years ago, the home seems to have a revolving door. Renters come and go and, from what I’ve heard, it’s due to the high rental fee and amount of money it must take to heat a home that size.
As a little girl, I always dreamed about living in the Kingsley estate. Dad always told me it wasn’t the size of a person’s home; it was the love inside the walls and in their hearts. Yet, I still often sat in the bay window and watched as the teenagers came in and out of the home during the summer for swim parties and such. I always dreamed of being invited until the day I was digging in a flowerbed and saw a bunch of them walking down the sidewalk. I smiled, waved, asked them what they were doing, and they … laughed at me.
After a good cry on my daddy’s lap, he told me that I get to choose who is in my life, and that I should always choose those who add happiness, magic, and color to my world.
Something clicked that day. I never cried again over someone not wanting to be my friend. Books, colored pencils, and paper became my happy place. The handful of friends who have met the criteria over the years are gold to me.
Dad, I think when I feel my chest tighten. Tomorrow is the third anniversary of his passing.
Growing up in this house, an only child to a man who never remarried after my mother passed away when I was just nine, I never missed a thing. He was the best father a girl could wish for. In fact, he made me believe in magic.
After parking my car in the garage, unpacking the groceries and putting them away— aka the wine, cheese, and already made salads— I take out my phone, open the Notes app, and begin writing my yearly text to my father.
The annual birthday text always tends to be longer, always harder to write, and always much more emotionally taxing, than the random ones I send to him and Mom throughout the year.
Friday
Waking up to the sun warming my face, my ass no longer hurts, and my ankle no longer throbs, only slightly aches. I smile as I inwardly thank Dad for three magical acts on a day I dread.
Reaching over, I grab my phone, prop myself up onto my elbows, and open my Notes app to finish my letter.
Daddy,
Today marks three years since you’ve been gone. Google tells me that’s thirty-six months, one thousand ninety-five days, twenty-six thousand two hundred and eighty hours, and over one million five hundred and seventy-six thousand seconds. When I allow my heart to soften, it tells me you’re still here. My head tells me that’s not possible. Logically, I know my head is right, but I choose to believe in magic, because of you.
As per my norm, I get caught up in my feelings as I tap out my annual letter. I know they are the same every year, yet each word evokes emotions and feelings so raw it’s like they’re being knifed into my soul. It takes me right back.
Knowing how hard I’ve worked to heal that part of me, I turn my focus to the good that has happened over the past year, and then I force myself to end the message.
If only you could see me now, you’d be so proud of me.
I love you, Daddy.
I’ll see you soon.
Love,
Your Elizabeth
Wiping the fallen tears off my cheek, I copy the note and open my list of favorites in my contacts— Dad’s has always been first. Then I paste the note, kiss the phone, and hit “send.”
I hold my phone to my chest and roll onto my back, giving me a sharp kick to my sore ass, and silently tell myself to get up, take a shower, take a walk … Well, apparently, not a nice, long one, but at least get out of the house and function.
When I finally hold the phone out and look at the time, I’m proud of myself for only taking twenty minutes to grieve, before I’m ready to function. Last year, it was nearly three hours.
Stepping carefully out of the shower, I hear my phone chime. Drying my hands, I look down at it to see Calliope (yoga).
I pick up the phone and read the message.
I’d love to have you join Bridget and me for an hour between my ten o’clock and twelve o’clock class at the studio. ~ Calliope
I look in the mirror and see the five extra pounds and obvious jiggle that wasn’t there six months ago when I was going to Calliope’s class three days a week, then send her a quick message.
See you then. ~ Lizzie
I then shoot Tonya a quick text.
Going to meet Calliope and Bridget for yoga, then hitting the coffee shop after. ~ Lizzie
Her response is immediate. A heart appears next to my sent message.
Thatta girl! I’m proud of you for pulling yourself up by Dr. Nail-It-or-Screw-It’s boot strap and letting off some of that pent-up frustration on something other than your magic wand. I’ll meet you for coffee. ;) ~Tonya
Oh, no, she didn’t! I laugh to myself as I send her the middle finger emoji.
“You did amazing,” Bridget says as she sets her bag on the floor beside the table for four at the coffee shop.
Calliope, sitting beside me, says, “This is going to be incredible for those with injuries who don’t think they can still enjoy the benefits of yoga.”
Tonya, who joined us for Calliope’s last class of the day, smiles. “Not only the physical but the mental health benefits that come from exercise, as well.”
From behind me, I hear, “Four women walk into a coffee house. One nurse, one fitness instructor, one teacher, and one …?”
I don’t even have to look back to know who the voice belongs to, and if the accent didn’t give it away, the smile brightening Bridget’s face would have.
Tonya raises her hand. “Psychiatrist.”
“Well, that changes everything entirely.” Dr. Hogue laughs.
I take a sip of my water while turning around to get a look at that smile and nearly choke when I see Dr. Stewart standing behind Dr. Hogue.
His green eyes narrow when they connect with mine.
“Ethan, you’ve met Calliope, my Bridget, and Elizabeth. This is …?”
My eyes sweep to Tonya, who looks shocked, mouth gaping and the whole nine. I kick her under the table and, simultaneously, we both yelp.
Dr. Nail-It-or-Screw-It looks down. “The boot giving ye a bit of a problem, Ms. Bloom?”
I quickly look away from him and to Dr. Hogue. “This is my Tonya.”
My Tonya? What the hell?
Dr. Hogue smirks and gives a little nod.
“I suggest ye call my office for an appointment so we can see what further damage ye’ve done to yer fractured ankle when kicking yer Tonya.”
“And bruised arse,” Dr. Hogue taunts a bit.
“Her arse is fine,” Dr. Stewart quips.
I feel
the blood rush to my face and burn as Calliope, Bridget and, yes, even my Tonya all quietly giggle.
“Really, ladies?” Dr. Stewart scowls as he turns toward Dr. Hogue. “I’ll leave ye in primary school and meet you at the gym.”
“Claire Fraser,” the barista, Sheila, who shares in my love of Outlander and just happens to be working today, calls my fake name, telling me my order is up.
Ethan turns back and quirks an eyebrow at me, clearly questioning my sanity.
I fight with everything I am to remain composed as I stand and force my eyes from his. I start toward the counter when Ethan steps in my way.
“Go sit yer arse down. I’ll fetch yer order.”
I look up at him, confused.
He smirks. “Sassenach.”
Oh.
No.
He.
Didn’t.
But yes … yes, he did.
Friday
Ethan
Walking out of the wellness center after an hour of handball and an hour of weight training, Simon chuckles behind me. “You’re obviously working through something.”
“Got a lot on my mind,” I reply instead of stating the truth, which is: I feel as if I’ve lost the ever-loving fucking thing.
“Quirky little brunette is all I’ve been hearing about for a week now,” Simon continues to fuck with me.
It’s true. I did call him and go off about Ms. Bloom’s behavior in my office. Maybe more than once.
Never in my life have I wanted to redden the arse of a patient before, and I’ve had my fair share of difficult ones. But the moment they realize I’m not one to coddle, mince words, or put up with blatant disrespect, they stop their bullshit, and quickly learn that I am the best at what I do.
This little raven-haired, scotch-eyed, pale-skinned beauty had my hand twitching.
She challenged me, and it was obviously uncomfortable for her to do so, which made it extremely difficult to put her in her place immediately. She was literally, albeit without the words, asking for such treatment.
No one has challenged me in years. It riled me up.
And although she looks like she could play the role of pillow princess, someone to lie there magnificently naked, ready and aching to receive, I more pictured her as a woman you’d have to tie up, bind, and gag just to get yourself to lie with her.
She’s a brat.
Then she completely mistook me for a man that she found on a dating app who handled her inappropriately. Even though I have attempted to clear that up, she’s not buying it.
I’m not the type of man to send a picture of my cock to a woman yet to meet its acquaintance.
Her disbelief, and the fact that she actually dates men who she doesn’t even know, should have been more than enough to wipe her out of my mind. Yet, she’s occupied it long past eviction, whilst making me act like a fool at times.
I’m not a fool.
“Bridget says she’s single.”
“Not another word.” I hit the unlock button on the key fob, open my door and slide in.
“See you Monday,” Simon calls mischievously from behind me as I shut the door.
Turning down Terrace Drive and passing Ms. Bloom’s house, I actually do a double-take to see if there’s a light on.
There is.
I run a hand over my face and try to erase the image of her ass as she bent over my examination table. It’s the kind of ass no man forgets— round, soft, with a bit of a bounce to it. Flesh you could grip while plowing into her from behind. Sans the bruise, it’s the perfect ass.
I look at her front door and heat burns in my chest, and other places, when I think about her flushed face when she opened the door and the fact that I nearly chubbed up when I thought she was watching porn. Then the vibrating wand nearly brought me to my knees. My brain understands exactly who she is and why I was there. But that scene … Christ. She’s my fucking patient but trying to get that chart to my dick in that moment was more difficult than gaining citizenship here in the US.
This is wrong on so many levels, I think as I push the accelerator to stop myself from creeping any further.
I’m drawn to her. I want to check on her wellbeing, her injuries, see if she caused any further stress on her fracture during yoga class with Simon’s wife and their best friend Calliope. A class I was one hundred percent behind when Simon told me about Calliope’s new healing yoga class idea. Yet, knowing Ms. Bloom is the first test subject in this venture makes me apprehensive.
The woman is an accident waiting to happen and clearly needs to be saved from herself. Previous life experience reminds me that I’m no savior. It’s been years since I’ve had to give myself that reminder, but this situation is different. Ms. Bloom is different. Everything now … is different.
I pull into the driveway of our new home for the first time as its owner. I should feel relieved knowing that when Kai returns from her time with her grandparents, she’ll come home to a place like this. A place that’s permanent, where she can grow roots. A place where she may finally feel comfortable making friends.
I hope to someday hear her laugh echo through the walls, see her smile brightening the room, hear her get excited and start rambling on and on about a video, a movie, a new friend. Hell, even something that her annoying dog does. Maybe she’ll even play football.
Walking into the house, I look around and see our things have been delivered— new furniture, new rugs, new life.
Kai and I have furnished this place through texts for the past couple weeks. I wished she’d wanted to see it in person, but she insisted the virtual tour was fine.
Who lets a ten-year-old have the final say when picking out a house? A father who had, up until three years ago, suffered silently beside her. A man who now regrets living in his grief when he should have been the man he is today.
A man ready to live again.
“Scotch!” I yell for our Scottish Terrier.
I walk into the house farther. “Maryanne?”
When I get no answer, I realize she must not be here yet to drop him off.
“Dr. Stewart?”
I look away from the pool that I’ve been staring at for God only knows how long and turn when I hear Maryanne’s panicked voice coming from the house.
She hurries toward me with a red and tear-stained face.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, pulse racing.
“He’s gone.”
Fuck.
Still Friday
Lizzie
“Are you out of your mind?” Tonya booms from the other end of the phone.
“That’s debatable, but I’m already in love with him.” I laugh as I crouch down next to the pup that I just rescued —well, sort of— a few hours ago.
“So, let me get this straight, you found a dog—”
“Not just a dog, a Scottish Terrier … I think.”
She interrupts, “In your neighborhood?”
“I know my neighbors. They treat their dogs better than they do their kids. I may have found him in this neighborhood, but I can assure you—”
“Lizzie, you need to take him to the vet to see if he’s chipped. Then you need to hang signs in the area to see if someone is looking for him.”
“I’m sure he’s a stray.” I squat down and scratch under his chin.
“The picture you sent me looks like he’s straight off the Westminster Kennel Club website. He has on a Burberry scarf, for the love of God!”
“But no tags, not one.” I scratch behind his ear.
She sighs. “Lizzie …”
“He came to me on the anniversary, Tonya.”
Placing her on speaker, I send my father a text, thanking him for sprinkling a little bit of magic from heaven by way of this little fur baby on a day I needed it the most.
But, even as I think it, I realize how completely naïve it sounds to someone like Tonya … okay, possibly everyone else but me, but it doesn’t make it untrue. Dad did make me believe in magic, and this little
guy is magical.
Her silence gives me further pause, and I finally agree to see if he’s chipped, and maybe, if he isn’t, I’ll hang a couple signs … or at least tell her I will.
“Make sure you exhaust all avenues. You wouldn’t want to get too attached to him.”
She’s dulling my shine with her logic.
“I need to take Fraser out—”
“You already named him?” she cuts me off.
“Well, what am I supposed to call him? Dog?”
After a long pause, she asks, “What are you going to do with him when you go to work?”
Shit, I think to myself. I never called Shirley, avoiding the inevitable financial crisis.
“I think he’ll be fine. I also just realized I’m sure I can still work at the restaurant. I’ve got this, Tonya.”
“You know I love you, right?” She always leads with this before shrinking me.
“I do. Love you back. But Fraser has to go out to piddle.”
“Piddle,” she states, judgment intact.
“Chat later,” I say before hanging up.
I give my boy a scratch under the chin. “You ready to go piddle?”
He cocks his head at me, and I swear his eyebrow raises.
“Potty?” I concede.
He begins tap dancing.
“You’re such a handsome boy,” I say as I walk to the door and grab the leash from the coatrack. Then I bend down, and he sits as I hook it to his collar.
“It’s a bit warm out to wear this,” I say, reaching to untie his scarf.
“Arrf!” He steps back as if he’s objecting to the wardrobe change.
“Suit yourself.” I stand and open the door.
Outside, I walk Fraser right down the sidewalk. Nothing to hide here. If he belongs to someone, they’ll let me know. Which is why you’re taking side streets when you know there’s a doggie park just two blocks down, on a main road.
