Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Right. Looks like you have GERD,” she says definitively.
“Great.”
I’m not even upset about the could-be diagnosis. GERD is an ailment millions of people have, right? It’s curable. And if not, I’ll dedicate my life to finding a cure.
“Now hang on. Sorry, was reading the wrong thing.” She pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and looks around my computer at me. “Have you gone swimming in fresh water lately? You might have one of those slithery parasite things, the ones that crawl up your—”
I wince. “No. I haven’t.”
She shrugs. “Just trying to be thorough.”
I throw my arm over my eyes and heave a deep, worry-filled sigh. This is worse than I imagined.
“Let’s go back to the start. There has to be something we’re missing. Maybe I need to have my pancreas removed.”
There’s a hum on her end, and then I hear the telltale sound of latex squelching as Lucy yanks off her gloves. To her, the worry has subsided, but I’m in the exact opposite camp. WebMD couldn’t diagnose me; this must be extremely serious indeed.
“You ever consider maybe these symptoms aren’t related to an illness?”
I furrow my brows and slide my arm up enough on my forehead that I can look over at her. I’m confused by her question.
Lucy pushes away from my desk and stands up. She pulls her mask down as she continues, “It could be emotional pain.”
I bark out a laugh and sit up. “I don’t endure emotional pain. I inflict it. Big difference.”
She comes to stand in front of me, looking down with a cheeky expression.
“Just…thinking over your symptoms, it really only points to one thing.”
“What?” I ask, suddenly on the edge of my seat. Did she find the answer and I missed it? Was it GERD after all?
She points her finger out at me. “You, Mr. Big Shot…are feeling. Maybe for the very first time.”
I rub my chest. “Not possible. Go back to your post. Let’s keep searching. I did drink water straight from the tap the other day—could that have given me that weird parasite thing?”
She barks out a laugh. It’s obvious she pities me. I hate this—her thinking she knows better than I do. I’m the one living in this body, having to endure this torture. It’s one thing to acknowledge my enduring crush on Scarlett, but to go beyond that, to contemplate—
I can’t go there.
Lucy’s about to leave my office. She’s whistling a peppy little tune, having completely moved on from my troublesome woes. She’s that confident she’s right about what I have.
“What’s it supposed to feel like?” I call out just before she takes her first step out the door.
She looks back and smiles, happy for me. “Like the best and worst thing you’ve ever endured. Butterflies one second, shittin’ bricks the next.”
Great.
I’m fucked.
My morning with Lucy has only made matters worse. Acknowledging the elephant in the room has now made it so I no longer know how to act around Scarlett. I feel like I’m a bumbling buffoon.
I see her in the break room just after lunch.
“Hey. Hi. Coffee?”
She already has a mug in her hand. She furrows her brows, smiling. “Yup. Got some right here.”
“Cool. Yeah. Love the stuff.”
I turn away and cringe. Love the stuff? It’s like I’ve never conversed in the English language before.
“Same. Yup.” She laughs and looks at me funny. “Word on the street is you’re sick.”
I force a cough for some reason. Then I clear my throat. “Yeah, it’s…a developing condition.” I sound like a local newscaster with a breaking story.
This earns me a frown. “You okay? Do you have a fever?” She’s about to step forward and press the back of her hand to my forehead, but I freak out and step back. She takes the hint. “Right, well, if you need anything, let me know.”
The next day, I’m walking down the hall from the conference room, and Scarlett is walking toward me in the other direction. I break out in a sweat. I blow out air. I stop walking, just plain freeze, and then she notices me, so I narrow my eyes down on an arbitrary spot on the paper I’m holding, acting as if it’s really important for me to review it right this moment.
When she gets closer, I look up.
“Scarlett, hey.”
She was walking with Bethany, talking about something, probably work-related and important. She nods to let Bethany know she’ll catch her in a bit, then she stops and turns to me expectantly.
Right. I was meant to have something to say to her other than “Scarlett, hey.”
There’s a little smile on her lips she’s battling to suppress. She likes this.
“Are you uhh…you going to the wedding next weekend?” I try to make it sound cool, like I’m indifferent about her answer, a high schooler asking about the party after the Friday night football game. Yeah, whatever, I might stop by. Like if I have nothing better to do.