Page 65 of Hold the Pickle

“With you?” Fitz’s mouth forms an “O” of surprise.

“And all the cats.” We reach the coffee cart, and I pay for a drip with a shot of espresso. The woman knows my usual order and hands me the cup.

The others wait, already holding their first round of caffeine. It’s how we start all our morning shifts.

“So no love connection,” Harrington says.

I turn and head for the ER. “Nope. So what’s with the surgical gear?” I ask Fitz.

This gets her going. As we walk the halls, she regales us with every detail of how our attending is allowing her to assist on a surgery for a case she had last shift.

“Lucky,” Harrington says as we approach Booker, who is waiting to give us assignments.

Fitz peels off to head for surgery.

“And I guess we’re covering for her,” Harrington says.

“Some people have all the fun,” I say, ready for Booker’s scowl and the first cases of the day.

“Your fun happens at home,” Harrington says.

Booker turns to us. “You’re late. Harrington, to orthopedics.” She glares at me a moment, peering at my face. “Murphy, wipe that smile off your face. There’s a man with swollen testicles with your name on it.”

“On it.” But even as I head to the curtained ER, none of them can really bring me down.

I am smiling.

And I’m definitely looking forward to tonight.

21

NADIA

Ifind myself anticipating Dalton’s arrival that night more than I should.

I don’t know what it is. Maybe the coziness of the cat family. The ups and downs of caring for them. His willingness to help.

Or how we ended up in the same bed.

Is this the way my mom feels about Dad coming home? I can almost juxtapose her happy expression on my face.

It feels the same.

Is this a bad thing?

We do live together. He’s kind of … great. And we noticed each other from the very start.

Maybe it’s inevitable.

I’ve spent the last half-hour picking up kittens and setting them back in the crate. Maybe we should get a taller box. They are not litter box trained yet. Mama Cat isn’t quite up to the task of cleaning them up, and I really don’t want formula poop all over the apartment.

Mama Cat and Catzilla are asleep on the bed—mine, not theirs. Their kitty pad is empty in the corner.

The kittens are awake and feisty after being fed.

Ferris Mewler uses Pumpkin as a stepping stool to grasp the top edge of the crate. Then he’s over the top, belly caught on the lip, front paws outstretched as if he can touch the ground.

I pick him up and set him back inside.

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