Like Real People Do - part three

“What the fuck is this?” You study the photo. It’s your patient from yesterday in his crib, except there’s a teddy bear stuffed against one of the rails, next to his face. Fuck.

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I left. I would have removed it.” His eyes drill into you, fire blazing in them, hot enough you’re sure it will burn you to a crisp.

“Do we need to go over the SOP for toys in cribs?”

“No.” You bite out, looking over his shoulder to focus on the wall. It’s not that parents do it intentionally, they just don’t know. They don’t think about the fact that soft toys, plush toys, can carry bacteria since they can’t be wiped down. You can’t fault someone for wanting their child to have something of comfort. “It must have happened after I left, like I said.”

“Well it didn’t.” You want to push back. You want to tell him again, that it didn’t happen on your watch. That you’re not stupid or careless or not paying attention like he so clearly thinks, but you don’t. You know how it will go.

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, lip curling like you disgust him.

“You’re sorry.” The air is being sucked from this room, the walls trying to go with it, closing in on all sides. “Keona seems to think you’re doing an excellent job, but I’m starting to think she’s just covering for you.” The accolade he gave you last week fades into oblivion, panic taking its place. You can’t lose this job. You can’t.

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.” Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He rises from his chair, coming around his desk to lean against it, thick legs stretched out towards where you’re standing, arms crossed over his chest.

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.”

“It is. I can do it.” You rush out, desperate to reassure him. It’s a crack, a very small one, and you scramble to stuff it up, plaster over it to reinforce the wall it’s trying to crumble. “I can do it.” You repeat, but it’s softer.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

You stare at the fancy lotion for too long.

Before, you would have chucked it in your cart no problem. Twice even, one for home and one for your work locker.

But now, your entire existence is built around a budget that’s calculated down to the dime.

And that budget really does not have wiggle room for a twenty dollar bottle of lotion.

Still-

You toss it in your cart. A mistake. An irresponsible indulgence. Something you absolutely should not purchase, but the girl buried so far beneath who she is now, the one who was once reckless and wild and free, she wants that lotion. She wants it bad. She wants a relief, a reprieve, a little treat for the hell that this week has been.

You really, really wish you hadn’t listened to her.

“Wait… what?”

“Sorry, the tag was incorrect.” You stare at the bag of cherries unbelieving. They were the last thing on the belt, bringing your total to a whopping one hundred and forty dollars. Forty dollars over the budget that was already twenty dollars over.

“Okay.” Thank god for small miracles, there’s no one in line behind you to watch your shame unfold like a car crash in slow motion.

“Do you still want them?” You do. Riley loves them. She asked for them specifically. She eats them raw from a bowl until her fingers are stained. She feeds them to the mares even though you tell her a million times not to.

“I mean… you’re saying this bag of cherries is twenty dollars?” The clerk’s smile is sad.

“They are twenty one dollars and fourteen cents.” The lights in the grocery store suddenly seem too bright, and the noise, the beeping and the intercom and the chattering is too loud. Too much. It’s all too much. Everything. This weight will crush you. Your vision tunnels until there’s nothing else, just you and this cashier and your stupidity. “Miss? Do you still want them?”

“Yes, sorry. I want them.” She rings them up, total flashing on the reader in front of you. You sigh as you tap your card-

and then freeze when it makes that dreaded sound.

The “you’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re buying this bottle of lotion” sound. The clerk is looking at you with sympathy now. Camaraderie.

“Maybe it was a bad read. Try again?” She tries keeps her voice down, bless her, but she’s also older than dirt so it doesn’t do much. You try your card again against your better judgement. Same noise. Same sinking feeling. You must have made an error somewhere, screwed up the math.

“Do you have another card dear?” You swallow and shake your head.

“No, I don’t. I’ll… can we take the lotion off?” This is your fault. Your self indulgence, the little devil sitting on your shoulder who told you to pick that stupid bottle of lotion up and put it in your cart.

You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Riley’s, and you’re sure as shit not picking it over her cherries. Lesson learned.

“Take the lotion off?” She repeats, you’re assuming to make sure she got it right before she starts pressing buttons on the screen, and you nod. Force a smile. It’s fake but they’re the best shields. “Do you want to run back and grab a cheaper one?” Insult to injury.

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Your tunnel vision finally widens when the new total pops up, and your chest loosens with relief.

For a second.

Until you see Doctor Riley. Standing in the other line just over your cashier’s shoulder.

Staring at you, head just barely cocked in consideration.

Oh my fucking god.

You lock eyes and freeze, a deer in headlights, a woman tied to the tracks. It lasts for a second and then you look away, silently praying for a tornado to come by and rip the roof off this place, carry you off.

No such luck.

Instead, you go through the mortifying motions of loading your cart up with the bags, casually tracking him from the corner of your eye. He finishes before you, thank god, and you stall at the end of the checkout lines until he’s fully out of sight, beelining to the truck lest you get caught in some awful, awkward small talk or worse, more eye contact.

Great.

“The British are coming.”

It’s the long standing joke. Started spreading after they got here, though Doctor MacTavish apparently throws a fit over it, considering he’s not British at all.

They all showed up together too, an already forged unit, strong alliance to one another that stretches across the hospital. There’s history there, a lot of it, but you worked with John for a while and he was pretty tight lipped. No one ever pushed him, but you and others can’t deny the curiosity. There’s nothing a hospital loves more than gossip.

“Where?” You still eat with the ED. There’s always at least someone on break at the same time as you, and you indulge in the comfort of your friends. It’s not that you dislike anyone in the NICU, you don’t. They’re all lovely, it’s just the team in the ED knows you. They supported you when you stumbled, when you fell, when you went through hell and came out on the other side. They knew you before, and those precious pieces are long gone. The ED is your last tether to the girl who wants to buy lotion and have beers on Friday nights, who rode recklessly and screwed around.

Olivia jerks her head towards the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria.

You hope for Price. Instead, you get Garrick and your walking nightmare. “Fuck.”

“God he’s so hot.” You bristle. It comes out of nowhere, strikes you like lightning until you look over and realize she’s staring at Doctor Garrick and not Doctor Riley. The reaction is nonsensical, and instead of trying to diagnose it, you move on. The two of you reach the end of the line, and Clara behind the counter gives you a big, genuine smile.

“Hey honey. How’s that baby?”

“Not a baby anymore, that’s for sure.” She asks this every time. It’s sweet. “How are your grandkids?”

“Oh you know. Terrors.” You snort.

“I know your pain.” You wait for Olivia, who clears her throat when she makes it back to your side.

“Is it just me or… is Doctor Riley staring at you?”  Heat floods your cheeks.

“It’s not just you. He does that.” You don’t look. The embarrassment from the last time you saw him, the grocery store fiasco this weekend, is still stagnant in your brain, taking up way too much space. She raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve never seen someone so scary, and so hot at the same time. It’s like the fear makes it better.” You swallow that feeling again, and nod.

“I saw him without a shirt on like two weeks ago.” She squeaks. Just the memory of the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, the well worn layer of fat on his belly covered in hair makes your stomach swoop.

“You what?!”

“Yeah I had to wake him up. Needed him at bedside. He’s... huge. Built like a bear, I bet her could take one. And he has a full sleeve.” She gives you a look, and you give her one back. Mischief and malice. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying… how long has it been for you? Since before Riley?”

“Olivia, come on. You know I don’t have time. And even if I did, you’d never catch me sleeping with a provider. Especially him. He’s a dick, and he hates me.” It’s not like you have anything against it, you don’t. You don’t judge. It’s just not for you. There are happy endings sure, but they’re rare. It’s not worth the headache. Olivia however, is an equal opportunity employer. She sniffs.

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”

“I won’t be trying it.”

You could cry.

You could.

You haven’t done it so long and it would be well within your right today, though you won’t. Even if you wanted to, your automatic response is to hold your tears back no matter what, no matter how, and this is no different.

You spot Mabel on the hill right away. She’s the only one who strays from the pasture when the gate gets loose, always taking off towards the highest point on the property, probably so she can look down on her kingdom.

It doesn’t help that she hates Blue, your horse, and as soon as you get close, she bares her teeth.

“We know, we know. You’re in charge. Come on lady.” You reach for her halter, but she side steps away from you, jerking backwards. “Mabel. Stop.” You squeeze Blue with your thighs, urging her forward, closer, and reach again, snagging your fingers into the side of the halter. She tries to pull away again, but you hold her firm. She won’t follow Blue back because following any other horse or even human is beneath her, but if she realizes you’re not going to be giving up, she’ll high tail it back to the barn. You’ve got a good grip, now you just need to wait until she gets the picture. You lift your face to the pink streaked sky. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on me if you hadn’t spoiled the shit out of her.” You chastise the clouds and give them a dirty look. “It’s like I’m still getting bullied by you through your god damn horse.” Mabel snorts, and you glare at her. “Don’t start with me. You’re worth tens of thousands of dollars. I could have sold you.” It’s an empty threat. You’d rather lay down and be trampled.

She decides she’s had enough and pulls ahead, intention clear, and trots off towards the barn.

For a minute, a brief, hazy minute, she’s not alone.

Your sister is there, turned around in the saddle, laughing and telling you to hurry up. The sunset is painting her in a rainbow of pink and coral and orange, glowing on her face, saddle squeaking under her pregnant belly. Mabel’s gait is smooth, smoother than it’s ever been, like it has been for months, since she started to show. You’re convinced she knows, instinctively. One mother to another.

“Come on crazy Daisy.” She moves Mabel into a canter, and you grit your teeth.

“Tess,” you’re about to tell her for the seventeenth time that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she cuts you off.

“I’m fine. Hurry up. I’m hungry and Liam is making mac and cheese.” She looks over her shoulder one last time, smile bright, so bright it could blind you, a nearly perfect mirror of your own, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re the worst.” She laughs.

“But you love me.”

The minute passes. It slips through your fingers and you swallow, once, twice, three times.

You could cry.

You could.

But you can’t. You have a little girl back at the house who doesn’t need her aunt fucking crying every time shit gets hard or sad or both. You have a responsibility, and that responsibility depends on you to be strong, strong enough to take care of her, to make sure she’s safe, healthy, happy.

So you are.

And that’s all there is to it.