Page 9 of Keeping It Professional

I was tired of his teasing. No, I was just tired. It’d been a long day, and I’d hit my limit. I stood up. “It’s not that. It’s just, it’d be awkward. My best friend, my partner… don’t go there, okay?”

Brian sighed. “I get it. Don’t cross the streams.” He looked sad for a moment, and I felt bad. His divorce was still fresh, but his ex had moved on. She’d moved on, I thought,beforethey’d split up. While he was still hoping they might patch things up.

“I should go,” I said. “I have to be up at five for work.”

“Me too,” said Brian. “I stick around, I’ll just drink, and I’ll end up depressed. Drinks Friday though, yeah?”

“Yeah. See you then.”

I zipped up my coat and headed out of the bar, and the cold winter air hit me full in the face. I breathed it in deep and my headache eased back. Then I thought about Sophie, and it surged up full-force. Everything I’d said about her was true: she was peppy. Wide-eyed. Green as new grass. I wasn’t into her. That was insane. But the thought of her with Brian, the two of them dating, kissing in the parking lot after their shifts… no. No. Just,no. I didn’t need that. Not because I’d be jealous, but because it’d be awkward. She’d show up for bowling or after-work drinks, and that would be ruined. I’d lose my best friend.

I laughed and my breath plumed out, white with the cold. I wasn’t jealous of Brian. I was jealous of Sophie. Of her potential to steal my best friend.

“A crush. Yeah, right.” I chuckled again. As if that would happen, me and Pollyanna. We’d no more fit than chalk and cheese.

CHAPTER 4

SOPHIE

My first week went by in fits and starts: long stretches just waiting in between calls, then five or six calls jammed back to back. Then we’d cram in some paperwork or a rushed, greasy lunch, and then back to waiting, or a fresh batch of calls. The waiting, I found, was the worst part. Miles didn’t say much, except to pick holes.

“You need to speak up if a patient’s too heavy. I saw you struggling back there, and what if you’d slipped?”

“That’s twice now I’ve seen you snag on the tubing. You need to watch when you switch patients off the house tank, and keep the O2 tubes clear of the gurney.”

“Never make promises — are you nuts? Never tell patients they’re gonna be fine. Stay in the present tense: you’re doing great. That’s all they need to hear, and it’s all you can tell them. You don’t know what’s coming, so no promises. Ever.”

I hadn’t screwed up on anything major, at least not in a way that’d got anyone hurt. But sometimes at night I lay awake and I wondered, was I just scraping by? Messing up more than most?Would Clive call me in with a serious face, and tell me thanks, but I didn’t have what it took? But, no. No. Idid. More and more, I could feel it. I’d get in this rhythm sometimes on the job, where it all came together, and I felt cool and sure. I was where I belonged, doing the job I was meant for. And Miles… well, Miles was doing the same. Pulling me up where I needed it. That was all, nothing more.

Still, it bugged me I hadn’t scored one single head pat, one singlegood jobat the end of the day. How long would it take me to earn his trust?

We were coming off a graveyard shift my sixth day on the job, and Miles stood scowling into the back of our rig. Our last call had been messy, a kid who’d chugged bacon grease, and my efforts to comfort him had paid off in puke.

“I’ll clean up,” I said.

Miles shook his head. “No, you go shower. I’ll deal with changeover.”

“But—”

“Just go. You’re covered in barf.”

I wasn’tcovered, just spattered across the cuffs of my pants. But I went anyway, and I stood in the shower, and I groaned as the heat drove the chill from my bones. All the sitting had left me with an ache in my back, and the lifting had worn on my shoulders and knees. All I wanted was to go home and crawl into bed, but I had reports to write, and I had to go shopping. And I’d promised Mom I’d meet her for lunch. Would I even have time for a nap before then, or would a splash of cold water be the best I could do?

I fought back resentment — this was my first week. I was settling in, was all. Next week would be better. My body would adjust to my new, crazy hours, and my head would adjust to the Miles of it all. To his moods and his silence and hispick, pick, pick. If I just kept my head down?—

I dropped the shampoo.

It slipped out of my hand and smacked down on my foot, and maybe the sudden pain jarred me to action. Because that’s when it hit me, as it bounced off my toe — I could just talk to Miles. Ask how I was doing. He could vent his frustrations, then I’d ask his advice. Make him see me as the eager student I was. Even the worst grumps loved feeling like experts.

I washed my hair in a hurry and scrubbed myself clean, then dried off and changed into clean, puke-free clothes. Miles hadn’t left — I could hear him with Jones — and I smiled to myself as I tied my hair back. I’d approach him respectfully,hey, Miles, could we talk,and no matter what he said, I wouldn’t quibble. I’d soak up his criticism, then ask his advice, and he’d see I was serious, not messing around.

“She can’t be that bad,” said Jones.

I froze where I stood.She, was that me? And how bad was that bad?

“Believe me, she’s worse.” Miles cursed. “More puke.”

“You can’t blame her for that. Kids suck at barf bags. Either they can’t aim or they’re too scared to try.”

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