Friends Without Benefits
Marie reached for Ashley’s glass, took a sip, then smacked her lips together. “Oh . . . That’s good. The Limoncello adds something nice.”
Fiona handed me back my mitt. “You do beautiful work.” She smiled wistfully at my scarf. “I need more time to knit.”
“Fiona.” I leaned closer to her. “Before I forget, I have something for Gracie and Jake in my room. Build-A-Bear Workshop was having a sale on the bear kits.”
Her eyebrows jumped, and her eyes lit with surprised pleasure. “Thank you, Elizabeth. But you didn’t have to do that. You need to stop buying them toys.”
“What are you two talking about?” Sandra called from her place on the couch.
Before I could give Fiona the universal symbol for Don’t tell them! Fiona lifted her voice and responded, “Elizabeth bought Gracie and Jake Build-A-Bear kits.”
I grimaced, waited for what I guessed would come next.
“Wait,” Ashley lowered her work, gave me an assessing frown. “Do you know anything about the kits that were dropped off to the pediatric unit yesterday? We can’t figure out who did it. There were like thirty of them.”
Yes, I’d dropped off the bears. They were on sale. Kids love bears. Kids shouldn’t be in the hospital. It was no big deal. I didn’t want to discuss it. Sandra would likely call me Florence Nightingale which would lead to all sorts of biological clock jokes. As a rule, I didn’t mind teasing about my bad behavior, but I hated being teased—or evening admitting to—my good behavior. When attention was drawn to even an arguably good deed I felt like a fraud.
I didn’t meet Ashley’s scrutinizing eye-squint. Instead I changed the subject.
“Fiona—Fiona—” I motioned to my teeth. “You have something in your teeth—right here.” I pointed between my two front teeth.
Fiona did the standard lip-dance-frown-spit-swishing movement then picked at her teeth with her fingernail, “Well, thanks for nothing everyone. Have I been sitting here this whole time with something in my teeth? Only Elizabeth has the decency to tell me.”
Sandra snorted into her margarita. “Pshaw. I didn’t notice a damn thing. And Elizabeth is OCD about that kind of stuff. I once spent a better part of a minute trying to remove a spec of pepper from my tooth. No one could see it except Ms. Microscope Eyes over there.”
I shrugged. “Fine. Next time I won’t tell you when you have a huge piece of parsley hanging like bunting between your incisors.”
“I have some news that has nothing to do with Fiona’s disgusting habit of storing food in her teeth.” Ashley—seemingly ignorant to my Build-A-Bear subterfuge—winked at Fiona; Fiona responded to the wink with a deadpan expression.
“Oh. Does it have anything to do with Elizabeth’s microscopic eyes?” Sandra wagged her eyebrows at me. I considered sticking my tongue out, but decided against it as Fiona had turned her attention back to my scarf.
“No, surprisingly, it doesn’t.” Ashley’s smile grew secretive and she paused, milking the dramatic silence. Finally she said, “It has to do with a celebrity at the hospital today.”
My eyes met hers and a chill ran up my spine. I schooled my expression and did an admirable job of not reacting.
“Was there a celebrity at the hospital? I didn’t hear anything.” Sandra regained her seat on the couch and began rifling through her project bag. “I hope it was someone good.”
“There was and he is and you’ll never guess who.” Ashley glanced at each of us, her grin growing as her obvious excitement began to show.
Marie turned her work and rolled her eyes. “Just put us out of our misery.”
“Okay, it was Nico Moretti!” Ashley smiled expectantly and excitedly.
“Whoa.” Sandra and Fiona said in unison.
“Did you see him?” Even Kat appeared enthralled.
Ashley shook her head. “Sadly, no. If I had I likely wouldn’t have been able to contain myself, and you’d all be bailing me out of jail right now.”
Sandra nodded her approval. “It would have been worth it. That guy . . . he’s on my Spank Naughty list.”
Marie lifted her right hand toward Sandra. “I approve.” And the two ladies gave each other a high-five.
“Did you hear anything about it, Elizabeth?” Fiona was eyeing me suspiciously, likely having discerned that I was being atypically quiet.
An image of Nico from earlier in the day flashed before my consciousness—memorizing my face, his eyes brimming with sincerity and hostility—asking me to be friends. It was so strange and absurd, made me feel hot and cold. Hot because he’d asked me to be friends, and cold because I knew it was impossible. I couldn’t think about him. When I did I felt tangled and out of sorts.
I cleared my throat and shrugged; rather than lie I decided to deflect for the second time that evening— subject subterfuge. “I actually got chewed out today by Dr. Botstein.”
“What? Again?” Kat dropped her knitting to her lap; “What did you do?”
I unwrapped my scarf from my neck and claimed the seat next to her. “He was on the receiving end of one of my practical jokes.”
Ashley laughed with a mouth half full of margarita. She quickly swallowed. “What was it this time? Mentos in his coke? My favorite is a tie between the p**n tape switch or that time you put ‘I’m a wanker’ in permanent marker on the bottom of Dr. Meg’s coffee mug—she went around all morning like that, just drinking her coffee, what a moron.”
Janie exited the kitchen holding two more glasses, she placed one in front of me then kept one for herself. I smiled my thanks and laid my scarf on my lap.
“I took an unopened box of latex gloves in the ER clinic and filled a few of them with lotion and rigged it to explode upon opening.”
“So, Dr. Boty ended up with a face covered in mysterious gelatinous white goo?” Ashley supplied; she looked as though she approved.
“He definitely wasn’t my intended victim and I actually feel really bad about it. He was strangely nice to me afterward.”
“That is weird.” Ashley eyed me specutively. “Dr. Boty is such a terror on the pediatric floor. I avoid him at all costs.”
“I don’t understand why you do these things. Why risk your career like this?” Fiona kept her voice low and addressed the question just to me; her expression was a mixture of concern and maternal-esque frustration.
“I just—” Under her disapproving stare I felt ashamed again, felt the need to defend myself to her even if I couldn’t do so earlier with Dr. Botstein. “It’s the job. It’s stressful. Kids come into the ER with gunshot wounds, babies come in sick and there is nothing I can do. I’m not complaining, I love what I do, I feel like I’m making a difference, but it’s . . . It can be frustrating. The pranks, they help me—I don’t know—keep things light.”
“Obviously I have no idea what it’s like for you, dealing with those issues every day, but it seems like you could identify a less self-destructive way of working through job stress.” Fiona’s expression softened. “I just worry about you. You need an outlet, you need . . .”
Somebody.
The word wasn’t spoken, but the implication hung between us unsaid.
“Yes, well.” I cleared my throat and lifted my voice so the rest of the room could hear, “It was an accident. I meant the glove prank for Dr. Ken Miles, but Dr. Botstein must’ve used the room first.”
“He’s kind of hot—Ken, not Dr. Botstein. Dr. Botstein seems like the kind of guy who would have a prematurely wrinkled bottom.” Sandra nodded as she made this assertion and gulped the remainder of her drink.
“I concur.” Ashley, in turn, nodded her agreement and lifted her glass. “But hopefully we’ll never find out.”
“Several breeds of dogs have wrinkles, like the Pug and Shar Pei.” Janie sipped her margarita and licked at the excess salt on the rim.
We all paused for a beat, waited to see if she would continue. Janie had an impressive habit of spouting off trivial facts at odd times. It was one of the many reasons we all adored her.
“Janie, your left-fielding skills are very impressive. You are the most impressive left fielder I’ve ever met.” Sandra surreptitiously reached for Kat’s almost full margarita and took a sip.
Janie frowned. “You mean the baseball position?” She sat back in her chair and twisted the obscenely large ruby ring on her left third finger. “I’ve never played baseball.”
“No hun. I’m talking about someone who says stuff out of left field. I never know where you’re going or where you’re going to take me. I’m just happy to be along for the ride.” Sandra blew Janie a sincere kiss which made Janie smile sweetly.
My heart twisted. Damnit, I missed Janie. A lot. I blinked away the sudden moisture and berated myself for this overreaction and emotionality. Janie was getting married, she wasn’t dying. I would continue to see her, to talk to her—just not as often. I needed to get a grip.
Unfortunately, logic isn’t a cure for loneliness.
Kat, seemingly just noticing that Sandra had swiped her margarita, began to sputter. “Did you—I can’t believe—you stole my—Sandra!”