Too Much Information

by Missy Johnson

  None of that matters now, because it’s all over. I’m back to being me, that little vibrating monster is buried safely at the bottom of a medical waste dumpster, and I never have to think about it again. Well, at least until I see Becca, because I know she’s not going to let me forget about this anytime soon.

  It’s Friday, and I’ve been out for most of the morning, running from one end of the city to the other, trying to catch up on a week’s worth of errands. I’m so behind on preparations for my new job that most of my time is spent chasing up medical forms, my uniform, and parking permits. It’s all these last minute little things that are making it sink in that this is really happening.

  I did my first two years of residency at Seattle Hospital, near where I did my pre-med. Seattle was a great hospital with an excellent program, but my dream was always to come back home. I’d have loved to have done it all here, but the program Seattle was offering was superior, and with what I wanted to specialize in, I knew I’d need all the help I could get. Moving away from my family was hard, considering how close I am to Mom and Matt, but I just kept my eye on the prize. It finally paid off when I was accepted into Mercy for my final year of residency. It’s next year’s fellowship that I have my sights firmly set on, though. It’s such a tough program to get into that I thought my chances were better if I already had my foot in the door.

  By the time I’m done with my errands, it’s nearly one in the afternoon. I’m exhausted, hungry, and not that far from Matt’s place, so I text Annie to see if she wants to meet me for lunch.

  Annie is my sister-in-law. At twenty-three, she’s a few of years younger than me, but we get on really well. She came over from London for a three-week vacation with a friend and never went back. That was four years ago, and she and Matt have been together ever since. I was so happy that he found someone like her, because as fun and laid-back as she is, she’s also one of the toughest, bluntest people I’ve ever met, which is exactly what my brother sometimes needs, and I find her directness hilarious. Listening to her curse, I imagine that’s what the queen would sound like, yelling at the corgis for eliminating on her Persian rug.

  I look up as she waddles into the cafe and over to the table where I’m sitting. She huffs as she struggles to get herself comfortable in a small wooden chair that was obviously designed without pregnant women in mind.

  Aside from Becca, Matt and Annie are probably my closest friends. It’s kind of funny we’re so close, considering we’re complete opposites. Matt is the guy who knows and loves everyone—the guy everybody wants to spend time with. Growing up, being his sister was hard because everyone assumed that I was like that too.

  Instead, I was the shy, awkward girl who buried her nose in books to avoid making eye contact with people. I put myself under so much pressure trying to live up to his reputation and what people expected of me. It didn’t help that I was missing weeks and weeks of school at a time. I think I was away more of eighth grade than I was there, because of a condition I had that meant my body produced painful, large uterine cysts. I would have gone crazy if it weren’t for Matt and Becca keeping me company.

  When I was fourteen, one of those cysts burst, which very nearly killed me. After two weeks in intensive care and two major surgeries, I ended up with no uterus, no ovaries, and no chance of ever having my own children. At the time, it didn’t really hit me what that meant because having children was so far off my radar, but now it’s beginning to sink in.

  I turn my attention back to Annie, sympathizing as she winces and struggles out of her jacket and tries to stuff it behind her back for support. I take mine off, too, and hand it to her, which she gratefully stuffs behind her back. She sighs with relief. I suppose everything is difficult when you’re nearly nine months pregnant.

  “Get this fucking thing out of me,” Annie exclaims in her proper English accent. I chuckle to myself because I’ll never get sick of listening to her curse. “I cannot think of one tiny little thing that I enjoy about being pregnant,” she adds. Then her eyes grow wide, and she claps her hand over her mouth. “Gosh, I’m sorry. That was completely insensitive of me, wasn’t it?” She shakes her head and waves at herself. “Just ignore the daft pregnant woman over here.”

  “Seriously, you and Matt need to stop acting like you’re going to upset me with every little comment,” I say, laughing. “Let me enjoy this with you guys.”

  It’s been like this since the day they told me she was pregnant. After three weeks of severe, constant morning sickness, Annie had jokingly asked me if I wanted it when it came out. Matt had glared at her, and the two of them got into a shouting match, while Annie profusely apologized and I tried to convince them I was fine.

  I just wish I could make them see how resilient I am, and that just because I can’t have kids, I’m not going to fall apart at the mention of a baby. I’m best friends with Becca, for God’s sake. She’s the queen of offending people. If I can handle her, I can handle anything. Though to be fair, I think being friends with Becca has significantly decreased my ability to be offended.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Matt wanted me to ask you over for dinner tonight.” She stabs a tomato off her plate and pops it in her mouth, her lack of eye contact only mildly concerning me. “We’re having a dinner party and one of my friends—Raina—can’t come.”

  “Sure,” I say. “So long as this isn’t another attempt to try and set me up,” I add, my suspicions stirring. I hold up my hand when she starts to protest her innocence. “It’s fine, I’ll come. Oh shit.” I’d already made plans with Becca. “I forgot. Becs and I are going to see a movie.”

  “Can you get out of it? Matt’s already arranged the menu, and it will just look odd if we’re one person short,” she pleads with me.

  I grin because she really takes her dinner parties seriously.

  “Okay, I’ll text her and see if we can make it tomorrow night. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I pull out my phone to message her before I forget. “Am I excepted to dress up?”

  She frowns at me. “If I say no, is there a chance you’re going to turn up wearing that hideous snoopy shirt that should’ve been thrown out years ago?”

  “One time,” I say, laughing. “And only because you failed to mention the part where you’d invited a guy to our weekly pizza and slouch on the couch night.”

  “Yes, well, I was only trying to help.” She sniffs. “Lord knows you need all the assistance you can get when it comes to finding a man.”

  I giggle. See what I mean?

  After we finish lunch, I head back home, using the short drive to think about what I’m going to wear to the dinner party. I already know my options are limited since I’ve been putting off doing laundry for the last few days. After racking my brain, I admit defeat and surrender to the fact that I’ll need to put in a load as soon as I get home.

  I find my cream shirt with the lace cap sleeves in the bottom of a pile of clothes in the bathroom, then I trudge down to the basement of my complex and throw it in the only empty machine left, along with a few other clothing items. I turn it on the fastest cycle and impatiently wait the twenty minutes until it’s done, then throw it in the dryer. Rather than waste more time waiting, I go back upstairs to check on Iris.

  “Iris? It’s me,” I say, knocking gently on her door.

  I hear her moving around inside and then the door swings open. She smiles, and places her soft, wrinkled hand in mine, yanking me inside. I laugh because she’s much stronger than she looks.

  “Are you going to stand there looking silly, or are you going to sit down?”

  She’s already on her way into the kitchen to prepare our usual tea without waiting for an answer. It might seem strange that I’m such good friends with my eighty-year-old, widowed neighbor, but if you met her, you’d understand why. She’s fucking hilarious.

  My own grandparents died when I was little, so I never really got to experience that kind of relationship. I’m not sure that’s what Iris and I have, but what
ever it is, I love it. I’ve only been living next door to her for a few weeks, but I feel like I’ve known her forever. I’m always at her place, catching up on the latest gossip from the world of reality TV, and every week, I’ve tried to take her out somewhere, just to get her out of her apartment.

  We don’t talk about her family, though I know she has a daughter who lives locally who she never sees. That makes me sad because she’s such a great person and so much fun to hang around.

  “So, what are we watching?” I call out to her, making myself comfortable on the couch.

  Like I even need to ask.

  Milton, her cat, runs over to me, jumping into my lap, meowing. I pet him and glance at Iris as she walks back in, carrying a tray.

  “He loves you so much,” she says fondly. She places my tea on the table, along with the homemade biscuits she knows I love. “It’s strange because he can’t stand people most of the time. Me included.”

  “Milton and I are very alike,” I joke as I pet him under the chin.

  I can’t stand being around people either, sometimes.

  He jumps off my lap and runs out of the room. I reach for my tea, smiling as I take a sip. It’s so comforting. Is it offensive to say that there’s something special about tea made by an old person that makes it taste better? I can have the same brand of tea and make it at home, and it wouldn’t make a difference. It’s like going to a café and ordering a sandwich. You can get all the same ingredients at home, but it’s never going to taste the same.

  Iris sinks down into her chair, turning her attention back to the TV. She shakes her head and nods toward the screen, annoyed.

  “I can't believe he’s chosen this biddy over the one with the legs that go on for miles,” she snaps, shaking her head in disgust.

  I chuckle to myself because she’s hysterical. She’s a reality TV junkie. There’s no other way to describe it. I’ve never met anyone with such an appetite for conflict and drama, much less someone in their eighties. She has that channel running day and night. In fact, I’m pretty sure she sleeps in that chair.

  “They’re advertising for contestants for next year, you know.” Iris turns to me and narrows her eyes.

  “What?” I laugh, a blush creeping across my cheeks. “Me? No way. I could never go on anything like this. Besides, I don’t need a TV show to embarrass myself in front of someone. I can do that all on my own.” I glance at the screen and shake my head because this show is such a load of crap. “How many of these people do you think actually end up together?”

  “What are you saying?” Iris asks, frowning at me.

  “You think they actually get married?” I laugh at her horrified expression. “They’ll be engaged at the end of this, sure, but two weeks later, it’ll be off. And last season? Yes, they made it to the wedding, but I heard that he slept with the third runner-up on his wedding night. After saying their vows.”

  God, I’m crushing the hopes and dreams of an eighty-year-old.

  Iris frowns and then sniffs as she shakes her head.

  “I don’t believe any of it,” she snaps, turning her attention back to the TV. She points at the door, glaring at me over the rims of her glasses. “If you’re going to sit there, picking it to bits, you know where the door is, missy.”

  I stand up, still laughing and lean over, kissing her on the forehead.

  “Unrelated to this, I do have to go.”

  Iris looks at me, shocked I’d want to go anywhere and miss the end of The Bachelor, never mind the fact that it’s a three-year-old episode—I’m disappointed in myself that I know that.

  “Where are you going?” she demands. “You better be leaving me for a date.”

  “I hope not.” I frown. “Though, if I know my brother and Annie, they’re probably trying to set me up with someone.”

  “Good,” she snaps. “You need a good kick in the butt.”

  “Thanks,” I say, laughing. “Though I could say the same about you.”

  “Pfft.” She sniffs. “Who would want to take this old thing out?”

  “I think you’d be surprised,” I say with a grin.

  Remind me never to introduce her to the world of Internet fetishes, or it won’t be the sounds of The Bachelor I’d be trying to block out at night.

  I walk back into my apartment, panicking when I see the time. Shit, it’s later than I thought it was. I race down to the basement, gather my laundry, take it back upstairs and toss it on my bed. Then I have a shower. I wash as quickly as I can get away with, then I jump out, and quickly dry myself. After a short deliberation, I leave my hair down to dry naturally, then I dab on some makeup and shuffle my way into my black skirt, along with a low pair of heels.

  On the way out of my room, I grab my shirt from the bundle of washing and throw it on, ignoring the way the still damp material makes my skin crawl. I don’t have much choice but to wear it since the snoopy sweater is out of the question. Sighing, I grab my phone in my purse and race out the door. I haven’t even left, and I already regret agreeing to this.

  I didn’t expect so much traffic getting across the other side of town, so by the time I pull up outside their house in Pasadena, I’m really late. My phone beeps as I unbuckle my seat belt. I fumble through my purse, already knowing it’s Annie or Matt. I’m right.

  Annie: Where are you? You’re still coming, right?

  Me: Yes, relax. I’m outside, about to come in.

  I pound on the front door. Matt answers. He shakes his head and glances at his watch.

  “What?” I say. “It’s not like you gave me a whole lot of notice about this dinner party,” I say with a frown. I push past him as he chuckles and then shuts the door.

  “Like that would’ve made a difference,” he scoffs. “So, what was it this time?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, you’re always running late, and you always have some half-assed excuse ready to go, so hit me with it.”

  I glower at him. He knows me too well.

  “I got distracted with my eighty-year-old neighbor watching The Bachelor,” I say with a sheepish grin. He shakes his head and groans.

  “If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t believe that, but you…” He smirks at me. “The funny thing is, for somebody so anal, you suck at time management. How does that even work?”

  “Anal?” I glare at him.

  “You know what I mean. You like control,” he says. “So why don’t you control your time better?”

  “Shut up,” I say, poking my tongue out at him.

  “You shut up.” He grins. “Now get outside. Everyone’s already sitting down, and you’re ruining my dinner party.”

  I hear a distinctive laugh that sounds like a hyena wrestling a polar bear that can only be Raina.

  “I thought Annie said Raina couldn’t come,” I say suspiciously.

  “Did she?” Matt’s voice lifts to a high pitch, and I groan.

  “Matt.”

  “What?” he asks, shaking his head. “I didn’t tell you because you’d think this was a setup, and it’s not like that this time, I promise.”

  “Then what is it like?” I say.

  “I’ve just got a friend staying with us and everyone else coming tonight is a couple, so I felt bad for him. And you’re the only other single person I know at the moment. I needed things to balance,” he says, speaking quickly.

  “Balance?” I shake my head. “You owe me for this. If he tries to hit on me, you owe me double.”

  “Fine. I’ve got to go back and check on the risotto,” he says, waving me off.

  I shake my head then take a deep breath, glancing at my reflection in the hallway mirror before I walk out onto the patio.

  “Laura,” Annie exclaims, getting to her feet. Her dark eyes examine me as she leans closer for a kiss. I narrow mine slightly, letting her know that I know what this is. “Don’t hate me. Matt made me ask you,” she whispers in my ear.

  “It’s fine.”

  Life’
s too short to be angry at a heavily pregnant woman. The last thing I want on my conscience is her stressing out so much that she pops out a baby. And who knows? Maybe this guy and I will have something in common.

  “I think you know nearly everyone,” Annie says. “Raina and Dave, Lisa and Dan, Phillipe and Cassie…”

  I smile at everyone as I sink into the only empty seat at the table. I wait until the last possible moment to turn my attention to the person next to me because I hate how awkward those first few seconds of a setup are. I smile and then lift my gaze to meet his.

  And then I stop breathing.

  I literally stop breathing.

  God, no. Please, anyone but him.

  My sexy doctor is sitting in the seat next to me.

  I can’t tear my eyes away from those gorgeous eyes or that lightly tousled hair that I just want to drive my fingers through or that tiny smirk that’s only just visible on those full, red lips that look like they’d feel incredible to kiss.

  “You must be Matt’s sister,” he says. His voice snaps me back to reality, and I glare at him as his glittering eyes lock firmly onto mine. “Laura, was it?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  I swallow, forcing moisture back down my dry, constricted throat as I force my gaze away from his. I stare straight ahead and take a sip of my wine, which quickly turns into half the glass, while my other hand sits in my lap, clenched into a tight, shaking fist.

  “Can I be honest with you?” he asks me.

  He leans over, so his mouth is almost on my ear. Like any closer and he’d be sucking on my earlobe. I cringe at what that thought does to me.

  Please don’t.

  “When I arrived and saw all these couples, I thought fuck, this is another one of Matt’s schemes to try and hook me up.” He pauses long enough for me to soak up his words. “But I have to admit, when I saw you walk out, I was excited.” He pulls back and takes a sip of his beer, his dark eyes sparkling. “I’m getting a really good vibe from you, Laura. I think I’m really going to get a buzz out of talking with you tonight.”