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I went to cross my legs, and just in time, remembered my knee was in agony. The joint gave a painful throb, and I glanced down at it. My long, yellow, floral skirt covered my legs, but I knew under the fabric, there was a ping pong ball-sized splinter infection on my knee. I hadn’t been able to get the entire sliver out Friday night, and I had assumed it would “work its way out” like my grandmother had always told me. But on Saturday it had ached fiercely, and on Sunday it had begun to swell. When I’d woken this morning, I knew something was wrong.

Like a physical echo of my discomfort over Cal and our date, the pain in my knee had grown and festered, and I knew if I didn’t do something about it soon, it was going to become unbearable. Only, that required a visit to the doctor.No can do, I thought grimly. I had outright lied to Cal about seeing Dr. Rook regularly. I didn’t know the man—had never seen him and had no idea he was an OB/GYN. I’d just seen his name on the nameplate at the bottom of our building and had figured I could get away with the lie. I didn’t see doctors.

I stood stiffly, taking the weight off my leg and waiting for Gemma to box up her leftovers. She glanced at me as we threaded through the packed restaurant. Although the hum of voices buzzed in my ears like an angry hive, I distinctly heard Gemma’stskof reproval before we walked out of the air-conditioned building and into the sweltering heat. I limped beside her, and she gave me an expression that practically shouted her thoughtsacross the space between us.

I lifted my hands. “What, Gemma?”

“Are you for real?” She gestured to my knee as we made a left turn down the sidewalk lined with mature trees and pretty business fronts. Gemma ambled along to my right between me and the car-lined street. “How long are you going to ignore that?”

“How long are you going to pester me?” I shot back.

“As long as it takes for you to knock it off,” she snapped.

I glared, but it was hard to hold it with Gemma giving me that goofy, wide-eyed look that pulled her round, cherubic features into a comical mask. I was fairly certain it was impossible for Gemma to look anything but kind of cute or kind of silly. Her angry face usually came across as pouty and pink, and the incredulous expression she wore now looked just shy of crazed. Coupled with her curly blond hair she wore in two buns on her head, I couldn’t help but bite down a smile. “You’re overreacting.”

“You’re limping.”

I was. As we walked down the paved sidewalk, and a bicyclist barely managed to swerve and avoid us, the pain in my leg had notched up to a twenty out of ten, and the entire appendage shook with the effort to keep my body upright. I kept limping anyway. “It’ll work its way out eventually.”

“That’s a myth,” Gemma said with a roll of her eyes.

“I don’t think it is.” I pulled out my phone and tapped on the browser icon. “I’m lookingit up.”

“I’m sorry, wait,” Gemma pressed her palms together and brought them to her mouth, rounding another incredulous look my way. “You’re just now looking this up?”

“I told you, they work themselves out,” I replied, distracted by the search I was typing into the search field. “Why would I look it up?”

“Wow.” Gemma shook her head. “Really, wow. You astound me. I’m amazed at how perfectly crafted your delusions are. You should teach classes: How to Ignore Everything That Has Hurt You.” I did a fast scan of the information that popped up on my phone screen. Biting my lip with a grimace, I closed the screen and slid the phone into the pocket of my skirt. Gemma gave me a cocky eyebrow tilt. “What did you learn, Dr. Coldwell?”

I cleared my throat. “I might need some antiseptic spray.”

“I knew it,” she sighed in exasperation. “Your self-harming trauma responses are finally going to find a way to kill you.”

“You’re very dramatic,” I pointed out.

“I’m a matchmaker,” Gemma said, gesturing at her entire, curvy body. “The fuck did you expect? I’m all about passion. And drama. And anyway, don’t you need your purse back from Dr. Dreamsicle? You should just kill two birds with one stone. ‘Hi there, Manly MD! You have my purse. Also, I have this wound.’” Gemma slid her hands down her waist suggestively. “‘Could you take a look at my body?’”

I leaned over and pushed her nearly off the curb. “Will you stop it?”

Gemma cackled, righting herself and then threading her armaround my waist and supporting my weight on the right. “Fine. But you should take the rest of the day off and go get this looked at by someone. Yeah?” I accepted her help gratefully, leaning against her as we reached the street and hit the crosswalk button. The sun slanted down on my head, angry and sizzling, and it made the ache in my knee grow hot-poker painful.

I swallowed, and although we’d just eaten, my throat already felt parched. “Yeah, alright,” I conceded. “I’ll go to the pharmacy and get some stuff. I think if I get it out, it’ll be okay.”

Gemma gave me a dubious look. We were nearly equal in height—both of us were much shorter than average. Her long lashes did a fast blink. “Did you intentionally mishear me or…?”

“Lay off,” I said with a side glare. “I will handle it.”

“You are horrible.”

“You’re just as bad,” I countered. “Remember when you got your wisdom teeth out, and they told you to bring someone with you, so you didn’t have to walk home? And you didn’t?”

“Shush,” Gemma sniffed.

“Or that one time you got tennis elbow and played actual tennis the next day?”

“Alright, alright, shut up,” Gemma gritted out, her eyes flaring. “Point made. You want me to drive you somewhere?”

“No, I’ve got it. Chill.” We crossed the street, moving slowly as I limped and my leg shook. The further we went, the worse I felt. I knew Gemma was right. And she knew why I couldn’t find a doctor.