Page 5 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

“I’ve always heard great things about TBPO, Tampa Bay Pediatric Orthopedics. I know a lot of the high school athletic trainers refer their kids there. There’s a female doctor there, Dr. Black. She’s young and new, but Vivi would probably like her best. Just call and see if you can get her in this afternoon.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” I tell him, taking a step backward toward the door.

“No problem,” he says, calmly smiling. “Let me know what she says, and if you need to bring her in, I’m here too.”

“I appreciate it,” I say to him as I turn and start jogging toward the parking lot.

Turns out, I’ll have something to tell Tyler about after all.

Chapter 2

Sophie

Coming out of my office, I look down at the iPad and see I’m finally on my last patient for the day, one that’s been recently added. It’s been a long day, but that’s to be expected. Youth sports in Florida ebb and flow, and currently, we are on the upswing of ebb as high school lacrosse, track and field, softball, and baseball seasons are all underway. But I don’t mind. I love my job, and I love my patients even more.

It’s been almost a year since I finished my pediatric orthopedic fellowship, and I am thankful that I get to work in this practice every day. While my dream has always been to get back home where I’m from, not many physicians end up staying and working in the town where they finished their training. Do I see myself here long term? No, but there are no openings up north at the moment, so I’m learning what I can, seeing patients, and biding my time.

I’m from Minnesota. In fact, my dad still lives there, but fortunately for me, I love Tampa, too. I loved it from the moment I stepped into this growing, kind of quaint, beautiful city. From the weather, the beaches, the history, the food, to the professional sports teams, I really can’t think of a better place to be until something opens up and I can move. So when I heard TBPO was expanding and had an opening, I jumped at the opportunity. Fortunately for me, one of the attendings I trained under is also one of the founding physicians of this practice, and we get along swimmingly. He was delighted when I asked about the position, and it just kind of became mine. I’m now one of seven, along with five physician assistants, and we have two locations. Occasionally, I have to fill in at our St. Petersburg office, but I mainly work here in our Tampa office.

“Hey, Sophie. Hold up a minute.” I turn to find Dr. Blair, or Isaac as I call him, walking my way. He’s smiling, which makes me smile too.

Isaac, one of the seven in this practice, and I have been casually dating over the past couple of months. In general, I have a very strict “don’t mix business with pleasure” policy, but when he asked me out, I didn’t want to say no. He’s a few years older than I am, but there’s something so boyishly handsome about him that I just want to hug him every time I see him.

“Hi,” I say as he comes to stand next to me. I grin at his tie. He’s notorious for wearing funny kid-friendly ties, and this one has Goofy all over it.

“Hey,” he says, smiling back at me. “How’s your day been? I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had two seconds to check in on you.”

He does this. At least once a day, he always comes and asks how my day is. It’s sweet.

“My day is great. I’m about to see my last patient, finish up some notes, and then head out.”

“Pilates tonight, right?” he asks as he runs one hand through his hair, and it fluffs up before settling down.

I smile because of course he remembers. Every Thursday, I meet my friend Camille for Pilates. Her schedule is just as crazy as mine. She owns her own business called Vintage Soul, where she refurbishes old furniture to make them shabby, modern, or whatever the client wants. Her wait list is a mile long, but she’s so good at what she does. How could it not be?

“Yep. My bag is packed and in my car.”

His smile grows. “Well, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say hi and I hope you have a good night.”

“Thank you, and you too,” I tell him as he runs a hand over my shoulder, affectionately squeezes my arm, and walks in the other direction. It occurs to me that I didn’t ask him about his night. I feel a little guilty over this, but we’ll catch up tomorrow.

“Hi, Dr. Black.” I turn to see Polly, a recent patient of mine, leaving the physical therapy room.

“Polly!” I give her and the therapist both a wave. “How’s it going?” I ask as Polly walks over, wraps her arm around my waist, and hugs me. Polly tore her rotator cuff at the beginning of the winter season while playing volleyball, and she should almost be done with recovery.

“Very well,” the therapist says. “I’m predicting a lot of serving and spiking will be happening real soon.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” I tell her, my smile widening even more.

These kids and their resilience—it’s just another layer to why I love my job. Adults tend to make recovery a dramatic experience. Kids, though, are back at it in no time. It’s inspiring.

As they walk past me to the waiting room to meet her mom, I look around the office. It’s your standard doctor’s office with two hallways full of patient rooms and another hidden hallway with physician offices. We have imaging in the middle that connects both patient hallways and a large nurses' station. Our floor is large gray-and-white checkered tiles, our walls are a pale gray, and they are covered with pictures of sea life. It’s always decorated or themed if there is a holiday, and today, pastel Easter eggs hang from the ceiling and all around the office. It’s almost Easter, and whereas in the past I’ve gone home to spend it with my dad, I’m staying here this year. Isaac sort of hinted the other day that we should make plans for this weekend, so maybe we’ll spend it together.

Turning down the hall toward the patient rooms, I look back at the iPad and spot the last name of the patient, Dallmann. I pause as my excitement for the weekend dissipates, and an unwanted feeling of rejection sweeps over me. I know it’s irrational to feel this way after all this time, but does one ever really get over being stood up? Especially after having already spent the night with that person and thinking it was amazing.

I know one-night stands happen all the time, and I did set myself up for one, but I didn’t see myself becoming one after the night we had. It was New Year’s Eve into the following morning, and we had made plans for later that day. He was going to come back over, and I went out of my way to prepare food for him, clean my townhouse, wash and dry my hair so it looked casual yet pretty, and spent the day giddy with excitement that I was going to see him, but then I didn’t. He did not show, did not call, and it burned badly. I put myself out there, exposed a few vulnerable sides, and then was left with that icky feeling of not being good enough for someone. It’s a terrible feeling and pretty much sums up most of my dating life: nonexistent and ghosted.

Well, until Isaac. But then again, when I say casual, except for him kissing me good night each time we go out, I would say we are so casual that it’s almost not even dating. I don’t know. I’m just going with the flow and not overthinking it. Time will tell.