Page 70 of Holiday Star
The force of her words has me cracking my eyelids open. It’s Alvina, one of the charge nurses from the ICU. She must have followed me, or maybe she heard me crying from out in the hallway.
She’s in her fifties, with wide brown eyes the same color as her skin. Her hands are on her hips. Her face is stern, almost angry, like she won’t tolerate any more of my nonsense.
“Take some deep breaths with me,” she demands, her gaze never leaving mine. Alvina sucks in a sharp, loud breath through her nose and whooshes it out through her open mouth. I mimic her, trying to slow down my breathing.
Once I have it under enough control that I won’t faint, she says firmly, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”
I’m breathing better, but I still haven’t stopped crying. “I m—miss him. So, so much,” I stutter out in between my tears. “So much. So much.” I rock back and forth, my arms hugging my chest.
At that moment, I’m thinking about Caleb, but also about my dad and even a little about Jax. Not the asshole that I kicked out of the house, but the soft-hearted boy I tutored in high school. The loss of all of them amplifies, echoing off one another until my grief over one becomes indistinguishable from the others.
She doesn’t ask who I’m talking about. Instead, she pats me on the shoulder and makes quiet shushing noises, like you would to a baby. Eventually, my tears slow and dissolve into hiccups.
“Sorry,” I mumble to her, mortified that she witnessed my meltdown.
Alvina sighs heavily, as if she knows the burden of sadness. “You’re hardly the first doctor to cry in front of me.”
That makes me feel a little better.
She looks me up and down, assessing, then makes a tut-tut noise with her tongue like I’ve disappointed her. “You’re nothing but skin and bones. How much weight have you lost?”
Uh, not sure. Food tastes like dust, so I’ve been eating only when I get lightheaded. Maybe that’s why I almost passed out, besides the crying and vomiting, of course. I glance down at my body and see for the first time how tightly the drawstring of my scrubs is knotted. How my pants hang off my hips, and my wrist bones stick out all pointy.
“Wait here.” Alvina leaves. I put my head back down on my arms. I still have eight hours left in my twenty-four–hour shift, and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to make it.
She returns with a cookie in her hand, chocolate chip. The kind with the big ooey-gooey chocolate chunks. “Here.” She hands it to me. “Made it myself. Old family recipe. You eat that, and Idareyou to tell me it isn’t the best you’ve ever had.”
It’s a bold statement to make. My curiosity piqued for the first time since Caleb left, I bite into the soft cookie, its crumbs falling like rain onto the table. It’s orgasmically delicious. Like I actually moan. That’s how good this cookie is. Sugar infuses into my bloodstream as if I injected it directly into my veins. “Oh, my god!” I exclaim, not caring that I’m speaking with my mouth full.
She rocks back in her seat, grinning smugly. “See? Told you so.”
Out of thin air, another cookie appears in her hand. I vacuum it into my mouth. “What do you put in these? They’re amazing.”
“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head, still smiling. “I’ll never tell. Family secret.” She winks and hands me a napkin so I can wipe the chocolate from my lips. “You working tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow, but the day after.” I pat the napkin to my mouth, hoping that I’m getting it all. I can’t walk out of here tear-andchocolate-stained.
“Good. Me too. I’ll bring you some more.”
It shows what a bad place I’m in. That a couple of cookies and kindness from a woman I barely know makes me cry again. Alvina pulls me into her ample bosom, which I should resist because it’s unprofessional, but I don’t because it reminds me of Mom, whom I’m still barely speaking to. I paint Alvina’s shirt with my tears, crying more quietly now.
God. I’m a mess.
“How can I live without him?” I cry, broken-hearted, again thinking of Dad, Jax, and Caleb all rolled into one.
She pats my shoulder. “Oh honey, you’ll do it like you do all hard things. One day at a time.”
40
That night, I go home and sit on my couch staring at nothing. A soft lick at my fingertips interrupts my trance. I look down into Pip’s soulful brown eyes and swear I see sympathy in them.
Scooping her up into my arms, I burrow my cheek into her short fur, thankful that Mom agreed to let me bring her back to New York. Having her with me has been one bright spot in an otherwise bleak winter. I’ve arranged for a high-school student down the hall to take her out for walks when I’m stuck at the hospital.
“Oh, Pip.” Her ears perk up at the sound of her name. “What should I do? I obviously can’t keep going on like this. I’ve got to get over him.” I don’t even know which “him” I’m talking about.
She cocks her head at a ridiculous angle, like she’s listening to me. “It’s true,” I tell her, as if we’re having an actual conversation. “Boys are dumb. Who needs them, right?”
She lets out a small yip, clearly agreeing.
