Page 10 of Mistlefoe
I’m the biggest fool in this entire planet. I should’ve checked where the famous new dentist was located in advance. If I had known that it’d be a whopping forty minutes away, I’d have asked Gramps to shift the appointment to literally any other lunch break of the week.
But naw. Not only do we make it twenty minutes later than the scheduled time because I underestimated the drive, but also they’ve been seeing Gramps for over an hour. Basically, I’ll get back to the office in the middle of the afternoon and Sierra is going to murder me in cold blood. I won’t do anything to defend myself because I told her, and I quote, that I’d be back at one-thirty at most—un freaking quote.
That’s not even the worst part. Since I thought this would be a quick thing, I didn’t even bring my work laptop.
I sit in a much-too-small chair at the waiting area, my eyes trained on a TV screen showing a never ending reel of news. The arm rests are way too low, which means I’m hunched forward like a giant making itself small. If I stretch out my legs, I can reach the front desk where two receptionists keepsneaking glances my way. One of them leans closer to her colleague and uses her hand as a shield to whisper something.
They’re on my right, so I can catch the whole thing from the corner of my eye without issue. The thing is that I can’t for the life of me determine what their deal is. Did I put my clothes on backwards? Do they have holes? Stains? I run my tongue across my teeth, not feeling any food stuck between them. I comb my hair with a hand, making sure it’s presentable. It’s a bit too long at the top but I’m pretty sure I styled it this morning so… what gives?
The office phone rings and as one of them picks up, the other busies herself typing on the computer. I observe them openly for a second but I don’t recall ever meeting any of them in the past. I wasn’t the most prolific dater in college, and only had one girlfriend during the short length of my pro career.
My pants start buzzing and somehow that attracts both of their attention again. Great.
I pull out my phone from my pocket and my breath hitches. Sierra’s name appears on the screen and I wonder whether it’s possible to be physically killed through a phone call.
After clearing my throat, I open the conversation by saying a simple, “Hi.”
“Where the hell are you?”
This is gonna get ugly fast. I pick myself up from the tiny chair and zip up my coat. I better take this call outside where I can get screamed at without an audience.
“Sorry, I?—”
“You’re more than an hour late, Conor. It better be for a good reason like you’re dying in a ditch or something.”
“How the hell would that be a good reason?” Outside, I pace back and forth across the entrance of the dentist office. “But no, if you must know, I’m very much alive and well.”
“Isn’t that a bummer.” The heavy sarcasm actually makes me smile.
“I’m sorry—not that I’m alive. That I’m running super late, I mean.” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and sigh. “I had to bring Gramps to the dentist and it’s two towns over for reasons I won’t bore you with, and I had no idea it’d take so long.”
There’s a very long pause where I even have to double check if the call has disconnected.
“You have a grandfather?” she asks with a weird thing in her voice. Like a sudden lightening that makes her sound like she’s talking with literally anyone but me.
“I—yes?” I scratch my head. “Anyway, I don’t have to teach lessons on Mondays so we can work until late.”
That snaps her back to her usual lane. “Why should I have to work late to make up for you being late?”
“You’re right.” I cringe, if I could high stick myself I would. “I’m sorry. This is a hundred percent on me. I’ll throw myself under the bus in front of Richard if I have to.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” she says in what feels like a measured manner. “However, even if we tell him that we don’t have a concrete plan because you bailed, it will reflect badly on me too.”
I get it. This is like being forced to do a group assignment for a college professor, and shit’s like half of your whole grade but no one else in your group shows up to the study session.
“Okay, give me one second.” I prop the door open and the two receptionists zero in on me again. “Excuse me, do you know how much longer this may take?”
One of them stands up with a smile. “I’ll go check for you.”
“Thank you.” I lift my phone back to my ear and say, “I have a proposal for you.”
“I’m listening. After all, I literally booked my whole afternoon to listen to you.”
“Thank you,” I say as if she wasn’t being a thorn on the side. “Anyway, I’m checking how much longer it’s going to be and unless he’s done right away, maybe we can start our meeting over the phone like this.”
“That sounds reasonable.” If anything, she sounds grumpier. Like maybe she was hoping to somehow rid herself of dealing with me while also not letting Richard down. If life has taught me anything, it’s that we can’t have our cake and eat it too.
The other receptionist returns. “The doctor says it should be about a half hour more.”
