Page 98 of Holiday Star
The hospital stairwell looks like a scene from one of my horror movies. Utilitarian with cracked white paint and rough metal handrails. Thick silver pipes fitted with valves and rusted joints rise along the walls. The heavy doors clang shut with a sense of finality behind me.
Most staff take the elevators, but, whenever I can, I take the stairs. Ugly as they are, it’s my one place of occasional solitude. The only time during my current twenty-four–hour shift that I’m not surrounded by beeping monitors, shouted orders, and other…people.
Alwayssomany people down in the ER.
I reach the seventh floor and exit. Ten minutes into my thirty-minute break, and I’ve decided to visit Alvina.
My phone vibrates with a text from Caleb. He’s out to dinner with his mom. I had texted earlier asking how he was doing, knowing he was anxious.
I glance down at my phone as I walk into the ICU.
Caleb writes, “We talked. Told Mom I need her more as a parent than as a manager. She cried twice and hugged me five times, so it’s going okay, I guess?”
My chest fills with pride. Marjorie is a tough cookie. She had to be to bring her baby to L.A. and propel him to stardom. Her crying and hugging Caleb gives me hope that they’ve had a genuine breakthrough.
“You’re doing awesome,” I text back. “Keep it up. Also, get the chocolate cake for dessert. I had it from that restaurant before, and it’s yummy.”
“Already ordered it,” he writes. “Great minds think alike.” The winking emoji, drooling emoji, and cake emoji combo he texts has me grinning.
I round the corner and go to the center of the ICU, where Alvina sits at her desk.
“What’s up with that face?” she asks warmly, looking up from behind her computer.
“What face?”
Her eyebrow quirks, semi-amused. “The cat ate the canary face or perhaps I should call it the ‘I’m texting with Caleb’ face.”
I fight to stop my smile from climbing higher up my cheeks. “Maybe I was texting with him and maybe not,” I tease, attempting to seem mysterious.
I can’t pull it off. Alvina rolls her eyes and says sarcastically, “Keep on talking to your boyfriend. Go ahead and ignore poor old Alvina.”
“Hey!” I lean on my elbows on her desk, bending at the waist to be closer. “I walked up seven flights of steps for you. If that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is. Anyway, he’s not my boyfriend. We’re just dating.”
If incredulous had a picture in the dictionary, then Alvina’s face would be right under it. “Right.If you say so.”
“I’m telling the truth,” I object. “We haven’t even kissed since he’s been back.”
She rolls away from her desk at that, the wheels of her chair emitting a loud, high-pitched squeak. “Why not?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest like she needs them there, otherwise she might strangle me.
“Why not what?”
“Why aren’t you kissing that handsome boy who’s been following you around like a lovesick puppy?” Only Alvina could get away with calling Caleb a boy.
Her question lodges in my rib cage and sits there. I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Ever since the near-perfect date in Central Park and then how Caleb held my hand in Wayne’s car, it’s gotten harder to ignore how much I want him.
“Don’t know.” I pick up a pen from her desk and click it several times, staring at it as an excuse to not look her in the eye. “I’m still getting over how he left and trying to figure out if there’s a future for us.”
Alvina looks like she wants to scold me, but she pauses, and her expression softens. “What’s scaring you?” she asks softly, striking right to the core of my problems. “And don’t bother telling me it’s about your work and schedules and blah-blah-blah. You can figure out those things, given enough effort and time.”
I want to argue that those are real concerns, but, as usual, she’s correct. That’s not what is holding me back, not with how kind and flexible Caleb has been recently.
“I’m scared of getting hurt again,” I admit, my voice hushed. “Terrified, actually. Alvina, what should I do?”
“Get over it,” she says without an ounce of compassion. “He will hurt you, and you’ll hurt him. In big ways and small. It’s called being in a relationship. But hurting doesn’t mean leaving, and I think that’s what you’re really afraid of. Do you believe he’ll leave you again?”
“How can I know?” With a groan, I flop into the chair next to her and swivel aimlessly side to side, my feet dragging along the floor. “I didn’t think my dad would die or Jax would dump me. I didn’t think Mom would remarry and move out of the country. Apparently, I suck at predicting the future.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I focus on her question. Casting my mind back to how Caleb has acted since he’s been in New York. All the things he’s said and done.
