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Luke parks and insists on helping me get out of the car even though I’ve injured my finger and not my legs.
I tell him that, and he levels me with an impatient glare. “I don’t want a repeat of what just happened in my kitchen.”
With that, he keeps a sturdy arm around my waist and ensures Harper’s right beside us as we go inside.
The lady behind the counter instructs us to sign in and take a seat. “It’ll be a while.”
We look up and survey the waiting room. It’s crowded with all the usual suspects. There are your standard coughing, sniffly adults, of course. There’s the extremely sunburned guy in the corner whose face is pinched like he’s in serious pain. He probably can’t laugh about it now, but the sunglasses outline around his eyes, demarcating the red skin from the milky white skin, is seriously funny. Then there’s a toddler who’s totally unbothered by being here. He’s running around, playing. At first, I suspect he’s just a tagalong like Harper, but then he complains about his nose hurting and his mom snaps, “I’m sure it does! That’s why you don’t shove four M&Ms up your nostril!”
Harper looks at me, and we both suppress a smile.
I get called to go back to an exam room relatively soon, just after M&M boy. I stand, and for a second, I expect to have to go back alone—something I’ve been secretly dreading this entire time—but then Luke and Harper stand too.
“I’m sorry, are you two with her?” the medical assistant asks.
Luke steps up beside me. “I’m her boyfriend.”
Harper gasps but otherwise recovers quickly. “Yeah, and I’m her daughter!”
The medical assistant props her hand on her hips and stares between us with pursed lips. She knows something’s up. “Sure. Well, right this way for the happy family.”
Harper hurries forward and takes my right hand, squeezing it. When I look down, she smiles timidly, her big brown eyes gleaming. “You don’t have to be scared. We’ll stay with you the whole time.”
After checking my vitals, the medical assistant waves me toward the exam table in the room. “Take a seat up there for me.”
Before I can, Luke steps forward and gestures to one of the chairs in the corner of the room. “Could she sit there for now? She’s almost fainted twice, and I’m worried she’ll fall off the table.”
“Sit wherever you’re most comfortable,” the medical assistant says, her voice an audible eye roll. She’s either not paid enough to mask her snark, or her long career has stripped her of her empathy. “The doctor will be in soon with the sutures.”
Luke doesn’t miss the fact that my eyes widen on her last word.
We settle in place. Harper sits in the chair beside mine. Luke stands on the other side of me, his heavy hand resting on my shoulder.
He looks over at his daughter. She’s currently taking in the room, her eyes wide with curiosity and maybe a good bit of worry too. “Harper, are you sure you want to be in here? You could wait just outside. I could give you my phone to play with.”
She looks absolutely offended that he would suggest such a thing. “I’m not leaving Chloe! She needs me!”
She looks to me for backup, and I smile. “It’s true, kiddo. You’re so brave. Braver than me, that’s for sure.”
She raises her chin. “See?” Then she holds out her hand. “But, I will take your phone so I don’t have to watch the blood and guts part.”
Luke chuckles and slides it out of his pocket so he can hand it over.
Once Harper’s ensconced in the Disney Plus app, I look at Luke. “Boyfriend, huh?”
He damn near blushes. “I didn’t think they’d let me back otherwise.”
“I’m sure she would have been okay with it if you’d just said you’re my friend.”
He shrugs and looks away. “I didn’t want to take any chances. Also, it’s my fictional scenario—why should I be friend-zoned?”
I can’t help but laugh. I try to think of the situation if it were reversed. Would I want to be here if Luke was hurt? Or if, god forbid, something happened to Harper? Absolutely. I would have lied just the same.
I sigh at the heavy thought, and Luke responds with a squeeze on my shoulder just before there’s a light tap on the door. A moment later, a female doctor walks in. Her intimidating white coat is offset by a short pixie cut and a big smile.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Davis. And since you’ve got the wrapped finger, I’ll assume you’re Ms. Ricci?” she says, already stepping toward me.
After I introduce myself, I launch into the short story of slicing my finger. The doctor interrupts a few times to nail down specifics, like what kind of food I was preparing (“No raw chicken, I hope?”), when the injury happened, and if I washed the wound thoroughly. Luke answers several of the questions with an almost paternal protectiveness. Normally, I might be annoyed to be spoken for, but after the whirlwind afternoon I’ve had, I just feel grateful.
