by Nikki Ash
When I wake in the morning, she’s gone. While I’m making coffee and preparing to leave for work, I find a note.
Lance,
Thank you for last night. I spent so long falsely romanticizing our relationship and making it into something it’s not. Last night showed me the truth. I paid attention to the way you reluctantly touch me and the way you robotically went through the motions, as though making love to me was a task.
You’re right. I do deserve someone who wants every part of me.
I’ve gone to my parents’ house for the week. I ask that when I get home, you’re not here. I don’t know what your plans are or where you’re going, and I don’t want to. At least not right away. For now, the only contact I want is through our lawyers. I hope you understand.
I love you and I hope you’re able to find happiness.
Maisy
Chapter One
Ten months later
Lance
“Dr. Miller, Mrs. Porter is requesting your presence.”
I remove my reading glasses, set them on my desk, and look up from my computer to see Boaz, a nurse at Beacon Island Hospital, standing in the doorway. He’s a beautiful man. Statuesque, full of hard lines and soft curves. Like the way his sharp jawline meets his tender neck. Or his delicate caregiving hands meet his veiny and muscled forearms. Past me would shy away from recognizing these things about a man, but current me has come to some realizations about myself. Mainly that I’m gay. Not asexual or bisexual. Flaming gay.
“What now?” I ask, digging my fingers into my tired eyes.
“She thinks she’s having a heart attack. I showed her that the monitor would alert us, but according to her”—he air quotes—“only a doctor would know for sure.”
“That woman is going to be the death of me. Can’t we release her already?”
“Sorry, doc. That woman refuses to pass gas, or at least admit to it.” He strolls further into the room and plops down on the couch I keep for the nights I’m too swamped to go home. “But if you sign off on it—”
“Fuck that. Can you imagine if she developed a POI? We’d be stuck with her for weeks.”
His chuckle is deep and throaty. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d have to plan a vacation to get out of being her little bitch again.”
Boaz leans back, resting his arms behind his head on the back cushion and throwing his long legs open wide. He has a casual and relaxed air around him. It’s what attracts me most to him. He’s the polar opposite of myself.
I know he’s gay. I’ve heard him talking to other nurses. If I were further along on my self-discovery and we didn’t work so closely together, I might ask him out. It’s a recurring fantasy I have that will stay firmly in the illusory section of my mind, but it’s fun to pretend sometimes. Especially when you’re a lonely man in a new city.
“Tired?” I ask.
“Yeah, man. My brother had an algebra test today and I was up all night teaching him linear equations”
“If he’s related to you, he must be smart,” I compliment.
“Apparently, I got all the smarts in the family. That idiot’s brain is fried from too many video games.” He sits upright and meets my gaze with his light brown eyes that are kind and soulful.
“Your parents couldn’t help him? Your job is life or death, after all.”
He jumps up abruptly and holds his hands out defensively. “My home life would never get in the way of my job, doc.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re the epitome of professional and prepared. I’m sorry.” I close my mouth and shake my head to stop my word vomit. Then I try again. “I only meant you seem to take on a lot of responsibility.”
“Yeah, well, my dad works long hours as a mechanic. It’s a taxing job for a man in his sixties, so by the time he gets home, he’s not good for much.”
“And your mom?” I pry. I’ve worked with him for a year, but we aren’t friends. What I do know about him is said in passing.
“She died giving birth to Elijah. I was a seventeen at the time and stepped in to help raise him.” He lifts his chin in pride.
“That’s commendable.” I put my glasses back on and stand. “Better go see to Mrs. Porter. If we’re both in here, there’s only one person she could be bothering right now.”
Boaz’s eyes widen. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”
We both rush down the hallway. Sidney, the other nurse working today, is nothing short of a bitch. She’s very good at what she does, but she has no people skills. If she’s left alone with a patient, I’ll no doubt be hearing from the hospital administration about her cussing out yet another patient.
I collapse onto my bed, exhausted after another long day. I don’t regret moving here, I’m more settled than I’ve ever been in my life. But the job is exhausting and I’m becoming a shut-in. My time is spent at the hospital or at home in bed. I haven’t made friends and my social life is nil.
Despite all that, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. It was scary to dig deep and admit my truths to myself. I get panicky and sweaty thinking about the day I admit them to someone else, but there’s also a twinge of excitement. I want to explore the side of me I’ve ignored for so long.
After I packed my meager belongings and filed for divorce, I spent two weeks road tripping from New York to my new home. I took the time coming to peace with my decision and forgiving myself for all the hurt I caused. I can’t change who I am, and if I’d stayed, I would’ve prevented myself from the living the life I was meant to have.
After arriving in Brigs Ferry Bay, I purchased a penthouse in the Wolffish Luxury Condos. I love it almost as much as the one I had in New York. It’s smaller and isn’t decorated as immaculately, but it’s brand new and modern with a gorgeous view of Wolffish Bay. The real estate here is dirt cheap and it barely made a dent in my savings.
I’m still a short walk from the hospital, but everything here is a short walk. The townspeople are nosy and gossip, but since I’m a recluse, there isn’t much for them to say.
Eventually, I’ll get out and meet people. If I have it my way, a second hospitalist will be joining the team soon. The blossoming developments have increased the population, making the job too big for one person. I found the money in the budget and wrote up a proposal I’ll present to the board next week.
My cell phone rings from where I left it in the kitchen. I groan. It must be the hospital. I was hoping for a much deserved and necessary night off. Every bone in my body is screaming for a full eight hours of sleep. It was wishful thinking.
The ringing stops abruptly, then immediately resumes.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” I hoist myself up and amble back to the kitchen, answering without looking at the caller I.D. “Hello?”
“Is this Lance Miller?” an unfamiliar voice asks in a professional tone.
“This is.”
“Hi, Mr. Miller. My name is Claire Fremont. I’m your ex-wife’s attorney.”
It’s been a while since I’ve thought about Maisy. I respected her wishes and haven’t contacted her since I left the city. At first, it was difficult. We went from speaking daily to radio silence. It was an adjustment I struggled my way through. Occasionally, she pops into my mind and I spend a moment or two hoping she’s doing well, but mostly I’ve tucked her and everyone else from my previous life into a neat folder in the back of my mind.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m hoping you can come to my office so we can talk in person.”
“That’s not possible. I moved to Maine.”
“I see that here in my notes. Brigs Ferry Bay. Is that correct?”
“Yeah. Listen, if you need tax forms or something, I can give you the name of my lawyer. He can help you.”
“Mr. Miller, you have a daughter,” she blurts out.
My vision tunnels and I feel light-headed. It’s not possible. If I had a daughter, I’d know. Maisy is the only one I’ve had sex with and she’s infertile
. Not to mention, it’s been quite some time since we had sex. I slump down onto the floor.
“You have the wrong person. Maisy and I haven’t been together in a year.”
“There’s one more thing I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“Maisy has passed. Unfortunately, she died in childbirth,” she says easily, as though she didn’t completely turn my world upside down.
“She’s dead?” I ask, disbelieving. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I divorced her because I loved her. I wanted her to experience a full life, and now she’s gone.
“Yes. She suffered an amniotic fluid embolism during childbirth. It was sudden.”
“No. It can’t be.” I picture the happy and healthy ball of energy I left behind. I can’t reconcile that image with one of a deceased woman.
“I’m sorry for your loss. But you can see why it’s important for you to return to New York. Mr. Miller, you have a daughter who doesn’t have her mother. She needs you.”
“Okay. It’ll take some time. I need to book a flight and a hotel.” I remove my glasses, set them next to me, and pinch the bridge of my nose. A headache is fast approaching and thinking is becoming a challenge. “A daughter? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Maisy was prepared. She has an ironclad will and your name listed on the birth certificate.” Then she adds in a snippy tone, “Much to her parents dismay.”
“Her parents?”
“Lane was placed in their custody until you could be reached. I get the impression they’d like to keep it that way.”
“Lane?”
“Your daughter, Mr. Miller. Her name is Lane.”
“She always said if we had a daughter, she would want to name her Lane after me,” I say.
“Looks like she got her wish. Can I expect you tomorrow?” Claire’s growing impatient with me. I don’t blame her. I’m not handling this well.
“Yes. I’ll make arrangements now.”
“Sounds good,” she says. “Oh, and Mr. Miller?”
“Yeah?”
“Be prepared for a fight. It seems your ex-wife’s parents have more money than sense, and very large mouths. I don’t think they’ll be giving up the baby easily.”
The line goes dead and I set it on the ground next to me. I have a daughter. Maisy’s dead. I’m devastated at the loss of someone who was once the most important person in my life, while also curious about the baby we created.
I’m a father. I’m the least qualified person in the world for such a job. Maybe Maisy’s parents are the better choice. I quickly dismiss that idea. Maisy loved her parents, but didn’t have many good things to say about her childhood. She was ridiculed often for being quirky and not the silent princess they had wanted. The thought of my daughter experiencing the same, drives nails down my spine.
Sitting here on the ground isn’t going to help anything. I pick myself up and go to my office. I flip on my computer and start making preparations.
I need to get back to New York.
Chapter Two
Boaz
It’s been a full week of chaos. Lance has gone missing and, in his place, Dr. Old Balls is back. Not his real name, obviously, but true all the same. Beacon Island Hospital was better off the day he retired with his ancient view on medicine and his sleepy vibe. Hand to God, I caught him dozing off while I was updating him on the status of a patient today.
The best thing to happen to Brigs Ferry Bay was the day we got a new doctor. He stepped right in, modernized the hospital, and in turn, made my life so much easier. Definitely doesn’t hurt he’s easy on the eyes. He has this hair that’s longer on top and shorter on the sides. He tries to keep it tame with products, but after a few hours, he’s run his hands through it so many times it spikes up all over the damn place. He keeps his facial hair to a sanitary stubble, same as me. And the man is fit. His scrubs pull taught across his biceps and thighs.
I’d kill to feel all those hard muscles pressed against me.
I’m not sure he’s queer. I send hints, both subtle and otherwise. Most of the time he gets flustered and shies away. But then there are the times he watches me a minute too long, or goes out of his way to continue our conversation and keep me in his company. He’s either friendly, oblivious, or straight. I’m leaning toward oblivious.
Sometimes I hype myself up to make a move. Or at least be a little more overt with my flirtations, but I chicken out every time. It’s a small town and an even smaller hospital. If things go badly, it’ll make for an awkward work environment.
Either way, he needs to get his ass back to work. Dr. Old Balls tried to send a little girl home today when she clearly had appendicitis. Good thing I caught her before she left and called in our surgeon.
That’s why, after a particularly grueling day, I find myself walking to the ritzy part of town to knock on the good doctor’s door and find out why the hell he thinks it’s okay to abandon us. There’s one good thing about living in this tiny ass town, no privacy. It only took asking a few colleagues to find out where he lives. It’s a hot summer day and I’m sweating my balls off by the time I reach his place.
The Wolffish Luxury Condos are nicer than anywhere I’ve lived. I grew up on the old side of town, where the houses aren’t shit, but they aren’t like this. The house I live in with Dad and Elijah hasn’t been updated since the nineties, but the bones are good. The appliances work, and I force Elijah to keep the grass cut and bushes trimmed. Much to that little jerk’s dismay.
I walk into the lobby and see an elevator to my left. A fucking elevator. I guess rich folks can’t be bothered to take stairs. I ride up to the top floor and knock on the first door I come to. I didn’t get his apartment number, but there’s only two on this level, so if I’m wrong, I’ll just move down the hall.
I knock and wait. No answer. I knock again and am met with the howling cry of a baby. I know I’ve got the wrong place now. I start down the hallway, hoping to be gone by the time the mom answers and cusses me out for waking her newborn. I remember those days with Elijah. I woulda knocked someone’s head off their shoulders if they’d woken him up.
“Boaz?” I hear someone call my name.
I flip around and see Lance standing outside the door I just knocked on. He’s in a pair of athletic shorts and is shirtless. It’s the most skin I’ve seen on him and my mouth goes dry. But it’s the baby in his arms that throws me hardcore. I walk back over, taking in how frantic and stressed he looks.
“You have a baby?” I ask dumbly.
“New development. Why are you here? How did you know where I live?”
“I asked around. How’s a baby a new development? Don’t they have to cook for nine months?”
The baby lets out an almost painful screech and Lance winces. He bounces up and down in an effort to calm, what I’m assuming is a girl, based on the Pepto Bismol pink onesie she’s sporting.
“Why don’t you come in? My neighbors already hate me without letting her cries echo through the hallway.” He holds the door open for me and I step inside.
It’s a fucking disaster in here. There are bottles sitting mostly empty on every flat surface. There’s a portable crib in the living room, along with a swing, bouncy seat, and changing table. The sink is full of dishes and the trash is overflowing with diapers. Dude is drowning.
“Where did you get the baby?” I ask.
“Well, Boaz. When a man and a woman—”
“You know what I mean. Do you have a wife I don’t know about?” I shout over the baby’s trill cries.
“Divorced.” He resumes his bouncing.
“Let me take her.” I reach for the little bundle.
His eyes shift back and forth from me to the baby, looking hesitant. I thrust my hands out again and the baby cries so hard not even a sound comes out. He finally caves, handing her over.
“Hello, miss sass. Got some air bubbles? Let me hook you up.” I cradle her in my arms and walk over to the couch covered in pink clothes. I
shove them off and take a seat, laying her down on the cushion.
“I have a blanket around here somewhere.” He runs a hand through his hair, scanning the area.
“She’s not gonna die from lying on the couch for a second.” I take her skinny legs in my hands and pump them up and down. After the second pump, she releases a very unladylike toot. “There we go.”
The crying stops immediately and I lift her back up onto my shoulder.
“How did you do that? She’s been like that for hours.”
“She had some gas. That’s all.”
“Thank you,” he says with way too much emotion. Under his eyes are bruised and there’s spit up crusted on his shoulder. Dude must be exhausted.
“So, what’s up with the baby?” I ask.
“I was married before I moved here. My ex-wife, she got pregnant before I left, I guess. I got the call a week ago. She died giving birth and now here we are.”
I guess that answers the question about the doc being gay. Disappointment churns in my gut. Not that I stood a chance with a man like him, but I’m still bummed out.
“Did you know she was knocked up?” I ask.
“Um, no. It was a shock.”
“And they let you walk away with a whole ass baby you have no idea how to take care of?”
“Yes.” He swallows hard.
“What’s her name?”
“Lane.” A small smile creeps onto his full lips. He’s smitten.
I spot a blanket draped over the arm of the couch and spread it flat across my lap. I swaddle the sleeping infant up tight, the way I used to with Elijah. “And there we go. A Lane burrito. She’s kinda cute for a white baby.”
“Ha-ha.”