Page 1 of Make Me Want it Too

CHAPTER 1

MACY

“Do you have kids?”

It’s a question I get asked a lot.

I smile and coo at the tiny baby in my arms, all swaddled and warm, chubby cheeked and round eyed.

“No. Not yet.” I hand the day-old infant to his mom while I get some cursory vitals and update her chart before I hand off to the next nurse on shift.

Bex:

where are you???

I shake my head, smiling at my phone.

Me:

just got off work I’ll be there soon

Bex:

hurry up I miss you

Me:

you saw me this morning

Bex:

but I’m going to be moving out soon

and then I have to live with a boy

She sends me a string of crying emojis.

Me:

lol

I do not want to go to this party.

It’s been a long day and I’m tired and hungry and, let’s face it, cranky. I’d like to go home and shower the hospital away and stay in pajamas for the next seventy-two hours—I don’t really have a home at the moment, but that’s beside the point.

I’m staying with my boyfriend, Spencer, while I’m between places. He’d look down his nose through his wire-framed glasses at me if I stayed in pajamas for three days and ask if I was sick or something. So, that is also out of the question.

I do not want to go to this party—but I’d do anything for Bex.

After I’ve finished all my paperwork, I clock out and get showered and changed in the locker room.

A visual search of my locker yields no snacks, so I fish around in my scrubs. It’s always in my left pocket—at least with the burgundy, blue, and teal scrubs. The purple ones, annoyingly, don’t have a left pocket.

There it is—my granola bar. The chocolate chip one with peanuts and extra fiber. I already demolished the rest of my emergency snack stash today. I might have some honey cinnamon almonds left somewhere. I’d kill for an underripe banana and some peanut butter right now.

I don’t usually let my snack stash get this low. I always have something in my pocket. It’s essential in case I get stuck in a long delivery, or we have to rush a patient to the OR for an unexpected C-section. Not always getting a perfectly timed break is stressful, but if I can eat every few hours, I’m good. And with routine and keeping my food consistent, I don’t have to check my blood sugar as often.

Rhonda waves at me from behind the head nurse’s station as I pass.

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