Page 26 of The Devil Gets His Due

“Have a safe trip,” I reply, for lack of anything else to say.

He leaves and I flop onto the couch and groan. Four months of awkwardness like this lies in my future. I suspect I didn’t think this through, and that doesn’t really come as a surprise.

Not thinking things through is kind of what I’m known for.

14

KEELEY

On Monday night, a bed arrives for him, oversized, just like he is. The next night it’s a desk and dresser. On Wednesday, I’ve just carried three Amazon packages addressed to him upstairs and collapsed on the couch when he texts.

Graham: Everything okay?

I suppose he deserves a point or two for not going straight to the real question—how is the fruit of my loins?But I’m exhausted and cranky and wondering how much more of an imposition it will be to have him here when he’s managing to impose so much from three thousand miles away.

Me: What goes better with pinot? S’mores or Reese’s Pieces?

Graham: Keeley.

Me: FFS. It was a joke. Your kid is fine.

But Jesus…if he’s this annoying from a distance, what happens when he’s actually here? I barely have the energy to put up with myself at the end of the day, much less him.

I wake Sunday, determined to get the apartment together before he arrives—not because I care about making him feel comfortable here, but simply to present myself as a normal, well-adjusted adult who doesn’t need his help.

Once I’ve had my Sunday muffin and forced myself to drink some green juice, I go to the grocery store where I buy a bunch of food that looks awful but with which Graham can’t find fault. By the time I’ve lugged it all from my car, I’m exhausted and sink onto the couch, telling myself I’ll put it away in a minute.

I immediately fall asleep, of course.

When my ringing phone wakes me, I have no idea how long I was out, but because I’m on call, I have to go rushing over to Cedars-Sinai, where one of Dr. Joliet’s patients has just shown up.

Marissa Anderson is a character actress. Though I can’t remember the name of a single show she’s been on, you’d think she was Meryl Streep based on how imperious she is when I enter the room. The incision from her Mohs’ surgery has split open, and it wasn’t my shoddy handiwork that’s put her in this position, but she’s going to make sure I suffer for it.

“Where’s Dr. Joliet?” she demands.

I force a smile. “She’s off today. I’m the one on call, but I promise I’ll get you out of here fast.”

“I was told I couldn’t even speak for two days and it still split open!” she says as I inject lidocaine into her nose.

I’d like to tell her that the y-fold on her nose broke open because it was poorly done in the first place and that the next time she needs Mohs surgery, she should go to an expert, not the bitch who does her Botox every three months.

“These things happen,” I say instead.

“So now I go for another two days without talking? I can’t take the rest of my life off work!”

“Ideally, yes. You don’t want to put too much pressure on this until the stitches have done what they need to do.” I get the feeling she still wants an apology from me, but I’m not in the mood to provide it. Besides, I doubt she’s working allthatmuch.

I’m mid-stitch when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I know it’s Graham, and he’s probably at my door, and if I wait even the five minutes this will take to finish, he’s going to have a fit.

I ask the nurse to grab it for me. She holds it in front of my face so I can read the text, which is, of course, from Graham. And he does, of course, sound irked.

“Can you tell him the key’s under the mat?” I ask.

Marissa’s eyes narrow. “You still keep a key under the mat? In LA? Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

Sigh.You, Marissa, are no more surprised than I am.

Once Marissa’s sewn up and leaves, giving me one last dirty look, I go to the nurses’ station to chat with everyone.

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