A Thousand Reasons

by Mariah Dietz

  Me: Mind checking in on Luna and making sure she’s doing her homework? She’s supposed to be grounded, but she could likely use the company.

  Jasmine: On it. Go have fun.

  I’m steadfast in my directions that lead me to Max’s house. I knock twice before the nerves begin surfacing.

  The door opens and I come face-to-face with Landon. “Hey, Leela,” he says, opening the door wider.

  “Hi.” I pass by him and go into the living room where Wes is lying with his leg propped up on pillows.

  “Hey.” Wes grins as he shifts to sit up. As he does, he winces.

  “How are you doing?” I ask. “Is it pretty sore?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not nearly as bad as I’d expected. This is going to be a piece of cake.”

  “I think you’re right. I think you’re going to have a much faster recovery time. I was reading last night that most people who rupture their Achilles are senior citizens. Apparently, you were lying to me when you told me you were in shape.” I wink.

  “Right? I have no idea how I even hurt it. It wasn’t sore before it happened, and nothing hit it when I fell.”

  “Freak accident,” I remark.

  “How has your day been?” he asks.

  “Long. How about yours? Did you find any good movies to watch?”

  Wes pats the couch in front of him. “It’s better now that you’re here.”

  I laugh. “And I thought you said you have no game?”

  He smiles, and that dimple in his cheek becomes more enunciated, and his cheekbones become more defined—I’m swooning, and it doesn’t even start touching on the far more important qualities Wes has like his kindness and genuineness. I make my way to his side and sit in front of him, careful not to bump into him.

  Wes runs his hand down my back, making trails of goose bumps across my flesh. “How was tutoring?”

  “It was okay. I had Jamal first this morning, and I’m pretty sure he slept through half of it.”

  Wes laughs and begins pressing more firmly with his fingers, massaging my shoulder.

  “My next two were both biology, which is my favorite.”

  “That’s not surprising. How are things going with your sister?”

  “Good. She’s been in a much better place since we took actions to transfer her schools.”

  He nods. “I’m sure it’s a relief to her.”

  “How about you? What’s going on with your incision? Do you need me to change your dressing?”

  Wes’s hand stills. “You want to check it out, don’t you?”

  My cheeks heat. I do. And that seems really morbid and gross upon realization.

  He laughs. “Max and Ace both wanted to look at it, too. You were way more patient. And my dressing does need to be changed if you really want to do it.”

  I stand, looking around for the materials. “Definitely. Let me go wash my hands, and I’ll be right back.”

  I wash my hands twice before making a dash back to the living room.

  “The gauze and stuff is in that bag,” Wes says, pointing to a brown paper sack.

  I peek inside and discover a box of gloves, sterile sheets, gauze, tape, and ointment.

  “You know, if you smile like that before performing a procedure on someone, they’re going to think you’re crazy.”

  “Most already know those of us in the medical field are a special sort of crazy.”

  Wes smiles. “Isn’t that the truth. All right, doc, tell me what you think.”

  I pull on a clean pair of gloves and am careful to ensure the gauze isn’t sticking to the wound before pulling it free. “Staples. Okay. I was expecting stitches.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Just surprised,” I tell him.

  I’m careful to lay out a thin, sterile sheet below his heel before fully removing the gauze. Once it’s in place, I go about replacing the dressing, being careful to ensure there’s enough ointment that the new gauze won’t stick to the wound. “It looks like your surgeon did a really good job. I bet you won’t even be able to see much of a scar once it’s healed.”

  “That’s good. I was afraid someone might one day look at my Achilles and think it looked ugly.”

  “Sarcasm isn’t quite as cute on you as your charm.”

  Wes grins. “Let’s hope the surgeon did as good of a job on the inside.”

  “I bet he did. I’m guessing he has a meticulous personality.”

  “You’re judging all of this off my staples?”

  “Your incision is perfectly straight, and so are the staples, and they’re also evenly spaced. To the point it looks like he used a ruler.”

  “He definitely seemed like the OCD type.”

  “I wonder if he kept tape of the surgery?”

  “Stop getting all excited about my ruptured Achilles and come spend time with me.”

  I grin.

  Each time I’m around Wes things feel more normal. Better. Easier. My frustration and annoyance with Troy is gone. My concern over Luna being accepted into the new school district is a memory. Even my dread for the double shifts I’m going to be pulling tomorrow is absent. It’s as though he somehow has the ability to silence my worries and concerns.

  25

  Wes

  “You want me to go with you?” Max asks as we pull into the parking lot of my orthopedic surgeon’s office for my post-op appointment. It’s been two weeks since they fileted the back of my ankle open to repair my partially ruptured Achilles, and today I’m hoping he’s going to give me some good news on the prognosis of when I can kick these crutches to the curb.

  “I don’t care,” I grumble.

  Max turns off his truck in response, and gets out. I’m sure he’s tired of me living on his couch—I know I am. I haven’t been sleeping well, and though the pain has been bearable, it’s also been constant. In addition, Leela’s been busy these past couple of days and we’ve gone from seeing each other daily and sneaking in make-out sessions on the couch and sharing old stories and jokes that give each other insight to our lives, to not having seen her in three days. It’s pathetic how much her absence impacts me.

  I grab my crutches, and Max walks beside me, patient and silent as he follows my considerably slower pace to the elevators and then to the right suite.

  Once I’m checked in, we find seats in the crowded waiting area. Max leans back in his chair, looking to the TV screens playing the local news.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m not trying to be a dick. I don’t know what has me so cranky.”

  “Don’t worry about it, man. I get it. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks. But, you’ll get through this, and then I’ll be kicking your ass on the track and you’ll have a reason to be pissy.”

  I chuckle. “Likely.”

  Thankfully, it’s not long before I’m called back. They once again run my vitals and take a look at my incision before telling me the doctor will be with me shortly.

  My phone buzzes, and without looking, I know it’s Leela. She had hoped to come with me to this appointment, but she ended up being called into work.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She sounds tired. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there. I feel terrible.”

  “You shouldn’t. I completely understand.”

  “Yeah, but you’re—”

  The door opens and the surgeon steps in. He glances from me to a framed printout asking patients not to use their cellphones, his silver eyebrows furrowing.

  “Sorry, Leela, but the doctor just stepped in. I’ll call you in a bit.”

  “No problem.” She hangs up, and though I’m ready to hear the next steps for my healing, my focus is still on what Leela was telling me I am. I’m different? I’m important?

  “How are things going?” the surgeon asks as he washes his hands.

  “Good.”

  As he dries his hands, he turns and looks at me. “Are you feeling much pain?”

  “It doesn’t both
er me.”

  “You look tired.”

  “It’s tough to sleep. I’m uncomfortable, and moving makes it hurt.”

  He sits on a small stool beside me. “Are you taking anything for pain?”

  I shake my head. “I haven’t been taking them.”

  “Have you been taking anything for the inflammation?”

  “I don’t handle medicine very well,” I tell him. “The last time I took painkillers they made me so sick, I’d wished for the pain.”

  He nods. and looks over my chart on the computer screen. “These painkillers shouldn’t do that, but I can prescribe you something in case they do.”

  “It’s already been two weeks. Is there really a point in taking something now?”

  “Depends on if you want to sleep and allow your body to heal.” He stares at me, waiting for my next objection. “Mr. McCleary, the painkillers are meant to help you. You need to be taking them and the anti-inflammatories so your body can heal most effectively and efficiently. I’ll write you a prescription for some anti-nausea medicine, but my suggestion is that you take something to ensure you’re sleeping if you want to recover as quickly as you say you do.” He levels me with another stare that again dares me to question him.

  “I’ll try them,” I concede.

  The doctor nods, and then sets to work, inspecting my incision. “It’s healing really nicely. I don’t think you’ll have much of a scar,” he echoes Leela’s sentiment.

  We head out an hour later sans my staples and the addition of a boot which has been filled with a heel wedge to keep my toe pointed toward the ground in order to stretch my Achilles. Already, I can tell why Leela had told me she’d allow me to amend the no-pity rule once I was fitted with the boot. It hasn’t even been ten minutes, and already the aching sensation has turned into a sharp pain.

  Without asking, Max stops at the pharmacy to pick up my new prescription, and then we head back to his house.

  “What’s up, gimpy?” Jameson calls as we head inside. “What did the doctor say?”

  “That I’m stuck with this lame ass contraption for a minimum of six weeks,” I huff, taking a seat on the couch. I elevate my foot using my bed pillow to stop the throbbing.

  Jameson winces on my behalf. “Rough.”

  “What are you doing home?” I ask.

  “Turns out when you’re a numbers genius like me, you get some additional perks, like leaving the office early because you’ve spent the week making your work your bitch.”

  I glance at Max who shakes his head, smirking.

  “Starting to miss college life a little less?” I ask.

  Jameson takes a seat on the couch near me. In his cargo shorts and tee, he doesn’t look like the same adult who goes to work in suits each day. “I’ll admit, I’m adjusting,” he says. “I’m even starting to appreciate the routine that comes with a job. Having classes on random days was an invitation for me to be late or absent.”

  Max reappears from the kitchen with an ice pack in hand. He drops it on the pillow beside me.

  “Thanks,” I tell him.

  Max simply nods. “Don’t worry. Six weeks is going to pass by in a second. Especially now that you’re spending more time with Leela.”

  I nod, my mood still too foul to accept how long I’m going to be in this boot and reliant on others. While spending time with Leela is what I want to do, this isn’t at all how I want to begin our relationship.

  We spend the afternoon watching old action films. When Ace arrives home from volunteering at the hospital, Max disappears, and it’s not long before Kendall comes home and Jameson leaves as well.

  My phone buzzes with a text as the movie ends.

  Leela: What did the surgeon say?

  Me: I’m sure you already know.

  She’s known every step of this diagnosis and treatment. I wish she’d prepared me for learning this boot will remain on for six to twelve weeks. Then again, I’m not sure I would have taken the news any better, I just would have had more time to obsess over the fact.

  Leela: Is everything okay?

  Me: Sorry. That wasn’t meant to sound sarcastic.

  I’m lying. Irritation has brought forth my sarcasm.

  Me: I just meant that you studied the subject so thoroughly, you seem to know each step before it happens. That’s all.

  Leela: Did you get fitted with a boot?

  Me: ☺ See.

  Leela: I read that it can be really sore for a couple of days while it’s being stretched. I’m sure they already told you this, but you need to be drinking a lot of fluids, icing, resting, and elevating. F.I.R.E. –I think we’ve just created a new medical acronym ☺

  Me: Sounds legit.

  Leela: Did they tell you how long you’ll have to wear the boot?

  Me: A minimum of six weeks.

  Leela: ☹ The good news is, it sounds like after a few days, you’ll be feeling better and moving around more. You’ll still have to be on crutches, but the pain should recede.

  Me: Do you have any time off soon?

  Leela: Monday after class.

  It’s Friday. This is only a couple of days away, and yet it seems like weeks.

  Me: Do you want to come by after class? Have lunch?

  Leela: I thought you’d never ask ;)

  Me: I hope your shift is quick and painless. Call me tomorrow when you have a few minutes.

  Leela: I will. Don’t forget F.I.R.E.

  It’s barely starting to get dark out, and yet I’m ready to go to sleep. Ready for this day—for the next six weeks—to be over.

  I reach for the bottles of pills laid out before me and shake an anti-inflammatory and a painkiller into my palm. I throw them both down with a drink of water, and lie flat on my back. The ceiling fan blows a nice breeze on me while I calculate how long it will be before I’m dry heaving if I don’t eat the crackers. With a deep breath, I sit up, the slight movement causing my heel to ache. I make it through half of the crackers and finish my water before settling back down and closing my eyes, preparing for the nausea.

  My phone rings a second time, and then a third before I open my eyes. It’s dark outside, and most of the lights in the house are turned off. I blink the sleep away and reach for my phone, confusion clouding my thoughts. Leela’s name is across my phone.

  “Hey. Is everything okay?” I scrub a hand down my face to wipe the rest of my exhaustion away.

  “Yeah. I’m just on break. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  I glance at the clock above me and realize it’s 8 p.m.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Leela continues.

  I pull in a deep breath and sit forward. This time as I move, the pain is a distant throb. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess I fell asleep.”

  “I’m sorry! I’ll let you go. You should be sleeping. You’ve been such a night owl lately, I hadn’t even considered it.”

  “No. No. I want to talk to you. I’ve missed you these past couple of days.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “How’s Luna doing? Is the new school still going okay?”

  “She loves it,” Leela says. “She has an English teacher who she thinks the world of, and it’s sort of renewed her passion and love for learning. I realize this is kind of the honeymoon stage, but I’m hoping it lasts.”

  “She’s lucky to have you as a sister,” I tell her. “What you did was amazing.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did. Just say thanks, Wes, you’re the best.”

  Leela giggles. “Thank you.”

  “You forgot the rest…”

  “Did it go something like, Leela, you are the most amazing girlfriend… I mean… I don’t mean…”

  “Yes. Best girlfriend ever.”

  There’s a long pause. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I did.”

  Her laugh is shy, and I imagine the blush coloring her cheeks. “How’s your foot feeling?”

  “I finally took one of those painkillers
, and though I hate to admit it, I think the doc was right. I slept. I slept well. And the pain has receded.”

  “Good! I’m glad they’re helping. You should keep taking them while your Achilles is being stretched.”

  “We’ll see. But, I figure I’ll at least be sure to take them before bed so I can sleep. TV sucks in the middle of the night.”

  “I will miss waking up to all of your random thoughts though.”

  I chuckle, and lean back into the cushions, appreciating that the simple act doesn’t set off a chain reaction of discomfort. “That just means I’ll have to send you more of my random thoughts throughout the day.”

  “I look forward to them. Well, I have to get going, but I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll call you this weekend, and then after class on Monday, I’ll come over.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me too.”

  She pauses. It’s become our norm to have this hesitation, neither of us ever ready to part.

  I wake up refreshed. It’s been three days since my boot was put on, and I’m already feeling much better.

  “You look better today,” Max says, coming down to the kitchen where I’m already seated at the table eating breakfast.

  “I don’t know how my stomach isn’t upset, but I’m not going to question it. I had forgotten what it’s like not to be in consistent pain. I think I was working so hard to ignore it and avoid it that it was starting to drain me.”

  He nods. “I’m sure it was. Don’t take this wrong, but you were starting to be a real Debbie-Downer.”

  “I couldn’t be a Negative-Nelly or a Kevin-Killjoy?”