“Why?”
“He didn’t like men. We think he was abused by a man when he was a baby. He wouldn’t even let me get near him.”
“How’d you work through that?” she asked, sounding impressed.
“I showed up every day. I’d bring food for him and sit down on the floor and talk softly to him until he trusted me.”
“Awwwwww. And were you the one to name him?”
“I was. It seemed appropriate.”
“What happened to his leg?”
I squeezed lime into my club soda. “We think he was born that way. Probably at a puppy mill.”
“Ugh. That’s so sad. I used to get all the abused/neglected animal videos on TikTok before the algorithm realized I didn’t like them. Animals adopting orphaned babies or military service members coming home and surprising their dogs—I am not emotionally equipped to deal with that kind of energy right now. Are you on TikTok?”
“No,” I said. “Well, sort of. I watch videos on house restorations, but I don’t post anything.”
“I’m on lesbian TikTok right now and it is the most glorious place on earth.”
“Really? I get a lot of Fail videos on my For You page, for some reason,” I said. “I hate those.”
“Me too. Like, how are you just gonna show us the accident and not give us the follow-up. I need a Six Months Later Where Are They Now video with a list of the injuries.”
“Yes. It feels like a documentary that stops just as it’s getting interesting.”
“Right? Anyway, you have to engage with the app,” she said. “Swipe away videos you don’t like, like right away so they know what you don’t want to see. You’ll be in the warm embrace of lesbian TikTok with me in no time.”
“Do the TikTok lesbians know how to remove old wallpaper? Because that’s the kind of content I need at the moment.”
“Oh, yeah. They know everything. It’s where I learned how to fold a fitted sheet.”
I made a TikTok lesbians mental note.
We stayed on the phone and talked about nothing like this for hours. The time just flew by. Talking to her was easy in a way I wasn’t used to.
She drew me out. Made me feel comfortable. And the words just flowed. She made me feel interesting, like she wanted to know about me and what I had to say. And we had a lot in common too. I guess that made sense, we had the same job. But we both liked being out in nature. We liked cultural vacations over relaxing beach ones, and we liked the same movies. We even had the same Lola Simone songs in our phones.
About an hour into the call, it started to drizzle. I squeezed in under the not-big-enough table umbrella. I’d been in such a hurry I hadn’t considered the logistics of bringing my dog. I couldn’t go inside the restaurant because of Lieutenant Dan. I could hang up with Briana and run home and drop him off, then come back. But I got the feeling if I asked to call her back, she’d just say she’d talk to me on Tuesday, and I didn’t want to risk it. So I huddled under the umbrella with rain soaking through the back of my jacket and Lieutenant Dan hiding under the table, drier than I was. The waitress looked at me like I’d lost it.
After three hours, a slice of rhubarb strawberry pie, and the sun starting to set, Briana hung up with me to go do Benny’s dialysis.
The mosquitoes were eating me alive, so it was probably a good thing—but I still wouldn’t have hung up with her first.
I liked her. A lot.
The weird thing was, she seemed to like me too, for some reason. I couldn’t imagine why.
It filled me up. It made me smile when I thought back on it. Probably because I’d been feeling so flawed and rejected for the last few months and suddenly I wasn’t. At least to her.
I didn’t hear from her again for the rest of the weekend, but it didn’t matter because I knew when I went back to work, we’d resume our back-and-forth. I looked forward to it. A little more than I wanted to admit.
On my way into the hospital on Tuesday, I ignored another call from Jewel. I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do about the situation with my family. Call and cancel on family dinner tomorrow was about all I’d worked out.
Just as the stress of my new job and coworkers began to mercifully quiet down, the stress of my family began to ratchet up.
I made my way down to the ER for my shift, putting Jewel’s number on mute so at the very least I wouldn’t be alerted to exactly how many times my sister was trying to get me on the phone. I was coming down the hallway focused on this when Briana flew around the corner.
“There you are! Come on, you’ll miss it!” She grabbed me by the elbow.
This was the first time she’d touched me outside of crashing into me. It made me feel a little breathless—the unexpected interaction and the contact.
“Miss what?” I asked, letting myself be dragged along.
“Opera Lady.”
“Who?”
“There’s this group of opera singers who come in drunk like once a month and they always sing in the ER. You have to see it. I was looking for you everywhere.”
I stifled a smile.
We went through the double doors to the ER. There was already a small crowd hanging out outside room six when we sidled up to the front. An aria in a high soprano belted out of the room. Everyone stood silent, listening.
I knew this one. “Der Ho?lle Rache” from The Magic Flute. Mozart. Breathtaking high notes that rose like fiery sparks. I could hear the missing instruments in my mind. Flutes, oboes, violins, clarinets. I melted into the poignant vocal gymnastics of the piece. It was beautiful.
I glanced over at Briana while we listened. I’d noticed the way the staff had made a space for us, parting to let us through so we could be closer to the door. It was a sign of respect—and it wasn’t for me.
I’d gotten more friendly nods since the cupcakes. The nurses weren’t as cold to me anymore. But this reception to our arrival was for Briana. Her bringing me sent a message to everyone that I was liked by someone they loved and respected. Maybe she even went to get me in part to let everyone know this.
I felt myself soften. Like the fight-or-flight instinct this place had activated was finally dismissed.
I was always braced here. Braced for confrontation, braced for open dislike. Braced for unpleasantness in general. Only just now did my brain decide that I didn’t need to be. And that was because of her.
I liked coming to work now. I looked forward to it. I got a little jolt of dopamine every time I saw a letter.
I got a little jolt of dopamine every time I saw her across the ER…
I knew for her they were probably just notes. She was likable and easy. She probably had this fun little back-and-forth with everyone in one way or another. But for me it was a lifeline. An outstretched hand while I was falling, an umbrella in a downpour. Friendship in a hostile place.
I’d been doing something for her the last few days. I’d been watching Schitt’s Creek.
I didn’t usually watch new shows. I just rewatched the same ones over and over. I liked the familiarity, the predictability. If I rewatched a show, there were never any surprises. No emotional jump scares. I didn’t have to process new feelings or stress over cliffhangers. I knew where it was going and how it would end. Music too. When my anxiety is extra high, new music is too draining to process. I’d lean on old playlists. A lyrical safe space, the comfort of repetition. And my anxiety hadn’t been as high as it was right now in longer than I could remember.