by Kilby Blades
“These are amazing! What’s your secret?” Cella was asking around a mouthful of some morsel or other. Max spied Tupperware on the front counter where she sat. Britt lowered her voice and leaned in conspiratorially, even though no one else was present.
“You gotta use the mega-marshmallows and add a little salt to the graham cracker crumbs.”
Max shook his head.
Unbelievable.
Because that was his secret to his recipe for s’mores bars. With everyone else bringing them food, it was no surprise that word had gotten around.
“Is it a recipe you’re at liberty to share? I’d love to have it. They’re just so good.” Cella asked.
Britt was chewing as well, having helped herself to one of the kale chips Cella had come over with that morning.
“Only if you trade me one of your favorites.” Britt murmured. “Or at least give me the recipe for these kale chips. Mine always crumble in the oven.”
“The oven’s a mistake,” Cella explained jovially. “The real way to do it is to use a dehydrator. It takes longer but they really hold together.”
Britt nodded and hummed.
“If you want a real crowd-pleaser, I’ve got a great recipe for rum cake,” Cella continued, pulling a napkin from someplace and wiping her hands. “After you glaze it, you use an injector to get more rum into the middle. A single piece will get you drunk.”
When the two women laughed again, Max figured it was time to break up the party. Britt was the first one to catch his eye as he walked in. He locked an accusing gaze on her for a good few seconds before he swung his eyes to Cella. She was speaking to him by then.
“Oh, Max! There you are. I was just about to get you. This is Britt. She needs an allergy shot.”
“Nice to see you Dr. Piccarelli,” Britt said sardonically, extending her hand for him to shake.
Mischief glinted in her eyes as he ground out, “Likewise.”
He waved her toward the back as she and Cella shared a goodbye, and walked Britt to Exam Room 1. It was all the way at the end of the hall, a deliberate choice on Max’s part. He waited until the door was closed to round on her.
“Your allergies?”
Max knew their conversation would be inaudible from the hall once he closed the door. He also knew the only thing that Britt was allergic to were strawberries.
“My hay fever’s really acting up. The pollen count is crazy this season.”
Jumping up on the exam table, she sat casually, her legs swinging rhythmically. Compared to Max’s 6’2”, Britt was barely five-and-a-half feet tall. She took care of herself and was slender, her choppy black hair flattering her heart-shaped face and sharp green eyes in a stylish cut.
“The only thing crazy this season is you. If you wanted to meet Cella, you could’ve just come to the house.”
“Where would the fun have been in that?”
“Cella’s not an attraction,” he scolded testily.
“Ooh, I see that vein in your neck still pops out when you’re mad.”
“I’m serious, Britt. This isn’t the Cella show. No one’s made it weird so far. Don’t be the one to break the trend.”
Britt’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “Holy shit. The rumors are true.”
“Uh-uh, no baiting me.”
“And no bullshitting me. We were married for three years. You think I haven’t got your number?”
He said nothing, because they had been married for three years, and trying to get anything past her was useless. So he waited for it, because he could see she was dying to say it out loud. He’d barely even admitted it to himself.
“Max Piccarelli, you are in love.”
“With a completely unavailable woman,” he pointed out. If he didn’t shut it down, Britt would get carried away.
“Unavailable to everyone else, maybe,” she scoffed. “That woman looks at you like you hung the sun.”
Max swept a hand over his face. “Please, Britt…don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Her voice was lazily-feigned innocence.
“Play matchmaker. Me and you are proof that not all chemistry adds up to romantic love.”
It shut her up. He’d meant for it to. His words held timeless truth. Attraction was one thing. Friendship was another. And being in a relationship was in a league of its own.
“Even if she felt that way, I’m not the town doctor and she’s not the girl next door. Three weeks from now, both of us will be gone.”
Never one for gloom and doom, Britt’s gentle optimism was written all over her face. “So make the most of it while it lasts.”
It wasn’t like Max hadn’t thought about it. But he knew he wouldn’t be the one to make the move. He didn’t know all the details about her complicated life, but he was all too aware she had bigger things to deal with.
“I don’t want to be some vacation fling. I think maybe what she needs more than anything is just one uncomplicated friend.”
A long silence fell between them. He wanted to talk about something else.
“I’m thinking about taking some time off.”
Max hadn’t broadcasted this—he’d only just made the decision. Between the restaurant, and the situation with Dr. Khan, things needed taking care of back home. Cella showing up and reminding him of all that he was missing had simply been the last straw. He’d stay home for a while after Bolivia, though he hadn’t decided for how long. There was also the restaurant to consider. Now, it was time to clean up his own house.
“I’m glad. You look like you need it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re doing for everyone else instead of slowing down, just like you always do.”
Max quieted. He’d heard the same speech from Jake before. He could admit to himself that he was exhausted, not merely for all he’d committed to on his break from work, but for a cycle Britt was right about. Whether he was at work or at home, it seemed, both ends of his candle were always burning.
“Is it the money?”
Britt was asking why he hadn’t quit his job. She knew that he’d become somewhat jaded.
He shook his head. “I’ve got a little put away.”
“So come home. Stay awhile. Spend some time alone. Figure out what it is that you really want to do.”
For all her theatrics and tenacity, Max missed her. She was the closest thing he had to family anymore and he didn’t want to take that for granted. The look on his goddaughters’ faces whenever he left on a trip killed him a bit more every time. And Cujo wasn’t getting any younger. He wanted to be there for his dog.
Two minutes and no shot later, they were back in the empty waiting room. Britt bade a friendly goodbye to Cella, promising to get her the recipe. Max walked her to the door. As was their custom, she kissed him on the cheek and they shared a warm hug. No matter what they said to one another, there was never anything but love.
“Kiss the girls, and Susan, for me.”
She nodded into his shoulder as they hugged and traded soft “Love you, babe”s.
Before she let him go, she whispered something in his ear, then disappeared through the doorway: “If you want to be in love, you have to let yourself fall.”
“Her s’mores bars were good,” Cella said casually as he approached the front desk. She was uncommonly interested in some sort of fashion magazine. Those, and all manner of other accoutrements, seemed to have appeared overnight. Cella had gotten rid of the flimsy folding chairs Dr. Khan had snuck in, replaced the awful flat-screen with funky art, and created a children’s corner far more imaginative than the one before. She was so effective at managing the schedule that it had become rare for patients to have to wait for more than a few minutes, which was a little bit of a shame for how beautiful the room had become. Even in an empty waiting room Britt’s words would have been too low to hear. Still, he had no doubt Cella had seen the exchange.
“They should be—it’s my recipe.” He opened
the Tupperware and plucked one up. “Britt’s my ex-wife.”
“The gay one?” she blurted.
Max took a bite of s’mores bar.
“The only one,” he said pointedly after he swallowed. “Not what you expected?”
Cella took a minute to answer. “I figured she’d be gorgeous. And smart. And she was definitely both.”
“She’s also sneaky.” He took another bite of his bar. “She heard we’d been spending time together, so she came to check you out.”
“Oh.” Since the moment he’d told Cella who Britt was, the look of surprise hadn’t left her face. “Does she do that with everyone you spend time with?”
“I don’t spend time with many people, Cella.”
Then she threw him a curve ball.
“Are her kids yours?”
He nearly choked. What in the world would make her think that?
“No, but they’re my goddaughters. They met their biological dad at Burning Man. I’ve never met him. It could be David Crosby for all I know.”
She smiled at that and it broke the tension.
“Have you seen them since you’ve been back?”
“They’re at their grandmother’s house. I’ll introduce you when they come home next week. I’m the cool uncle. But you probably figured that out.”
“Is that code for, you spoil them rotten and let them get away with murder?”
“Cella. Every girl deserves to be spoiled.”
16 The Guy with the Baby
“Goddamnit.”
A male voice cursed from just beyond the clinic’s outer door. Cella’s fingers had just turned the lock. It was 11:45 and Max had taken his last morning patient. Cella had stayed on top of the paperwork and by the time Max was finished, they’d be ready to head back to his place.
It was their fifth day at the office. The days were longer, but they’d manage to make it work, even though Max looked a little worse for wear. Breaks were fewer and shared meals less extravagant, but they made good use of their time. They’d make lunch out of the sandwiches that had been delivered and head back to his house. From there, they’d begin on some recipes that dealt with charcuterie—prosciutto with melon, salames and the like.
“Come on, dumpling,” the male voice said, much sweeter this time, just as Cella heard a baby cry, the sound tiny but angry all the same. Placing her hand back on the door to unlock it, she swung it open tentatively to see a frazzled-looking man trying to wrangle a wiggling baby into a front-facing carrier without success.
“Hey,” she said stepping out the door. “Are you here to see Max?” Hardly anyone called him Dr. Piccarelli.
With his baby still mid-air, the man turned his gaze upon her with sheer desperation in his eyes.
“She hasn’t slept for more than ten minutes at a time since last night.” Cella couldn’t see the baby’s face, but she didn’t need to. The man himself looked as if he hadn’t slept in days and their misery was confirmed by the baby’s powerful cries.
“I’ll get those.” Cella said, motioning to the diaper bag and car seat carrier at the man’s feet. “You can come on in.”
Still looking shell-shocked, he did, giving up on getting the red-faced baby into the harness strapped to his front and cradling the back of her head as he brought her to his chest and walked in. Cella, meanwhile, closed the back passenger door of his car, gathered the baby’s things and followed him into the clinic. She did lock the door behind her then and eyed the man who was walking and bouncing the fussy little thing across the waiting room with more than a bit of concern.
“I don’t have an appointment,” the man said, suddenly seeming self-conscious about showing up unannounced. He was maybe in his early forties, with wide, blue eyes, jet black hair and full tattooed sleeves on both arms. “You said Max was here?”
“Yeah, in the back.”
The man craned his neck, as if expecting to see Max pop out from somewhere. Cella figured he might just come out of his consult from how the baby was crying. Leading the sad pair back to exam room two, the man paused just outside the employee lounge.
“You got coffee?” He slowed his steps as he eyed the machine on the counter. The red light was on and the pot was half-full. “I could use another cup.”
“I’ll brew you some tea.” Herbal tea, Cella thought to herself, figuring more caffeine wouldn’t do him any good. “Let me just get you set up.”
She washed her hands when she got inside the room. “Who’s this sweet little girl?”
“Maddie. She’s five months old.”
Once inside the room, he didn’t sit, only continued to bounce her with worry etched across his face.
“And you?”
“Sorry…” he sighed. “I’m Brody. Her dad.”
“Well, I’m Cella. I’ll let Max know you’re here and I’ll get you that cup of tea.”
He nodded distractedly. Cella slipped out, passing the break room and going straight to the front to grab the tea bags she always kept in her purse. She’d discovered the wonderful blend of cocoa beans and goji berries that had the miraculous effect of both calming you down and giving you energy, the perfect remedy for Cella given the hours she worked.
As she let the tea steep over boiling hot water in the break room, the spinach, feta and egg bites she’d brought in that morning caught her eye and she wondered about the last time Brody ate. Foregoing a lidded paper cup for a ceramic mug that would force him to drink with two hands, she balanced a plate of egg bites and tea as she re-entered the room and hoped her plan would work.
“I thought maybe you could use some food,” she said lightly, placing the egg bites on the counter. She’d warmed them up, and she could see the moment the aroma of cheesy goodness hit Brody’s nose. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear his stomach growl at that very moment. “I’m happy to hold her while you have a few bites.”
“Are you sure?” He blinked dazedly. “I mean, she might…I don’t know…bust your eardrum or something.”
“Cute as she is?” Cella tutted as she held her hands out. “It might be worth it.”
Though Cella smiled in encouragement, a twinge of insecurity touched her in the middle. She was a stranger asking a man to hand over the most precious thing in his world, when said little thing had him worried sick.
“It would be nice to eat something…maybe to sit down for a minute.”
When she did take the little baby, his face washed over with mild relief. Maddie stopped crying for a moment, maybe from the surprise of being handed off. She did feel a little warm. Her face was blotchy and her nose was visibly stuffy with gunk, though it could have as easily been from a cold as it was from her tears.
And then, something that surprised even Cella. Maddie quieted. Cella had fully expected her wailing to resume. She didn’t look happy, but she looked slightly less miserable. The little hiccup she gave before settling her lips back into a pout was one of the cutest things Cella had ever seen. Brody popped an egg bite into his mouth, then a second, as she bounced the baby gently, taking in her tiny, beautiful features in wonder.
One day, I want one of these.
It didn’t take long for Brody to empty his plate, and to settle down to sit on the exam table. She noticed that his fingers trembled slightly as he held the cup between his palms. She’d liberally added honey and knew it tasted good.
“It must be a mom thing…” More level-headed now, he looked impressed. “My ex…her mother. Hell, my mother, can always calm her down.”
“Oh, I don’t have kids.”
“Really?” Now he looked genuinely surprised. “Then you’re a natural. That kid hasn’t stopped crying for the past three hours.”
What Cella didn’t say was that babies picked up on grown-ups’ stress, or at least that was what she had always heard.
“She’s just tiring herself out,” She couldn’t keep her eyes off of the sweet little baby whose eyelids were already lulling.
“That’s kind.” He pinne
d her with a knowing glance. “But I know I’m not winning any world’s best dad awards.”
“My dad once told me I was such a colicky baby, he barely got half a night’s sleep for a year. When I tried to apologize…” Cella felt herself get misty-eyed at the recollection of her father’s words. “…he shooshed me. Told me he wouldn’t take a single moment back.”
They shared a watery smile in the short moment Cella looked up from the small girl who had just lay her head down under Cella’s chin. Brody moved to cover his face as his mouth gaped in an enormous yawn.
“He also told me the only way to get through it is for you to sleep when the baby sleeps. Why don’t you close your eyes for a few minutes? I’ll watch her.”
Brody’s gaze shifted to his daughter’s sleeping form.
“Well…alright.”
Thinking of circadian rhythms and knowing how she liked to nap in a nice, dark room, Cella didn’t bother to hit the switch as she walk-bounced carefully into the locker room. Lacking in actual lockers, it did have a large closet and cubbies full of fresh scrubs and other laundered medical linens, a sofa and chair, end tables, a full-length mirror and a locking door. Just like the front room, it was comfortable but not quite stylish and Cella thought this room, too, could use a bit of sprucing up. She’d think about that later. In the meantime, she was entirely too enraptured by the priceless wonder of holding a sleeping baby in her arms.
Like Brody, she chose standing and bouncing over sitting, though she probably could have by then. The infant was fast asleep, her tiny lips rested in a pucker as her light, even breath fanned across Cella’s skin. For such a little baby, she had a lot of hair—not black like her father’s but a very dark brown, and silken with a bit of a curl. She didn’t quite look like him—maybe she took after her mother—but she did have her father’s bright blue eyes and looked bound to become a very pretty little girl.
“I wondered what Brody Green was doing snoring on my exam table.” Max’s voice was quiet. No, not just quiet—soft—like it might have been that way even if there hadn’t been a baby not to wake. Remembering not to move suddenly, Cella turned calmly toward Max. She hadn’t heard his approach at all.