Page 94 of Pumped

“Your friends are ushering everyone out,” Nell says, nodding at Everest.

“And Mark and Graham are helping them hand out the goodie bags,” Mom adds.

“We told the caterers to leave anything that was already cooked and take the rest with them,” Nell finishes.

This stuns me for a moment. Not only did they know what to do, but they also jumped into action so quickly. Without being asked. Without explicit instructions. Our family, our friends, they saw us in the middle of a crisis and they did what needed to be done so we could focus on Ivy.

I’ve never liked depending on other people or relying on others. I’ve always thought it would be easier and faster to do everything myself. I like things to be done a particular way and I’m usually better at it than anyone I can ask.

So this phenomenon playing out before my eyes is novel and quite unexpected. An entire support system of people who understand me well enough to know what I need them to do andwho love me enough to do it. People who willingly go out of their way to help and who rally around me in my moment of need.

It’s not that I’ve never had those types of people in my life. But I’ve never let any of them in.

Until now. Until Everest.

Tears prickle my eyes and my throat grows tight with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and relief. I used to think it was simpler to do everything on my own, but I didn’t realize how much weight I was carrying on my shoulders. I didn’t realize how much sweeter it is to share the burden with others.

“Thank you,” I say to no one in particular, fighting back the emotions threatening to overtake me. Instead, I turn back to Ivy. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

I help Everest to his feet while he’s got Ivy in his arms. Together, we head upstairs to the bathroom where we keep the first aid kit.

Mom appears with a scarf and I carefully tie it into a sling for Ivy’s arm. Then I clean up Ivy’s wounds, first with water, then with a cotton swab soaked in alcohol.

“This is going to sting,” I warn her.

She braces herself and lets out a pained whimper, which triggers a fresh round of tears.

“I know it hurts, sweetie. I’m so sorry. You’re being so brave. You’re doing so well.” I keep up the stream of encouraging words, though if I’m honest, I’m not sure whether I’m trying to soothe Ivy, Everest, myself, or all three of us. “I’m going to put on these bandages to keep the booboos clean. And then we’ll go to the hospital so the doctors can take a look at your arm, okay?”

At the mention of the hospital, Ivy’s complexion becomes even paler than it already is. “No! I don’t wanna go to the hospital. I don’t like the hospital.” She shies away from me, turning into Everest instead.

Everest winces at her reaction. “Do we really need to?”

I hesitate, caught between my worry about Ivy’s wrist and the obvious distress she’s in at the mention of the hospital.

“It’s just that you know what happened last time we took her to the hospital.” Everest gives me a meaningful look. “Do you really want to put her through that again?”

The last time we took Ivy to a hospital, she saw her mom lying unconscious, hooked up to a slew of machines. Her dad was already in the morgue. Her mom would follow soon after.

It’s not surprising she doesn’t want to go back there. That huge building with strange noises and weird smells. Doctors and nurses walking around in their scrubs and white coats, faces hidden behind masks. Patients and their loved ones in pain, worried, hurting. I don’t love the idea either.

But a broken wrist is a serious injury. At the very least, she’ll need a cast. If the bones have shifted, she might need surgery. If it’s not treated promptly and properly, Ivy could end up with nerve damage, carpal tunnel, or even lose the use of her hand. We need to know the extent of the injury. We need a doctor to diagnose and treat. It’s for her own good. We would be negligent if we didn’t. Sometimes, being a good parent means making an unpopular decision. Sometimes, being a good parent means being the bad guy.

My stomach twists as I psyche myself up to put my foot down.

“Owen, what if…” Everest looks like he’s just thought of a brilliant, yet horrifying idea. I already know I’m not going to like what comes out of his mouth next.

“What if we take her to your hospital? You can do the x-ray.”

“My—” It takes several beats for my brain to process what Everest is suggesting. “What? You want me to take her to theanimalhospital?!”

“It’s perfect! You have x-ray machines there, don’t you? And you’re a doctor, you know how to treat broken bones.”

I push to my feet and back away so I don’t physically shake Everest for suggesting such a ridiculous, asinine thing. “Yeah, I’m a doctor foranimals. You know, like cats and dogs. Not humans!”

“What’s the difference? Bones are bones!”

My jaw drops as I gape at him. He can’t be serious, can he? Of course there’s a fucking difference! It’s so blatantly obvious that I have no idea how to explain it to him. “No. What? No!”

---