Page 4 of Here Comes Santa Paws

One side of his smile curved. “He thought it would cheer me up while I recovered.”

Well, I’m an asshole.

“Quit stalling. We’ve got work to do.”

“I’m not stalling.” He matched my glare. It was clear Jim would be a handful. I could handle an ornery older man.

“You’re definitely stalling.” I handed him a laminated pain chart with a range of smiling and grimacing faces. “How’s your pain level today?”

Jim tried to match the expression of the face assigned to five. “That’s before the meds.” Then he smiled like a two. “And that’s after.”

I shook my head and took a note as I fought a smile of my own.

A few minutes later, I had all the stuff I needed. Time for the actual PT. “Bureaucratic stuff is over. Let’s move.”

He pulled himself to a standing position.

“Have you been doing the ankle pumps and rotations while sitting?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, but I believed him.

I gestured for him to move over to a dining chair I’d pulled out when I arrived. “Stand behind this and give yourself enough room to move. Good. Now lift your knee, but not higher than your waist.”

“Above my waist? Do you think I’m a gymnast?”

He snarked at me a few more times but followed my instructions as we worked through several exercises.

Jim peered at me from behind his glasses. “Which way do you swing?”

I nearly dropped my notebook. “Excuse me?”

“Swing? You know. Men? Women?” His face twisted up. “My grandson taught me another term. Nonbinary? Yeah, that’s it. Do you like nonbinaries?”

“Enbies.”

“Huh?” His bushy gray eyebrows bunched together.

“That’s the plural term for multiple nonbinary people.”

“Enbies.” He tested it on his tongue. “I like it. Is that who you like?”

I ignored the question. A lot of the older adults I worked with were nosy. Something about my lack of small talk made them want to drag it out of me.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

I swallowed a sigh. My boss wouldn’t appreciate getting a report of me biting off a patient’s head. I needed a good reference from her if I had a chance at getting the equivalent of her job elsewhere. Beyond that, the man had no business knowing I was gay—even if I could tell he wouldn’t be shitty about it.

“The absence of a ring doesn’t always mean someone is single. Or if someone is single, that doesn’t mean they’re looking.”

“That’s what my grandson says too.”

“Your grandson is on to something.”

Jim lowered himself into his recliner wearing a triumphant smile, but sweat beaded his temples. He’d done well.

“My grandson is very intelligent. Successful too. And handsome.” He gestured to himself. “A given as my descendant. Did you say you like men?”

“We both know I didn’t say.”

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