Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I shoot to my feet too. I knew that Tammy was exhausted, but my sister always plays it off like she’s a superhero. I’ve got it covered, she always tells us.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I demand in concern. “You know we’d be at your place in a heartbeat to help you out.”
Tammy slowly removes her hands from Dyson’s grip. “It’s fine,” she insists. “I’m a mom of two. Of course life is going to be exhausting.” She glances at Dyson. “But I’ll make a doctor’s appointment and get a blood test done if that makes you feel better.”
He rolls his eyes, but his tone is gentle as he says, “It’s not about making me feel better, sweetie. It’s about making sure you’re strong and healthy for yourself and your children.”
“I’ll make the appointment,” she mumbles, and there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes as she dashes off, the hemline of her pale yellow dress swirling around her knees.
“I can’t believe you just got her to agree to see a doctor.” I gape at Dyson. “Tammy never admits that anything is wrong.”
“I’m a nurse. That gives me magical powers.” Waggling his eyebrows, he flops back in his chair and goes back to swan construction.
I hesitate before sitting down again. I’ve been putting off this conversation for a while, but this feels like the ideal opening. It’s also one of the reasons I asked Dyson to attend the wedding with me instead of asking one of my other male friends.
“I have a question,” I start slowly.
He laughs. “And I have answers. Lots of them.’”
I force a smile. “And you have to promise to be one hundred percent honest with me, okay?”
The humor in his eyes dissolves into sincerity. “All right. Hit me.”
“Do you think”—I take a breath—“I’d make a good nurse?”
There’s a second of silence, and that’s all it takes for me to backpedal. Frantically. Like I’m in a kayak that just got too close to a waterfall.
“Forget it,” I blurt out, ducking my head as I quickly start folding again. “Don’t answer that. That was a dumb question. I don’t know why I was even considering—”
A firm hand clamps over mine, stilling my nervous movements. “Oh hush. You just caught me by surprise. I think you’d make a fabulous nurse.”
I bite my lip and meet his eyes. “Really?”
“Absolutely. Why? You thinking of applying to nursing school?”
After another beat of hesitation, I offer a jerky nod. “I started looking into it after Jamie was in the hospital this spring,” I confess. “I told you about the nurse that was taking care of him, right? Bertha? Well, I had coffee with her in the hospital cafeteria a couple of times when I was in Toronto, and she kind of gave me a whole rundown of the process.”
“Wow. So this isn’t just a random thing. You’re really considering it.” Dyson releases my hand and resumes his napkin folding. “Where were you thinking of applying? San Francisco?”
I shake my head. “I’m looking everywhere. You won’t believe how expensive nursing programs are now.”
He snorts. “Oh, I’d believe it. You think the student-loan fairy just floated down from the money tree and paid off my debts? Think again. My bank account hates me. It’s hard to look this good when you’re this broke.”
I can’t help but laugh. He really is one of the best-dressed, most fashion-conscious guys I know. But I had no idea he was still buried under a mountain of loans.
I am too, but at least all the money I owe isn’t to the government. My parents are the ones who fronted my college tuition. And who paid for the start-up costs of my failed jewelry business. And for the business cards for this new event-planning venture. There’s no deadline for me to pay them back, but every time I accept another handout from them, it chips away at another piece of my independence.
Not to mention my self-esteem.
Fuck. No wonder my family thinks I’m a screwup. I am a screwup. My bachelor’s degree in art history was supposed to set me free, but it just ended up being an albatross around my neck. It didn’t open a single door for me, didn’t get me a single job offer. A position at a museum or in academia now requires more than a measly bachelor’s degree. You need a master’s or a PhD, and I can’t exactly afford to go back to school for another hundred years.
Besides, lately I’ve been wondering if I even belong in a creative field. I’ve tried and failed at so much shit, but this nursing thing… It feels right. When I think about doing it, it’s like my entire being just…centers. This is the first time I’ve ever felt that way.
“Did you consider any Canadian schools?” Dyson asks.
“No, why?”
“They’re cheaper. I didn’t know that when I was applying, but I work with some nurses who studied in Vancouver to save money.”