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That’s a joke right?
He would never miss your wedding. No matter when you decide to walk down the aisle.
Quinn Cooper:
It’s a joke. Promise.
Besides, your twin can’t miss a game either. We can get fake hitched in July.
Erik Varg:
If you could pick any month, when would it be?
Quinn Cooper:
You mean if it wasn’t you and me? I dunno. Maybe October.
I love the fall. Like all other girls.
Erik Varg:
We can get married in the fall.
Fake married.
Quinn Cooper:
Even without Vic?
Erik Varg:
Just name the day and I’ll marry you with bells on.
Quinn Cooper:
You’re funny. Thanks for making me laugh.
And thank you for the ticket.
Just…thank you Erik
Saturday night finds me sitting on my over-stuffed couch and clicking through countless channels on my over-sized television. I’m in a weird mood, the kind where I’m not happy, not sad, just kind of itchy in my skin. I start three separate shows before turning them off. Nothing is holding my interest, not a reality show, not a history channel show about survivalist skills, not a laugh-out-loud sitcom. I feel the same way about dinner. Nothing sounds appetizing. I pick through two different leftovers containers before settling on a sandwich and a handful of potato chips. Dinner of champions.
My leg is bothering me tonight too, a stab of awareness that centers in my non-existent left foot. I’ve already blown through my arsenal of tricks to diffuse the pins and needles arcing through my phantom limb, but I’m only able to dull the edges. I’m not a stranger to this type of discomfort. The phantom pain had been almost unbearable following surgery, but it had tapered down over the first few years of recovery. Now it seems to come back during moments of high stress. But I’m not stressed right now. It feels like I’m forgetting something important, but that’s different from stress.
I just need a night to decompress. A night to stay in and do nothing, think about nothing, just catch up on the sleep I keep missing. Work has been steady. I’m caught up from my trip. There’s no reason I feel so run down. I shoo Loki off the knee scooter parked next to the couch. It’s not a great spot for him to sleep, not when I have to use it to get around. I took my leg off the minute I walked in the door, popping the suction and rolling down the sleeve. I’ve already hand washed my liner and put on my shrinker. I’m in for the night.
I miss Quinn.
I rub a hand over my chest, as though I can ease the strange ache blooming under my sternum. I noticed her the first moment we locked eyes—red hair crackling, green eyes resigned as she realized I’d seen her slip. I knew she was smart from the first words we’d traded back and forth—conversation flowing like perfectly timed passes. I knew walking away from her would be difficult the minute she pressed her full lips to mine and sucked on my tongue. I knew all of that and still hadn’t known how off-center I’d feel between text messages. How I’d think of something random—house cats share 95.6% of their genetic makeup with tigers—and she’d be the first one I’d think of telling.
It is embarrassing and exhilarating and exhausting trying to sort through what I feel versus what I should feel. I shouldn’t think of her, need to talk to her, every minute. Not after nine days. Nine days we hadn’t even spent together. It didn’t matter that we’d been texting. This was too much, too fast, and it was also exactly what it should be. I know that deep in my bones.
Grace Hospital wants me back for another set of meetings. They want my input as they interview candidates for the new department I helped create. I’m more than happy to help. I planned on calling into the meetings from here, leaving the hospital administration to take the lead. I’m worried they’re leaning too heavily on my expertise and opinions instead of forming their own. I know I’m well-regarded in my field, but I can’t run their department for them, not from Chicago. But now… now I suppose I can spare one more trip to Quarry Creek. I push away the sliver of guilt. Is it selfish to plan this trip even after telling myself the hospital needed to do this without me? Maybe. Am I going to do it anyway?
Maybe I’m looking at this all wrong. Maybe they can use the guidance. I can use one more trip to make sure they have this project in hand, instead of tossing them out onto a frozen lake and expecting them to find their balance before they crash through the ice.
My office will be closed Thursday and Friday while the building upgrades the security system. I’ve already moved my appointments. Emergency needs can always reach me by phone, and Jane handles weekend rounds so she can pick up anything local. I’m looking up flights and browsing the options before my brain can catch up. There’s one out Wednesday night. I can give Grace Hospital Thursday and Friday, and then maybe stick around for an extra day and fly back Sunday. I book a seat and tap out a quick email to the hospital director before I can second guess myself.
