by Emerson Rose
“Uh-huh.” She takes the shirt and pants to her bed, and I follow to help her dress.
“Have you decided what you want to take to work today?”
“Miss Ellie, my iPad, my blanket, and my crayons.”
“Who’s Miss Ellie?”
“She’s J.R.’s mama and the family ma… matri…” she’s struggling with a word, but I don’t know what it is until she sounds it out a little more.
“Matriarch?” I say not expecting to be right.
“Yes! That’s it, matriarch,” she says the word slowly.
“Do you know what that is, babe?”
“Yup, Zion told me it’s the most important person in the family.”
“That’s right. How are you going to take Miss Ellie to work with us?”
“She’s in my bag.”
“Is she a doll?” Surely, they don’t still make Dallas dolls.
Tori giggles. “No, she’s an elephant.”
“Ah, I see, how silly of me.”
She tugs the shirt over her head further messing up her hair. “Daddy, are you the matriarch of us?”
“That I am.” I smile at her and take a brush off her end table to start working out the tangles. She loves it when Zion brushes her hair. Me? Not so much.
“I can do it.” She takes the brush after I pull too hard for her liking once too many times.
“Come and sit on my bed while I shower and get ready, so we aren’t late.”
“Okay.” She grabs her brush while I get her toothbrush, and we walk down the hall to my bedroom. She climbs up on my bed and switches on the television while she finishes brushing her hair.
“Don’t move, okay? I don’t want to worry about you while I shower.”
She smiles an I got this smile and bats her eyelashes. When did she learn how to do that? I shake my head in disbelief. My five-year-old daughter is a Dallas loving, safety conscious, independent woman.
This is going to be one very interesting day.
Sometimes life throws you a curveball.
3
Sasha
“I think I’ll just leave my nose crooked.”
Twyla looks at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. “What is it with you and this doctor? Now think about this, woman. You’re thinking about leaving that nose of yours looking like a big black avocado with one side caved in because you’re afraid to talk to some man? What kind of shit is that?”
I push out my lip and lean closer to the bathroom mirror frowning at my nose. “You think it looks like an avocado?”
“Yeah, don’t you?”
I turn my head to the left and then the right. “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty bruised and fat.”
“Bruised and fat forever if you don’t take your head out of your ass, girl.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go. Seeing him again is better than listening to you tell me how ugly I am for the rest of my life.”
She shrugs pursing her lips together silently agreeing to do just that if I don’t get my nose fixed.
“He’s so arrogant, I can’t stand him. Like yeah, we know you’re a fancy surgeon, and you have a lot of money, and you’re smart and hot, but you don’t need to jam it down your patients’ throats.”
“He’s hot? You never mentioned that before, how hot?” She lowers her feet to the ground from the top of my toilet where she’s perched.
“I don’t know, hot.” I try to act uninterested, but the truth is he’s undeniably good looking, and I can’t stop obsessing and fantasizing about him. He may be a jerk, but he’s a jerk with thick, dark hair, perfect lips, and a rock-hard body. He’ll never know about all the dirty things we’ve done together in my head.
“On a scale of one to smoking-hot ten, where does he fall?”
I sigh and go back into my bedroom. I don’t want to tell her he’s a twelve, but knowing Twyla, she’ll drag it out of me. She follows and crawls into bed next to me with excited eyes.
“Don’t you have your own bed across the hall to sleep in?”
“Oh yeah, girl, but it’s way more exciting in here. He’s a ten, isn’t he?” She flops down on her back and stares at the ceiling with stars in her eyes. “How’d you get so lucky?”
“I don’t exactly consider flying through the window of my Jeep lucky.”
“Not even if you end up with a sexy, fine plastic surgeon? Think about it, Sash. He’s rich and single and gorgeous, and he can give you a little nip/tuck whenever you’re feeling saggy. My God, you’ve hit the jackpot, woman!” She pulls the white sheet up tight under her chin smiling like a lunatic.
“He’s a dick. I don’t care how much money he has or how many boob jobs or tummy tucks he can give me, I don’t like him.”
“You will. Mark my words. You’re going to fall in love so hard he’s going to admit you for a love concussion.”
“A love concussion?” I frown and turn onto my side to take hold of her chin and move her face, so she’s looking at me. I look into her eyes—one and then the other. “Are you stoned or something? How many romance novels have you read this week? I swear to God, I’m going to burn your library card if you don’t get your head out of the clouds.”
“You’ll see, just wait.” She looks so smug and self-assured; I let myself dream her dream for a second before wiping it clean out of my mind.
“Whatever. Are you sleeping in here with me tonight or what? We have to be up at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow to make it to the clinic by 5:45 a.m.”
“Oh no, I can’t sleep if you’re over there moaning and groaning about your doctor. I’ll leave you with your fantasies.” She hops out of bed and skips toward my door. I throw a pillow at her back, and she screeches and laughs when it hits her.
“I do not fantasize about him!” I yell.
“Okay, sure, whatever!” she yells back before closing her door. I turn out my light with a huff and a wince. I keep forgetting how sensitive my face is, and every time I do, I pay with pain.
I get up and go back to the bathroom and take two pain pills. After checking that my alarm is set for the crack of dawn, I lie down and think about the stack of bills on my dresser. When thoughts of Dr. Sullivan start to creep back in, I switch my train of thought to the fact that I have no vacation time or paid time off at Macy’s to cover me while I’m off. But even that stressful thought can’t keep him out of my head. The only thing that saves me is the pain medication when it kicks in, and I slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Sometimes sleep is the best medicine.
4
Xander
Every nurse who works in the clinic greets us when we enter. I can’t tell if they are genuinely interested in my daughter, or if they are all vying for the ninety dollars an hour they could make taking care of her today. Either way, Tori is getting plenty of attention, and that’s a good thing.
Tori has only visited the clinic a handful of times and never when I’ve been working. The nurses know her through photographs on my desk and one-sided conversations when I’m going to be late, and I need to tell her goodnight. I don’t believe in mixing business with my personal life. I keep to myself, and they do the same—it’s an unspoken rule.
“Tori, I have to go see my first patient before surgery. Kiss me.”
She wiggles free from Megan, my front desk manager, and jumps into my arms. “You gonna make somebody pretty, Daddy?”
“Yep, that’s my job, and your job today is to be very good for… Who’s in charge of Tori today?”
“That’s me,” Sophia says stepping forward. Sophia is a young, beautiful brunette from Miami who moved out here when she graduated from college. She’s organized, doesn’t curse, is single, and always talking about having kids someday. Perfect.
“Okay, she had breakfast about an hour ago, and she brought some things to do in the pink princess backpack.”
Tori cups her hand around my ear and whispers. “Daddy, is she safe?” Something about those four words guts me. This poor kid shouldn’t be worrying about her saf
ety in her father’s clinic, but then again, she doesn’t even feel safe in her own home thanks to her fucking mother.
“Yes, baby, don’t worry. Sophia will be with you all the time, and everyone else works here with Daddy every day. I assure you they’re all safe friends.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Off you go and listen to Sophia.”
“I will,” she says taking hold of Sophia’s hand and walking away toward the break room.
I take a deep breath and blow it out before changing into scrubs. I feel off today not having had my morning run or coffee. I’m also worried about Zion’s health and wondering what the hell I’m going to do for the rest of the week without her. I’m the only one in the office this week. I can’t take any time off, but I also can’t keep bringing her with me.
By the time I walk into the pre-op room where my first patient on the surgery schedule today is waiting for me, I have forgotten who I’m seeing. It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up with my eyes, and then I remember. The sexy Ms. Rivers is sitting on the exam table wearing a hospital gown and looking mildly dopey.
“Good morning, Sasha, how are you feeling today? Ready to get beautiful?” She narrows her eyes at me like I’ve insulted her even though I haven’t.
“I’m ready to be able to breathe through my nose again if that’s what you mean.”
God, this woman is so grouchy and defensive. I’ve always felt I have a good bedside manner so it can’t be that. Whatever it is, I’m stuck with fixing her nose, so we are going to have to make the best of this. I go about checking over her chart and see that she’s been given a mild sedative already to prepare her for surgery. She should be in and out, but she looks like she’s ready for a fight, not an operation. I sit down, so she’s looking down at me.
“Sasha, I’m sensing that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot somewhere along the way. I’d like to start over if you don’t mind.”
She makes a little noise that would have been a tiny puff of air coming from her nose if it weren’t blocked by broken bone and warped cartilage. “Can we just get this over with? I just want to go home and get back to my life.”
“Sure, what is it that you do?” She tilts her head to the side and looks at me like I have two heads.
“Why do you care?”
Usually, I don’t care, but Sasha interests me. She’s my challenge in a world where there are none anymore. “I thought we could get to know each other a little, that’s all.”
“I sell shoes at Macy’s. It’s nothing glamorous.”
“I love Macy’s. How long have you worked there?” Small talk bores me but not small talk with Sasha.
“Seven years.”
“Do you like it?”
“Stuffing feet into shoes for eight hours a day? Yeah sure, it’s a blast.”
“Why do you do it if you don’t like it?”
“Because I have bills to pay.”
“Isn’t there something else you would like to try?” She doesn’t answer, and when I look up, I can tell the drugs are starting to hit her. I stand and help her put her feet on the gurney. “That medication is starting to kick in, so you should lie down.”
“Okay.”
That’s the most agreeable she’s ever been with me. I take it as a sign of progress. “How are you feeling?”
“Relaxed.”
“Good, that’s exactly how you should feel. So, you didn’t answer my question. Is there something else you’d like to do instead of selling shoes?”
She surprises me by reaching up and cupping my cheek with her hand. I know it’s the drugs, but the simple act of affection feels like so much more. Her hand is soft and warm, and I find myself wishing she would never take it away.
“I want somebody to love me,” she says in a slurry voice.
“Now wouldn’t that be the greatest occupation? Being loved?” I have no idea where that came from. I’m hardly poetic and usually straightforward when speaking to my patients before surgery.
“Yeah. Oh, you could be the love doctor.” She giggles, and her hand drops from my face. I miss it immediately, and I’d pay money to hear her laugh again, but she’s on her way to la-la land, and we need to get her to surgery.
There’s a knock at the door right before it opens a crack. “Dr. Sullivan, we’re ready in the OR,” Carly says, and suddenly I feel warm little arms circling my legs.
“Daddy, are you gonna make this lady pretty?” Fuck, how the hell did Tori slip in here? Carly opens the door with wide eyes, and her mouth hanging open.
“Oh my God, Xander, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where Sophia is, but I will have a word…”
Sophia pushes her way into the small room and picks up Tori. “Honey, you can’t run away from me like that, okay? We have to stay in the break room.” She turns her attention to me. “I am so sorry, she’s quick. I couldn’t catch her.”
“You have a baby?” Sasha says from behind me.
“I apologize, Sasha. Yes, my daughter came to work with me today. She’s just leaving.” My eyes dart from Sophia to the door and back indicating she needs to get her ass out of the pre-op room stat.
“No, no, no, I love kids,” Sasha says dragging out the word love. “Please, can she stay?”
Tori’s head pops up, and she cranes her neck trying to see Sasha as Sophia carries her out of the room. My God, this is a fucking circus, I can’t believe how unprofessional the last few minutes have become. “I’m Tori, that’s short for Victoria cuz I don’t like bein’ called Vicky. My daddy’s gonna make you pretty, Sasha,” she yells as Sophia carries her down the hall.
“She’s so beautiful. I wish she could stay. Make me pretty, Daddy,” Sasha slurs, and I roll my eyes. This day just keeps getting stranger by the minute.
Sometimes life gives you drugs, and drugs make you stupid.
5
Sasha
I open my eyes and close them again. It’s bright. Where am I? What happened? I hear a woman’s voice calling my name encouraging me to wake up. I’m sleepy, and I don’t want to wake up.
“Sasha? Hey there, can you open your eyes for me, dear?” the woman says repeatedly. After the third time, it’s irritating, and I open my eyes so she will stop asking me the same annoying question over and over.
An older woman probably in her late fifties, early sixties, is standing over me smiling. She’s wearing pink scrubs and… pearls? Where the hell am I?
“There you are. Did you have a nice sleep? I’m your nurse, Dorothy. You finished your surgery a little while ago. Everything went wonderfully. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” I croak, and her eyes go wide.
“Are you having pain or nausea or maybe both?” she sweetly asks when she has regained her composure.
“Yes, to all of that.”
She smiles ear to ear like she’s glad to know I feel like hurling and my head is pounding like a Polynesian drum. “I have some medication that will fix you right up.” She holds up a syringe, and I close my eyes again. I don’t like needles, and I have no idea where she thinks she’s sticking that one. I wait for a poke, and when there isn’t one, I open one eye to see if she’s still there. She’s standing there pushing the medicine into my IV line. Yes, no shot.
It’s starting to come back to me now. Hit and run accident, broken nose, surgery, sexy surgeon, sexy surgeon’s kid. Wait, Dr. Sullivan has a kid? How do I know that? Why do I know that?
I root around in my head trying to remember how I acquired that information, but nurse Dorothy interrupts me. “There, you should be feeling better in a jiffy. Are you thirsty? I can get you a sip of water if you like.”
“Yes, please.”
Dorothy all but skips away to an ice and water dispenser across the recovery room. Damn, either she loves her job, or she’s got access to some great drugs. She hustles back to me still smiling and helps me take a drink. “Not too much. We can’t have you getting sick now.”
No, w
e can’t have that. “Twyla?” I ask. I want my best friend. I want her to come and take me home and baby me. Grandma Dorothy and her pearls are too much. I need sarcasm and sass, not Cheshire cat smiles and pink scrubs.
“Your friend? She can come in when we move you out of immediate recovery. It won’t be long.” She flashes her big white horse teeth that I’m starting to think are dentures and taps something into a computer mounted next to the bed.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to keep my eyes open, so I fight to stay awake, but with the medication Dorothy put into my IV, it’s a losing battle. When I wake next, I’m in a recliner covered with a pink thermal blanket with Twyla and a little girl at my side.
“Hey sleepyhead, it’s about time you joined the living,” Twyla says, and the little girl sitting on her lap smiles. I look at Twyla with confusion. “Oh, this is Tori, I believe you met before your surgery. She’s Dr. Hottie’s kid.”
Oh my God, she did not just call Dr. Sullivan Dr. Hottie.
“Oh, and by the way, he’s like a twelve.” She shakes her head like she’s disappointed. “Can’t believe you kept that from me.”
“Daddy’s not twelve, he’s forty-five,” Tori says giving away a bit of top-secret information about her dad. I didn’t think he was that old, late thirties early forties maybe, but forty-five?
“Yeah, sugar, you’re right. He’s forty-five easy.” Twyla wiggles her eyebrows up and down, and I want to laugh, but they warned me against it before surgery. There are a lot of things I’m not supposed to do for a week including blowing my nose, laughing, smiling, putting a shirt on over my head, and the list goes on.
“Why? How did…” I say searching for the right words to say why the hell is this kid in here with you without hurting her feelings.
Twyla sits up straight and leans around Tori. “So, you see, I was sitting in the waiting room minding my own business, ya know, and this one comes running out all wild-like waving a pair of scissors around. And I was all like, hey squirt, you can’t do that, somebody’s gonna get hurt, mainly you. Some little Latina came running out yelling her name looking all flushed and worn out. She told tiny Tori she was naughty, and I… well you know… I snapped at her and told her she was a suck-ass babysitter if she couldn’t keep up with a…” she stops and looks at Tori. “How old are you again?”