Page 69 of If All Else Sails
“You did so good!” she says. “How did it feel?”
I shrug. “Like I shouldn’t have avoided this for so long.”
Her smirk says,I told you so, but she doesn’t actually say it.
Dr. Parminder is also smiling, though still directing it too much at Josie. “The good news is, you won’t be needing your crutches anymore. Despite your best efforts to avoid me, you’re recovering well. No more crutches, and we’ll see how you do with just the walking boot.”
“That’s great,” Josie says. “What does that mean as far as activity?”
“If it doesn’t hurt, don’t hold back,” the doctor says, shifting to stand a little too close to Josie. He waggles his eyebrows as he says, “Do what feels good.”
What would feel good is grabbing him by the shirt collar, dragging him away from Josie, and throwing him into the pool.
Josie takes a step back from him and asks, “Is there anything I can help him do at home? Or any exercises he should be doing?”
“Sure.” Dr. Parminder reaches for a folder on the table and flips through pages until he finds one to hand to Josie. “Here’s a list of some exercises he can do. Foot massages are also helpful, and there are a few resources to help with that.”
I almost fall over from shock when we leave without Dr. Dimples asking Josie for her number. Unless he did it when I was changing, and I’m not about to ask her what they talked about without me.
As Josie and I ride the elevator downstairs, I fidget, trying to figure out where my hands should go. In just those few weeks, I got used to the crutches. Now everything feels awkward. Or maybe it’s how close to me Josie’s standing, with the elevator almost at capacity. I can smell her sweet scent as she shifts beside me, humming under her breath.
Now that we’re sharing a shower, I know it’s her shampoo and conditioner. But she must have been using them for years, because I remember it from the very first time we met—a night I wish I could erase and redo.
On the way to Jacob’s house, which was only about twenty minutes from my parents’ house, a fact he didn’t yet know, he did the stereotypical brother thing and warned me about his sister.
“Don’t even think about my sister. Not that you’d be into her. I mean, she’s awesome, but she’s mysister,” he said, making a face like the thought of her dating at all was nauseating.
“Cool,” I said, completely unworried about the idea of being attracted to his sister. I had only recently shifted into what I called total hockey focus mode, and despite what everyone thinks about athletes and women, I had no desire to date— casually or otherwise. Least of all my best friend’s sister.
“But I mean, if you did like her, likefor reallike her, that’s cool,” Jacob amended. “I’d just need a heads-up. And a few days to, like, deal with the idea. Though she really doesn’t date.”
“Like...at all?”
“Not in, like, the last few years.” He must have seen the question on my face, because he added, “I’m not sure if she’s just picky or has something against dating or what.”
I knew a guy in college who both smelled like funky cheese and was obsessed with magic—like the card-and-coin-trick kind of magic. Sometimes I saw him walking across campus in a cape and top hat. And that guy went on dates.
So I figured there must be something about Josie that was more offensive than stinky cheese and magic. That or she had some kind of personal reason for not dating, which Jacob didn’t know about.
“Anyway, it’s a moot point,” Jacob continued. “She won’t beinto you because you’re a jock, and if there’s one thing Josie hates, it’s jocks.”
Jock.
It struck me that I’d worked so hard to avoid one set of labels in my life that I’d accidentally traded it for another.
I needed an escape from the life my father carved out for me. The one he continually tried to force me into—even when it became clear that I had no interest in being primed to work with Jacobs Restaurant Group from the time I was eight. The moment I picked up a hockey stick, my dad basically shut me out. No more prepping me to take over. No more business lessons or spreadsheets.
But also...no moreanything. My dad stopped talking to me or even looking at me.
Instead, his full focus went to Peter.
My brother fell into line as though he wanted it. Probably he did. Maybe? I don’t know because my brother and I, much like my dad and I, barely speak.
So, in Jacob’s car that day, driving to my hometown to stay with his family, hearing him call me a jock hit me in a new way.
I was still mulling over this idea of label switching, in the quiet obsessive way my mother says I obsess over everything, when we arrived and I actually saw Jacob’s sister.
She definitely didn’t have any stinky cheese or magic issues.
