by T. K. Leigh
“Are you okay?”
I hate this question. Am I okay my best friend is married? Of course. I’m thrilled she found someone who values and respects her. Am I okay my best friend is married to one of Asher York’s college friends? That’s a more difficult question to answer. How will I react when I run into him at a party they throw? Will we pretend Vegas never happened? Will I ever be able to move on, like I’ve tried?
“Better than okay. I’m so happy for you. Truly.”
She squeezes my hand, then pulls back, answering the myriad of questions Evie rapidly fires at her.
Over the next hour, Chloe shares every detail of her special day. The few pictures she has tell the story of a wedding as outrageous as one would expect a Vegas wedding to be. Hell, Chloe didn’t even wear white. Instead, she opted for a tight-fitting red dress while Lincoln wore his typical tweed blazer and jeans. And around her neck hangs a strand of penises, like she wore the night she first met Lincoln. Anyone else wouldn’t want photos of what’s supposed to be the most memorable day of their lives marred with a penis necklace, but Chloe’s never been one to play by the rules.
“But don’t worry,” she says as she finishes her martini. “We’re going to do a little reception this summer.” She looks at Evie. “Can we throw it at Julian’s Southampton home? Well, I guess it’s yours, too. Sorry. It’s weird to think of you as a Hamptons socialite.”
Evie smiles. “Don’t worry. I still call it his house, to which he reminds me it’s mine, too. And of course. You guys are more than welcome to have a reception there. We’d be honored to host it.”
“Thank you.” Chloe gives her an appreciative smile before glancing at her watch. “Crap.” She pushes out of her chair, tugging her coat back on. “Sorry to drink and dash, but my husband’s waiting. Love you girls.” She blows us all a kiss, then retreats in the same flurry with which she arrived.
We all return our eyes forward, a silence washing over us as we process the fact that Chloe got married. The bar is still abuzz with activity, a mixture of commuters and tourists coming out of the cold for a minute to grab a quick drink. Polite chatter surrounds us, interspersed with a few cheers from people watching the hockey game on the large screen TVs hanging from the ceiling. Everything is exactly like it is on any other Thursday.
Except my anti-marriage best friend is now married. And to the man she hooked up with on the same night I slept with Asher.
“Well, that’s something I wouldn’t have put money on,” Nora says after a beat, pushing a lock of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear.
“My money was on her never getting married,” Evie offers. “Just living with Lincoln. She’s never been a traditional girl. At least from what I picked up in the six or so years since I started working at the magazine.”
Both her and Nora look to me, considering I’ve known Chloe since childhood. “She humored her cousin, Hannah, and me whenever we would plan our weddings as kids. But I don’t think she ever saw the point. Probably because there was always a strange dynamic between her parents. She didn’t exactly come from a house filled with love.” I pinch my lips into a tight line, then brighten my expression. “But I’m happy for her. She deserves this.”
I truly believe that. Between caring for an alcoholic mother and dealing with a father who always looked at her as an inconvenience before finally smartening up, she’s had one hell of a year. One hell of a life. She deserves to be with someone who will fight for her. And Lincoln does that. He has from the beginning.
“So now it’s just you.” Evie’s voice is chipper, her expression bright as she peers at me. “When are you going to tie the knot?”
I roll my eyes. “I’d need to meet someone first.”
“I thought you had something going on with one of the anesthesiologists at the hospital,” Nora interjects.
“Who wouldn’t love to marry a doctor?” Evie agrees.
“It’s a casual thing when we both need to work off some stress. Trust me. Dating is difficult enough, especially in this city. Not to mention the fact I work a job with strange hours. I’ve yet to find any guy who’d be okay with my schedule for the long term. It’s easier to go in detached with no expectations. Saves me from being pushed to the side when he realizes I’m not what he wants.”
“It’s okay,” Nora assures me, straightening her spine. “Sometimes marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
This certainly catches our attention. Nora was the first one in our group to get married. What was supposed to be a no-strings-attached hookup, arranged through Tinder, turned into a whirlwind romance. Less than three months after their first date, she’d agreed to marry him. It struck me as odd and I questioned Jeremy’s motives, how he could go from wanting a quick romp in the sack to proposing in what seemed like the blink of an eye, but Nora reminded us she did the same thing. That when you met the right one, you just…knew.
I can’t fault her there. People questioned my own engagement to Jessie all those years ago. Claimed we were too young to get married, to make that life-altering decision. I used the same argument Nora did. I think a part of me worried he was my only chance at happiness, at finally having a family. At finally having a home.
“Is everything okay with you and Jeremy?” I ask in a low voice.
“Of course,” she answers cheerfully, but doesn’t look directly at me. Or Evie.
She fidgets with the hem of her black pencil skirt. It doesn’t matter that she owns a yoga and meditation studio and spends most of her days in workout clothes. She still likes to look fashionable in public. Unlike myself, who has no problem wearing scrubs almost every minute of my day, although I did put on jeans and a nice shirt tonight.
“Everything’s great. He’s been traveling a lot for work. And…”
“Yes?” Evie leans closer.
“It’s stupid,” she states after a brief pause.
“What is?”
Nora worries her bottom lip, floating her gaze between Evie and me. Then she exhales a long breath. “The two-year anniversary of our first date was over the weekend. Or I guess the first time we slept together, because our first real date didn’t happen until a few weeks after that. But he didn’t even acknowledge it. I didn’t expect things to maintain their excitement after being together for several years, but… I don’t know…” Her shoulders fall. “Last year, he celebrated every anniversary, ones I couldn’t even remember. And I’m the girl in our relationship. I’m supposed to be the one who remembers the date he first burped in front of me, or when I first made him his favorite meal.” She sighs, swirling her wine around in the glass. “I just wish we could still have that spark, ya know?”
Evie places her hand on Nora’s bicep, smiling sympathetically. “I get it. It’s a pitfall of all relationships. You get comfortable. Maybe you need to rekindle the spark somehow.”
“Have you had this problem with Julian?”
Evie hesitates, probably because she hasn’t. I’ve seen them together. I’ve never observed two people as in love as they are… Until Lincoln and Chloe. And I thought Nora and Jeremy. Maybe appearances can be deceiving.
“No. But we do things to keep the spark alive. When I used to be in charge of the sex and dating column at the magazine before being promoted to assistant editor, this was a common topic, one I wrote about constantly.”
“And what advice did you give?”
“Sometimes you need to go back to the start, remind each other why he called you up for a date after it was only supposed to be a random hookup.”
Nora focuses her eyes forward. Then she jumps up from the barstool, tugging her wool coat over her. “That’s it! You’re a genius, Evie.” She kisses her head, then hugs me before rushing out of the bar, much like Chloe.
“And then there were two,” I comment as I bring my glass to my lips.
At that moment, Evie’s phone chirps and she floats her eyes to it, her expression shining, a blush blooming on her cheeks. It doesn’t take a gen
ius to know who’s texting her.
“Julian?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Do you need to go?”
When her eyes fall on me, there’s a flicker of pity within. “Do you mind? It’s just—”
I wave her off. “Go. Enjoy your evening.”
Her brows furrow. “Are you sure you’re not upset? I feel like we’re all ditching you for our husbands. Well, we kind of are, but—”
“It’s okay. Dr. Ben texted earlier to see if I wanted to come over,” I lie.
“Fun.” She waggles her brows, withdrawing a few bills to cover her drink. “You enjoy Dr. McDreamy.” She scoots off her barstool and buttons up her coat. “See you later, Iz.”
“You bet.”
I watch as she scurries toward the exit. Once she disappears from view, I settle back into my barstool, signaling the bartender for another drink.
“And then there was one.”
Chapter Four
TV cameras line the sidewalk when I arrive for my shift the following Wednesday evening. This isn’t the first time I’ve bypassed news crews to get into the hospital. But as I strain to catch snippets of what the reporters say, a heaviness settles in the pit of my stomach.
Layoffs. Budget cuts. Board salary increases.
I walk through the front doors and into chaos. Another nurse I recognize pushes past, head lowered, tears streaking down her cheeks, holding a box of what I can only assume to be the contents of her locker.
Not wanting to stare, I keep my eyes forward as I make my way into an elevator, joining a mixture of visitors, doctors, and nurses. Normally, there’s a bit of chatter about the day, weekend plans, the latest drama involving a staff member. But it’s silent today, which doesn’t help to settle my nerves, considering my supervisor called and requested that I come to the hospital a little early. I assumed it was for my quarterly review, although now that I think about it, I had my review not even six weeks ago.
When the elevator slows to a stop on my floor, I almost don’t want to get off. Holding my head high, I smile as I pass the registration desk. The familiar scent of hand sanitizer, latex, and coffee greets me, as it has nearly every day for the past three years.
When Emma, the intake nurse, looks at me with apologetic eyes, I know why I’ve been asked to come in early. After all, I am the newest nurse in the unit, the one with the least seniority. It doesn’t matter I’ve probably clocked more hours than some of the nurses who’ve been here significantly longer. My anniversary date is the most recent. As the old saying goes, last one in is the first one out.
My heart echoes in my ears as I approach Donna’s work area, a semi-private cubicle just off the registration desk. I knock gently on the partition wall, and she looks up from the file she was reviewing. Removing her glasses, she greets me with a warm smile, an underlying sadness visible.
“Izzy. Thanks for coming in early.”
“I’m getting fired, aren’t I?” I blurt out. “I saw the reporters out front. They’re all talking about massive layoffs.”
She stands from her desk, grabbing the file, before ushering me away. “We’ll talk in private. Your union steward is already here.”
She doesn’t have to say anything else. There’s only one reason for a union steward to be present at a meeting between myself and my supervisor. To protect my interests.
I follow her down the hallway, moving swiftly through the oncology wing and toward one of the administrative offices. When we enter, a dark-skinned woman wearing pink scrubs stands. I greet Justine with a nod. I haven’t had much interaction with her, since she works in cardiology, but I’ve always respected her drive and tenacity to protect the interests of all nurses.
Donna lowers herself into the chair behind the desk, gesturing for me to sit in the free one across from her and next to Justine. I do so, albeit warily. She places her glasses back on, opening the file and perusing it briefly before returning her attention to me.
Expelling a sigh, she seems to be at a loss for words. “This is the part of the job they don’t warn you about when you take it. It’s one thing to have to fire someone who can’t cut it, but another…” She trails off, collecting her thoughts before lifting her eyes to mine again. “You’re right. The directive came down around Thanksgiving. Every department was ordered to cut their budget by varying degrees.”
“Which translates into cutting staff.”
She removes her glasses, shaking her head. “My hands are tied here. I was told to decrease my nursing staff by two.”
“So that means Gretchen and I are getting the ax, right?”
“If I had any other choice, I’d keep you, Izzy. I’m just following orders, whether I like them or not.” She retrieves a set of papers from the file. “The hospital has put together a severance package. Four months’ salary paid on the first of every month, as well as health insurance for a year.”
“Which would be great had I not had to depend on overtime hours to make ends meet.” Since I’m the proverbial low man on the totem pole in this unit, there’s nothing I can do to prevent this from happening, but I can’t stop the panic from setting in.
“The hospital will also pay out any vacation or sick time you’ve accumulated,” Justine adds. “Immediately.”
“I truly am sorry,” Donna says. “Trust me. I tried to fight this.” She nods at Justine. “We all did. And the union’s still trying to fight this. Unfortunately, those who make the decisions don’t walk these floors, don’t take care of patients, don’t understand how worn thin the nursing staff is already. But I promise you, the second this passes and I’m able to hire more staff again, you’re the first phone call I’ll make. It kills me to have to let go of such an amazing nurse, but like I’ve said—”
“I know, I know. Your hands are tied.”
A few hours later, I collapse on the couch in my tiny studio apartment, setting the box with all the belongings from my work locker on the coffee table in front of me. I have no idea what to do with myself. I can’t remember a time I didn’t work. My parents did well for themselves, but they wanted to teach me responsibility, so once I turned sixteen, I got a job. It was a condition of being able to get my driver’s license. In the fourteen years since I entered the work force, I’ve rarely taken time off. Now that I don’t have my work, I’m at a loss, not to mention unsure how I’ll pay my bills.
As I contemplate my options, my phone rings. I pull it from my bag to dismiss the call, in no mood to talk to anyone. When I see it’s my dad, I smile, my muscles relaxing.
“Hey, Papa.”
“Hey, butterfly.” It doesn’t matter that I’m thirty. He’ll always call me butterfly. I hated it when I was a teenager, but now that I’ve outgrown that phase of my life, I appreciate the affectionate nickname. “I heard the news about your hospital. Are you—”
“I’ve been let go,” I answer quickly.
“Oh, sweetie… I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved that job.”
“It’s okay. There will be another job.” I feed him the same line I’ve told myself repeatedly the past few hours. There’s no doubt in my mind there will be another job. But there won’t be another one like this.
“Do you need money? I can—”
“No. I’m fine. I’m getting four months’ pay without having to lift a single finger. If you ask me, I made out in this scenario.” I attempt to sound chipper so he can’t hear the worry filling me.
“That’s the right attitude.”
When he pauses, I sense he didn’t just call to check if I’m still employed.
“What is it?” I ask with hesitation.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you, Dad. There’s another reason you called.”
He blows out a breath. “I can’t get anything by you, can I?”
“No, you can’t. Tell me what it is.”
“You’ve just been laid off. This can wait a few days. It’s nothing that needs immediate attention.”
; “If it’s more bad news, I’d rather hear it all on the same day.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can handle it.”
“Okay.” He sighs. “I got a jump start on your taxes—”
“I told you I’d do them myself,” I admonish.
“Which would take you hours. Whereas I can do this blindfolded.”
“You’re probably right. How much am I getting back?” It’s still too soon to file, but the thought of getting that extra money will help ease the stress a little.
“Actually, sweetie, you’re not. With the new tax law, things have changed. You can’t deduct certain expenses like you used to.”
I furrow my brows. “What does that mean?”
“It means you owe this year.”
“Owe? How much?”
“A little over five grand.”
Frustration builds in my throat. I want to scream, cry, something. I have a hard enough time making ends meet as it is. Now I have a substantial tax bill on top of being laid off? Apparently rock bottom has a basement.
“Your mother and I are willing to help if you need it.”
“No,” I say, stubborn as always. While most people would accept the help, that’s never been who I am. “You don’t have to. I’ll take care of it myself. The hospital offered me a pretty good severance package. I’ll be fine.”
“We don’t mind. You—”
“It’s okay. I’m an adult. Paying taxes is part of it. But can I wait until April? By then, I’ll have another job and will still be collecting my severance pay. Plus, I’m not in the habit of giving the government money before the due date when I could be earning interest on it.”
“Like father, like daughter.” He chuckles. “You can wait. That’s why I called you now. Hell, it’s why I asked for your final paystub from last year. I had a bad feeling in my gut, so I wanted to get ahead of the eight ball here, so to speak. Figured the more time you had to save, the better. But like I said, we are—”