Page 19 of Grumpy Pucking Orc
I was hungry and thirsty, but I remained at the park until the humans had gathered their young together and left. Walking back to my apartment, I scared several humans with the toothy grin I could not keep from my face. Other than meeting Jordan, this had been the best moment of my time here among the humans.
And I fully intended on returning.
Chapter 8
Jordan
Even with a couple of Tylenol and a giant glass of water before bed, I still awoke with a hangover. My internal clock, my bladder, and my cat, Judy, all had me up at six in the morning. Knowing that I couldn’t ignore two of those three things, I stumbled out of bed, took care of my need to relieve myself, fed Judy, downed another giant glass of water, and went back to bed.
At ten, I was feeling better—at least until I heard the distinctive sounds of Judy throwing up.
I adored my cat, but Judy revenge puked. Six hundred dollars in veterinary testing had only told me that she was exceedingly healthy without any physical concerns. Desperate, I’d experimented with anti-hairball food, sensitive stomach food, and a variety of grain-free, chicken-free, and limited ingredient kibble. At one point I’d actually started preparing her food from scratch, which involved weekly trips to the butcher shop and hours of prep. A year later, I’d collected enough data in the food diary I’d kept for my cat that I realized Judy vomited when events upset her need for a consistent schedule. A late work night, notenough attention, or business trips to a conference all resulted in unexpected surprises planted like land mines around my house.
It was unusual for her to puke within my hearing. Usually she was stealthier, but this morning she was clearly upset at my sleeping in and wanted me to know it.
“I’m up. I’m up,” I shouted as I staggered once more from bed. Judy still tossed her breakfast, but she shifted slightly so the mess landed on the hardwood floor and not the rug where she’d previously been aiming.
It was the little things that I appreciated. All my rugs were washable, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed cleaning them in the laundry sink and running them through the washing machine every few days. In appreciation for Judy’s redirection, I scooped the tuxedo cat into my arms. She snuggled against me, purring and butting the top of her head against my jaw as I walked into the kitchen.
Coffee now. Vomit cleanup later.
“I’m guessing you want more breakfast since you just emptied your stomach,” I said to Judy.
She purred louder, then meowed and twisted out of my arms, landing with grace on the kitchen floor. I knew my place in the hierarchy of the house, so I gave her a cup of kibble before I started brewing my coffee.
I couldn’t blame Judy since I was a girl who liked my routine as well. The timing shifted a little on the weekend, but everything else was the same. Coffee, a light breakfast, and the newspaper on my phone. Gym. Shower and change. Then either work or whatever I had planned for the day if it was Saturday or Sunday. Today was supposed to involve all the household chores I had no time for during the week, then an evening movie and work on my latest article on bone reconstruction options forpatients with jaw deformities who needed dental implants.
Last night’s alcohol had pretty much blown that schedule to hell—aside for the coffee and newspaper, that is.
I was too old for this shit. A couple of beers were acceptable. Three or four was a party. The six or seven or eight or whatever I’d happily swilled down last night was not good. I wanted to blame my friends, but it was my own darned fault. I’d been all tingly-happy over meeting Ozar and had regressed into college coed me who used to be able to drink a six-pack and a couple of shots without repercussions. That college coed me would also have had no problem semi-stalking a hot orc hockey player, but in the cold light of day, I was embarrassed about my actions.
I groaned, putting my forehead down on the cool oak of my kitchen table. Ozar hadn’t seemed to think my groupie behavior was weird. And he’d clearly had an interest in me beyond my professional ability to repair his teeth. So that meant the only real harm from last night was my headache and queasy stomach.
“Maybe I should puke on the floor too,” I told Judy.
She chirped a reply and walked over to wind herself around my legs. The food bowl was empty, and I hoped this time the kibble stayed in her stomach.
Coffee. A slice of lightly buttered toast to settle my stomach.The Baltimore Sunon my phone.
I was feeling a bit better after all that, so I changed into my workout clothes, kissed Judy on her furry forehead, and headed to the gym.
I knew it wouldn’t be a good day for a spin class, or running intervals on the treadmill, so instead I opted for deep-water swim-running with a floatation belt, then an easy session on the rower followed by somehot yoga. Feeling a bit guilty over my neglected cleaning chores, I headed home and got in my vacuuming, bathroom cleaning, and a few loads of laundry before grabbing a shower and relaxing in a pair of comfy pajama pants and a tank top—no bra, because no one needs to wear that kind of torture device in the sanctity of their own home.
The day hadn’t started out all that great, but it certainly was ending well. The exercise, the water, and the light breakfast had chased my hangover away, and I was ready to relax.
Judy was ready to relax as well, although I was pretty sure she’d spent most of the day snoozing. I whipped up a quick salad with leftover grilled chicken for dinner, adding half the leftover grilled chicken to Judy’s bowl along with her kibble. Then my girl and I curled up on the couch. I put on some classical music in the background, grabbed my laptop, and got to work.
Was it really work if I enjoyed it this much?
It wasn’t like I’d grown up obsessed with teeth. As a kid I’d wanted to be a baker, then a firefighter, then a spy. In high school, I’d loved biology but hadn’t felt particularly inspired by the botany focus of high-school classes, and dissecting an earthworm hadn’t lit my fire, either. It wasn’t until college that I’d gone down the anatomy rabbit hole, to find myself intrigued with teeth.
At eighteen I’d been with my maternal grandmother as she’d talked to the hospice nurse who would be assisting with her palliative care. Cancer had taken a brutal toll on her, but she’d proudly told the nurse that she had all her own teeth and no need for denture care. It had hit me then that so many of my elderly relatives had chosen to have all their teeth removed and gone the route of dentures. Implants were still a radical and terribly expensive procedure,and for many people, gum disease and poor preventative care had left them with no option but dentures. I remembered that this very grandmother had spent a large amount of her savings a few decades prior to her cancer diagnosis to treat a periodontal issue, and that investment had paid off. Even facing the end of her life, she was proud that she’d be buried with her teeth still intact.
Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that dentistry became my passion. Preventative care was key, but it was the periodontal and restorative work that really fired me up. I loved seeing patients like my late grandmother who wanted to make sure they met their end with as many of their own teeth as possible. I’d gone the extra mile to reduce my patients’ gum recession, restore lost enamel, go below the surface of the tooth to take care of even the slightest infection that might threaten someone’s smile. It was the children and young adults that really tugged at my heart. Some of them had been born with deformities or had been in accidents where years of plastic surgery and skin grafts had put them in my chair to do what I could on what remained of their teeth, gums, and jaw. And my favorite patient…he was a ten-year-old boy who’d struggled with weak enamel and gum issues. I’d made progress in saving his teeth and loved seeing his smile as he sat in my chair.
My career didn’t devour myentirelife, though. I loved my family and my friends. I enjoyed morning workouts at the gym and spending time with Judy. I wanted a husband, but I wanted one who also loved his job, who would come home and curl up with Judy and me to talk about our day, to discuss what excited us in our different careers. There would be respect, admiration, and attraction. We’d want the same future, and we’d be excited to walk side by side throughout our lives together as partners. We’d supporteach other, cheer each other on, be there as a shoulder to cry on when things were hard. Maybe we’d raise a child together, loving and supporting every moment of their lives just as my parents had done for my brother and me.
I couldn’t help but envision Ozar in that role as my husband. It was stupid. I’d just met him, and everything seemed roses and sunshine when you first met someone. It might not work out between us. We could be looking for very different things in a date or partner, or whatever. And he was a hockey player. He’d be gone weeks at a time, a slave to a brutal training schedule that only slightly eased up in the off season. And for all I knew, he might not even want a marriage.
