Page 18 of Dirty Play

“Aren’t they the same thing? Caffeine is a must, but I’m also eye fucking that purple sugar cookie just sitting there, tempting me with its buttery perfect icing.”

“My vice is their lemon bars—they melt in your mouth and are just perfect. But I don’t think I’d turn down any of their desserts. They’re all amazing.”

The line moves pretty quickly. Right before it’s my turn to order, Dr. Dickhead walks by with his food on a tray and a warm coffee in hand, but the warmth doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re needed over at the nurses’ station. Room three needs to have a bunch of testing done tonight. She’ll need to be prepped. So, whenever you decide you’re done chitchatting like it’s your job, please head over to your actual job,” he says in his most condescending tone possible. “But by all means, take some extra time to get a snack first, everything else can wait.”

I notice Mariah looking down, obviously not as comfortable with confrontation as I am, but there’s no chance I’m allowing him to talk to me like this and get away with it.

“Well, you see, I’d be more than happy to. As soon as I clock in. At my scheduled time. But until then, I’m going to enjoy my little snacky-snack,” I tell him with the biggest, fakest smile I can muster up.

The doctor with Dickhead does his best to hide a smirk. It’s well-known he can be a dick, but he’s definitely not used to someone snapping back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mariah watching us. Her eyes wide with shock but she’s fighting back a laugh while Mr. Doctor here should probably get his blood pressure checked. He’s so angry his cheeks are turning red. I can only imagine that much anger can’t be good for your heart.

“Sorry, Ms. Murphy, I was under the impression you took your patients’ health seriously and weren’t worried about a couple of minutes, but now I understand,” he says before turning to walk away, unable to admit he’s wrong so trying to make me seem like a dick.

Fuck him.

“That man is literally the worst,” Mariah sighs. “Can’t wait for Dr. Mitchell to be back on nights soon, he’s pretty to look at and nice.”

Agreed. Dr. Dickhead is really starting to get on my nerves.

“Hello, Miss Kennedy, how are you tonight?” I ask as I walk into the hospital room. Kennedy sits on the bed while her mom paints her toenails neon green.

“Tired of being poked and prodded, but that’s nothing new.” She smiles, but I can see the exhaustion behind her attempt to be strong.

“I know, sweet girl. I’m sorry,” I say as I check her vitals.

Looking over at Denise, I can see the worry on her face. Her husband, Josh, usually goes home during the week. They have two dogs, and his work is close to home, so it just makes more sense. He’s always back here the moment he can be. I’ve gotten Denise to go home once or twice to get some rest, but it’s a battle, and she always comes back at six the next morning to be here when Kennedy wakes up.

I get it. I really do. But sometimes, you just need a night in your bed with your person to recover, body and mind, while going through hard times. Most often, when people get stressed, they become overly emotional and altogether more fragile, especially when exhausted. It’s like one wrong move, and we’re ready to attack. She tries to be so strong for Kennedy all the time that sometimes she needs some time to feel broken.

“How are you, mama?” I ask Denise. “Have you had any food yet?”

She looks up with a sweet smile. “Yeah, Josh left about an hour ago, and he brought us dinner,” she says, putting away the nail polish before sitting back down on the edge of Kennedy’s bed. “But I’m good. We’re good. Hopefully these tests show her kidney levels are improving, but if not, we’re just going to keep our fingers crossed we find that donor.

“I’m crossing my fingers and my toes,” I say, grabbing her hand with a soft smile. I give her a quick squeeze before turning back to Kennedy. “You just never know when you’ll find your match.”

“That’s what they keep telling me,” Kennedy groans. “But damn. It’s hard watching other people get theirs while there always seems to be something in the way of me getting mine.”

“Language,” Denise scolds as she rolls her eyes, but all you can see is the love for her daughter in those eyes.

“What? I can deal with kidney failure and miss most of my sophomore year of high school because I’m hooked up to all this sh—crap, but I can’t swear?”

“I mean, it is just a word.” Denise shrugs.

“I think of swear words as word seasoning. Not used toward others, but there to help spice up the sentence a little bit.” I wink at Kennedy, who gives me one of her megawatt smiles.

She may only be fifteen, but she’s been through a lot. She’s been in and out of the hospital since she was thirteen, all starting with what they thought was a simple UTI. One turned into two, then three, then another one, until they discovered her frequent infections weren’t because of infection—they were because her kidneys were failing.

Watching her battle this shit has been heartbreaking. She’s losing so much time to be a kid, and to watch her miss all these milestones in real time has been devastating. Especially when she’s been playing select soccer since she could walk and had college scouts interested in her. Now, she’s on dialysis while we hope for a match. To say she’s been nursing a broken heart these last few months would be the understatement of the century.

“Are you guys still re-watching Gilmore Girls?”

“Yes! We are only in season two, but it’s getting so good,” Kennedy squeals, her smile widening at the change of topic. “Jess just won a date with Rory in an auction, beating out Dean, and honestly, I wish I could save the look on Dean’s face and make a t-shirt or something.”

“But poor Dean just looked so sad,” Denise adds as she starts to add another coat to Kennedy's toes.

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