Page 32 of Caught Up In You

Wyatt

What? And why?

Owen

Because Larry Andrews asked me twice and I don’t know how to say no

Wyatt

I could have an awful lot of fun with that little personality quirk

Owen

My door’s always open

CHAPTER 12

OWEN

April 1

It’s six fifteen p.m. The office closed at five, but my last patient left only a few minutes ago.

That’s the kind of day it’s been.

April Fool’s indeed.

We kicked off the morning with a fire alarm that had all our patients standing in the parking lot while the fire department fixed the loose wire that had tripped the sensor. That totally borked our schedule for the rest of the day, leaving our waiting room packed with fussy kids and their equally fussy parents. It was like someone had inserted a key into the space between my shoulder blades and begun turning it, drawing the muscles in my back and neck taut as guitar strings.

Just before lunch, a mother arrived for her child’s vaccination appointment, to which she had brought allfiveof her kids. And because we weren’t going to send her off with four unvaccinated children, we hustled to make it work. But her youngest was terrified of needles, so that took some finessing.

The tension key made another quarter turn.

By the time I actually got to eat, I was hanging on by a thread, which might explain why I took my tomato soup out of the microwave and promptly dropped it onto the floor.

I stared at the culinary murder scene that was our tiny office kitchenette and felt the tension key between my shoulder blades make another full turn.

The rest of the day involved working to meet everybody’s needs while pretending I didn’t want to run into the back parking lot and scream myself hoarse. Sitting here in my blessedly quiet office, I realize I’m clenching my fists so tightly that my nails are cutting into my palms. My traps feel like they’ve been replaced with a combination of sharp rocks and steel bars. I can’t look to the left without a bolt of pain racing down my shoulder blade, and I have a headache that feels like my brain is trying to escape my skull.

I’m leaning back in my desk chair and trying to remember that breathing technique I saw on Instagram when my phone lights up.

And there it is, the only bright spot in this garbage day: a text from Wyatt.

Wyatt

How much ibuprofen is too much ibuprofen?

Owen

Literally? No more than four every four hours for twenty-four hours, but if you feel like you need that much, maybe check in with your doctor

Metaphorically? The limit does not exist

Wyatt

Maybe I’ll just stick with pinot noir

Owen

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