Page 52 of When in December

“I know that you usually bring snacks,” I told her. “You eat about every other hour, but you haven’t eaten since you got here—at least from what I’ve noticed—so you’re probably hungry.”

She continued to stare at me.

“Plus, that means if you pass out while driving, you’re not just endangering yourself, but also all the other drivers out there,” I reasoned. “Think about the poor ma and pa, trying to get their sweet babies home from college for the holiday, only for you to run them off the road.”

“Urgent care, or I’m not going.”

I doubted they could do anything at urgent care at this hour. We weren’t in a city that was crawling with health-care professionals.

I threw my arm again for her to get into the passenger seat, and surprisingly enough, she listened. I slammed the door shut before trailing around to the driver’s side.

“Fine. Let’s go before I’m blamed for another person bleeding out on me.”

The urgent care smelled like vomit and disinfectant wipes. The nurses looked freshly graduated from vocational technical school in their patterned scrubs and enamel pins that declared they wereNurse Strong. The one who brought us both back to one of the three rooms to be seen had one shaped like a cartoon pill bottle, asking,Am I on crazy pills?

By the way Poppy’s leg wouldn’t stop shaking, I almost hoped she was so that she had some to share.

“Would you calm down?” I muttered.

Poppy glared at me. “I am calm.”

“If this is you calm, I’m afraid of what’s going to happen when they stitch up your hand. You look like you’re preparing for one of the nurse Barbies to come back in here and chop your entire arm off.”

Dear Lord, did she just gulp?

“Can you … can you be quiet?” The usually authoritarian homemaker hugged the side of the plastic chair.

I leaned against the wall as we waited, crossing my arms. “You shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Wow, that helped so much. Thank you.” She managed to keep her voice down below a whisper. Her polite venom was a talent. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re not special,” I told her, realizing how callous my words sounded, but at least it turned that fearful look in her eye into something a little fierier. “This kind of shit happens to tons of stupid people using power tools. We’ll be in and out of here once the doctor or whoever we need to see gets in here.”

We were the only ones at the small-town urgent care, yet for some ungodly reason, we still had to sit here and wait for longer than fifteen minutes.

After another two, I sighed, listening to her sneakers tap against the linoleum. “They aren’t going to amputate, homemaker.”

“I know that,” she said. “I just don’t like it.”

“That you messed up and hurt yourself?”

“Hospitals. Doctors …” She drifted off, as if realizing that I was still the one standing next to her. “You don’t care. And you know what? It doesn’t matter.”

Who said I didn’t care?

I was here, wasn’t I?

The curtain was awkwardly yanked away on the metal track.

“Did I hear someone is a little nervous?” The doctor on call stepped in.

“Nope. I’m good. Perfectly fine,” Poppy assured yet another person in this room unsuccessfully.

The woman glanced down at the homemaker’s hand. “I hear it’s a home renovation wound. The good news is that it doesn’t appear to need any stitches.”

Poppy glared up at me.See?her expression seemed to say.

I rolled my eyes.

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