Page 16 of Bourbon & Bonfires

Jameson: Tell Ashton I love her.

Me: Yeah, no.

I’m chuckling when Ashton takes the seat next to me.

“Did he even let you get to the house to pick me up before he text?”

“Yeah. I’m going to let you read this instead of repeating it.”

“No, I’m tired. Just read it to me.” Ashton leans her head back with her eyes closed and her hands resting on her midsection.

I no sooner than get the words “love you” out of my mouth when the door opens, and I hear Ashton’s name followed by a gasp. I follow the sound and my eyes land on the one woman I’ve been wanting to see again. And by the look on her face, I’m the last person she wants to see.

If there was any doubt whether the flu had hit the town of Lexington, the waiting room full of patients would confirm it has. While the recommendation for the flu is always rest and fluids, Doc Burning insists anyone under twelve or over sixty come in to be checked. That’s one of the things I love about this office. Even though that rule means we’re working almost straight through with only a short break for lunch, it puts the well-being of our patients first, and that’s why I wanted to be a nurse in the first place.

I’ve spent the last five years working in an OB-GYN office. I loved my job and my office but it wasn’t until I started here a few weeks ago that I realized how much I missed a general practice. Dr. Burning told me he was excited to have me in the office, because even though he referred most of his expectant moms to the OB-GYN in the neighboring town, it helped to have someone with that field of practice in the office. The current flu epidemic in town has had us seeing more new moms and pregnant women than usual.

I tap the screen of my tablet, pulling up the next patient’s information before opening the door to the waiting room. I see it’s a pregnant woman who has been sick for the better part of a week. The name, Ashton Sullivan, is familiar but other than New Year’s Eve, I haven’t been anywhere except work since we moved to Lexington.

New Year’s Eve.

Landon.

The Kiss.

My fingers skirt my lips, and I smile at the memory of our kiss and the way it felt to be in his arms. Nope. I’m not going there. I shake off the thoughts before I find myself drifting into a daydream where I’m not a single divorced mother who has close to a decade in age on him. Wow, I never realized I’m a walking and talking cliché. Laughing to myself, I grip the handle to the door and open it, saying the patient’s name. The waiting room is unusually quiet minus a few sniffles here and there and when I hear a familiar voice say “love you” while looking at the beautiful brunette resting her hand on her tiny baby belly, my heart falls to my stomach.

No, farther. It drops to my feet and I gasp. Those green eyes I found myself staring into for hours the other night look up at me. I bite my lip to avoid the tears that threaten. I shouldn’t be upset. I have no valid reason to be hurt or devastated because a man I spent a few hours with is a dirty lying bastard. I shouldn’t be sad to know the man I have thought of for days, and wondered if anyone will ever kiss me like he did, was cheating on the mother of his unborn child.

As each thought races through my mind, the woman rises and walks toward me. When Landon doesn’t immediately stand, she turns and gestures for him to follow. I need to be professional and not find a very sharp object to stab in his leg and slowly drag it down his leg until he cries out in pain. Okay, that was a little graphic but still. Dammit.

“Hi,” the patient says before she coughs. Her cough reminds me I have a job to do. I instruct her to follow me and stop at the scale. She laughs before turning to Landon.

“You can go stand over there, I don’t need you seeing this number.” When she turns to smile at me, I can’t help but return the gesture. She looks exhausted, the flu will do that to you, but she’s still beautiful, and her smile is sincere and kind.

Once I’ve noted her weight, we walk to one of the rooms. After taking her vitals and confirming her symptoms there’s a short pause when nobody is speaking, and I see Landon open his mouth to say something, so I quickly excuse myself from the room. I let Dr. Burning know the patient is ready for him and tell the other nurse I’m taking a quick five-minute break before sliding out the back door of the building into the parking lot.

It’s only seconds before the tears I tried to avoid make an appearance. I allow only two to fall before I take a deep breath. I’m not even sure why this has me so upset. It’s probably a little flashback to finding out Dan had a girlfriend within weeks of moving out. Sure, he swears he didn’t cheat and that it “just happened,” whatever that means. Over the years I’ve accepted I’ll never know the truth, but now, seeing Landon with Ashton and knowing for a fact he did cheat, my heart hurts a little more than logic tells me it should.

Any two people can have a connection. Chemistry. That’s what we had. Chemistry and an attraction. He made me laugh. He told me I was beautiful, and sometimes a lady just needs to hear that. Plus, having a young guy give me his undivided attention doesn’t hurt either. It’s fun to pretend for a night. To pretend I’m worth more than I feel each day.

But, I’m more than this. I’m more than a crying cliché in the back parking lot of a small-town doctor’s office. I shake out my hands, hoping the movement will somehow rid my mind of the emotions I have. When I sufficiently exorcised the emotional demons from my body, I return to the office. Just as I turn the corner toward the nurse’s station, Ashton walks out of the room I left her in and I crash into her, almost sending her to the floor.

“Oh gosh, I am so sorry!”

“It was my fault. Sorry, I was distracted. I forgot my phone, and heaven forbid my baby daddy can’t reach me for five minutes,” she remarks.

“Well, he looked quite attentive. I don’t think you have to worry.”

She begins to say something but Dr. Burning calls to me from the doorway of one of the rooms. I tell her goodbye and to make sure she gets some rest before excusing myself to assist the doctor. For a minute I consider running back to tell her about what happened on New Year’s Eve but that’s not my story to tell. At least not today.

I’ve never been much into exercise. Sure, when I was a teenager I participated in gym class and rode my bike everywhere. But sports? That’s a pass from me. I like watching them on television but that has less to do with the sport than the snacks and beer. But as a health professional, I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t do some sort of activity.

After my divorce I was a high-strung mess, and the stress was enormous. Nela dragged me kicking and screaming to her Saturday morning yoga class. I lasted fifteen minutes. I was, quite possibly, the least flexible person in the room and refused to put myself through that level of embarrassment. Then the next week she took me again. And we followed that pattern for weeks. Finally, one day I didn’t need her pushing me to go, I simply went on my own.

I’m sure there’s a very simple explanation for why I feel so amazing after each class, but I don’t remember what it is. All I know is when I walk out of the studio after each class, I feel taller and leaner. My mind is clear, and my ability to face a new day is stronger. Today as I walk into the small studio in my new town, I hope the instructor can give me the same experience as my old studio.

After I complete the paperwork with the young girl at the front desk, she points me in the direction of the studio and indicates a cubby setup where I can place my things. Once I’ve slipped off my shoes and powered down my phone, I find a spot under a window to lay my mat. I’m not quite set up when two blonde women walk in, chatting. They spot me and smile as they approach.

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