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“Yes,” he says, gripping my shoulders and shaking me surprisingly hard for someone I once back squatted as a joke.
“You haven’t even heard what I was going to say yet.”
“Nursing. You were going to say nursing, right?”
“I...”
He grins, cheeky and clearly pleased with himself.
“How’d you do that?”
“I’m right?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean. I don’t know. It’s probably stupid.”
George punches me, not hard, and with his fingers wrapped around his thumb. I pull his hand apart to reset his fist. “Jesse,” he says while I fiddle with his hand. “It makes absolute sense that with your medical training and grace under pressure you could excel in a field like that.”
I sigh. “I feel like I’m having a midlife crisis. Maybe I should just get a convertible.”
“We’re not old enough for those yet,” he says primly. “It’s a quarter-life crisis at best. And you were basically forced into this quarter-life crisis because of a traumatic car accident. You’re lucky to be alive. You get to learn who you are now, again.”
“Yeah. Yeah, OK.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
I flip my keys in my hand. “Guess I’ll think about it some more,” I say, just to annoy him. And it works. “Bye, George,” I say as he gets in his car and drives away. He flips me off.
I pull my phone out as I get settled in the car and open my text thread with Marcus.
Me: You off on Friday?
Marcus: Sorry who’s this?
I send the middle finger emoji.
Marcus: lol yeah. Why?
Me: I’m having a party.
Marcus: Well, shit kk. I’ll bring a couple of the guys.
Marcus: that cute girl gonna be there?
Me: yes Lu will be there
Me: Why? You like her?
I hold my breath as I watch his text bubble pop up and disappear, pop up and disappear. Never have I wanted someone’s answer to be a clear and resoundingnoin my whole life.
Marcus: No. But you do.
Well, shit.
Me: Fuck off.
Marcus: See you Friday!!!
Pop was the one who wanted to go into the assisted living residence. If it had been up to me, we’d have hired a live-in nurse. I didn’t care how much it would have cost, but Pop didn’t want me working extra jobs. He made me promise, though, not to let him end up alone there. That I’d visit as much as I could. It wasn’t a promise at all. There was never any other option. Which is why I’m here an hour after my shift ended. My clothes feel dirty. I’d kill for a shower. I’m grimy with exhaustion and guilt. Right now, at this moment, as much as I love him, I just want to go home and go to bed.
