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My mom takes my hand and leads me out of my father’s office. She puts me just on the other side of the door.
“I did.” She nods.
“You knew none of them would survive the test of time.”
“Yes. But I thought I was being a good actress. How did you figure it out?”
I lift her hands. On her left is her wedding set, but on her right is my beloved grandmother’s wedding set. “Because you never offered me this.” I run my thumb over my grandmother’s ring. She grins and nods.
“When you know, for real, that’s when it comes off my hand.” She kisses me on the cheek, and I see my father wave to me over her shoulder. Then she backs up and closes the door in my face.
I hear my father’s laugh booming as my mother’s muffled voice says, “Now, where were we?”
That. I’m going to get that.
mak
“No. I promise. First thing in the morning it will be on your desk. Work got in the way. Won’t happen again, ma’am.”
“See, that it doesn’t, Ms. Preston.”
I rush to my car, so I don’t explode at my lab partners for fucking this up for me or cry. Most of my classes have been online, but as I move into the practical labs of my science degree, they’re in person. Online was great for me because I fit the work in between double shifts or the middle of the night. But now I have to take a split shift, bolt out to UNLV, then hightail it back to work the second half of my shift.
School’s kicking my ass, work sucks, my parents suck, my house sucks, and it’s 120 degrees outside. It’s like the surface of the sun. I’m hoping Alaska needs a forty-year-old doctor.
I have a shift in twenty minutes, and it will suck since I have to pull bingo tonight and do a tuck-in at building B after med distribution.
I assume I’ll have to go international for my medical degree. I’ll be in Mexico or India or some shit. Although for the first time in my life, I am proud of my grades. I’ll be headed to med school where it’s the cheapest. I’ve only had one B, but I’m not sure anyone is looking to hand out scholarship money to an almost thirty-year-old for medical school. Some semesters I could only afford one class or two if work permitted, but I saved and took a full course load about a year ago so I could at least finish up undergrad. I’m not sure I remember what sleep actually is.
I’m so close to being done and thrilled with my MCAT score. The residents have helped with proofing papers and quizzing me. A couple of retired doctors and nurses help out with tutoring. I’ve got a great advisor at UNLV who is pulling all the strings to help wrangle me a spot at an in-state med school, let alone anywhere domestic. I want to do this on my own, and that’s why I haven’t told Tony about the med school yet. I’m afraid he’ll take pity on me or see me differently and try to pay. I’m not cut out to be a kept woman.
BZZZ. “That’s not a word!”
The rec center is hopping today. It’s too hot for these people to go to the pool, and they don’t like to stay cooped up, so they’re here with me in the air-conditioning. Ironically most of them keep complaining it’s too cold. Three of them have blankets wrapped around them. I’m still sweating.
I scold, “Scott, it is a word. Stop it now.”
BZZZ
BZZZ
BZZZ
Some asshole gave these people the game Taboo. That horrible buzzer is driving me to drink. I stretch my arms over my head and say, “It’s ok, go ahead. Say your words.”
“I damn said them all and this old fool keeps buzzing me,” the usually reserved woman says.
The fight continues between them. The whole rec room is debating whether or not ‘sulk’ is too close to the word ‘Hulk.’ And none of it even matters since the word they’re trying to guess is ‘chair.’
I move towards Scott, and he engages his scooter. He knows I’m taking the buzzer away. I walk slowly like I’m trying to catch a rabbit. He grins and then buzzes Ellery again. The crowd gets as animated as they can. In my experience, senior living isn’t as peaceful and calm as they make it out to be in the brochures. Sure, they nap, but they also drink, fight, cuss, and fuck. They live like the cast of Yellowstone. Cowboys not giving a fuck and taking what they want when they want. They have more sex in a week than I’ve had in a couple of years. We regularly have to test them for STIs, and every time one of them yells at me that they, “Don’t have the damn clap.” Or “If I had VD I’d know it.” I roll my eyes and hand them another cup to pee into.
And then we silently give them chlamydia meds with their regulars once we clear it through their families or doctors. And those are my favorite calls to make. I swear to God, telling someone their mother has genital warts from screwing strangers at eighty-four is the best. Makes my day every time. It’s a lesson in seizing the damn day. These people do not give a shit anymore.
A crowd has gathered, and I’m almost to Scott, who is distracted by new holiday decorations in the rec room, and I lunge for the buzzer. He jumps his scooter forward, and the chase is on.
He’s cheered on by his latest paramour, Dottie, and I sneer at her.
“Go, ya big hunk of burning love. Let her rip. Open her up.” He’s doing a doughnut in the rec room, and I can’t approach him without the Slippery Seniors taking me down. I call them that because ever since they discovered body oil, they’re all covered in it. I’ve learned I must wipe down the chairs at the end of the night. These four women are shiny enough to look like they were part of the Thunder Down Under cast or a bodybuilding competition.
