Page 5
Chapter Four
Michele
“I owe you big time,” Stacey grumbles from the same spot I left her before the sun came up this morning, Imhotep curled in her lap, sleeping soundly.
I bolted out of bed this morning to the sound of her emptying the contents of her stomach into our once-immaculate bathroom. If she were anyone else, I’d have left her where she was, but Stacey is my roommate and one of my best friends. Instead, I grabbed the yellow rubber gloves from under the sink, Lysol, and layered on four face masks before setting foot in that bathroom to see what was wrong with her.
“Yes, you do. I had to burn my favorite pair of pj’s after helping you into the shower,” I groan as I toe off my sneakers, giving Imhotep a scratch behind the ears.
“You didn’t need to burn your pajamas, Michele.” Stacey giggles, burrowing deeper into the blankets surrounding her shoulders. “Besides, I think your cat is finally starting to like me.”
“I’m not sure that cat likes anyone but me.”
I found Imotep at the local rescue I volunteered at in high school and instantly fell in love. I adopted him that day and brought him home. You’d think with my issues, having a pet would only make things worse, but Imotep is a hairless cat. No shedding, no fleas, nothing. I can see anything wrong with him almost immediately, making him the perfect pet for me. Too bad almost everyone, besides Stacy and Kyle, thinks otherwise. But those are my two best friends. They don’t have any other choice but to love him. Imhotep and I are a package deal.
“Why can’t you just let me live in my delusion?” She rubs her hand across the top of his head and down his back. “He snuggled with me and has let me pet him a few times.”
“He’s probably just cold. I didn’t have time to put his sweater on this morning after cleaning up the bathroom.” I plop onto the couch beside her, but think twice about that before grabbing a small container of hand sanitizer and cleaning my hands.
Imhotep immediately climbs into my lap and purrs, causing Stacey to scowl down at him. “Traitor.”
“Don’t take it personally. I am his person, after all,” I respond, my head swiveling from side to side, looking for a safe place to put my bag down.
The skin on my arms feels like there are a million spiders crawling all over them. The urge to scratch at my skin is almost overwhelming, but I grip the strap of my bag tighter in my palm. The crush of the leather against my skin is a reminder that everything is okay. There are no bugs crawling over me, and breathing the same air as her won’t get me sick. Well, it might get me sick because there are germs everywhere, no matter how often I clean and disinfect. The average adult gets two to five colds a year, and that number can double if we include children. Eww. Children, they’re just freaking disgusting with all their germs and the inability to wash their hands before or after doing anything.
“And there was no getting around burning my pj’s if I wanted to sleep tonight.” I deadpan, pinning her in place with my stare. “I also had to take three showers at the therapy center before my shift because I didn’t want to take the chance of getting Mr. Snyder sick, as well. He just finished chemotherapy a few months ago and has already broken his hip once because of chemotherapy-induced bone loss.”
“Or it could be because he’s clumsy and steps down off the curb wrong and breaks his hip a second time.” Stacey unwraps the blankets from around her and moves closer to me on the couch.
I instantly move to the left, putting more space between us, regretting it immediately as the look of hurt flashes across her face, but it is quickly replaced with a forced smile. “What’s going on, Shell my Belle? I know you have a thing about things being clean and hate germs, but things are never this bad.”
I sigh loudly, trying desperately to stop my mind from spiraling any further. I scoop up Imhotep immediately, running my hand along his back, attempting to calm my nerves. After a few passes, he purrs loudly. Usually, his purrs are just the thing I need to calm down, even if only a little, but it’s not doing anything to help my mood. I’m too amped up, and I know it, but I also don’t know how to stop it.
I’m not usually all doom and gloom, but my anxiety is definitely getting the best of me today. And when my anxiety is high, it only exacerbates my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) tendencies. I have medications and all that fun stuff to help, but sometimes that’s not enough. Maybe I should call my therapist tonight. Our regular standing appointment is in a few days, but I have a feeling I won’t be able to last that long. Especially if Stacey is still throwing up. I can’t deal with being around people who are throwing up on a good day.
“I’m going to go take another shower and change. That should give you enough time to wipe down and disinfect the condo for you to be comfortable enough to sit down and relax a little. Then we can have some tea while you tell me what has gotten you so worked up.” Stacey waits for me to put some more space between us before pushing to her feet.
“I’m sorry. I’m so—” My voice trails off, not knowing how to finish this sentence.
This wouldn’t be the first time I was apologizing to someone about the way my brain works, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Most people don’t know how to deal with me when my anxiety is so high it kicks my OCD into the stratosphere.
Most people think of OCD as a compulsion to flick light switches multiple times or unlocking and relocking doors, ensuring they’re closed properly. And it is, but every person’s symptoms presents differently. Mine focuses on cleanliness. My mind hyperfocuses on germs, dirt, and just general contamination of things. Trust me, on a good day, it’s not usually as horrible as it sounds. Especially with the help of my medication. However, today is a bad day. A terrible day, it seems.
“Nope. None of that.” She reaches toward my hand but decides against it. “You are exactly how you are meant to be, and I love you for it.”
My throat clogs with emotion as she heads toward our bedrooms at the back of the condo. I almost tell her to make sure she cleans the bathroom when she’s finished, but we both know I’ll just go behind her and do it myself.
The minute she disappears into the bathroom, I rummage through my bag and find my anxiety medication. After shaking a pill into my hand, I pop the tiny white pill into my mouth and swallow. The chalky taste hits my tongue as it goes down my throat. Hopefully, it takes the edge off a little so I can at least sit down and have a discussion with one of my best friends.
Imhotep bumps my hand, double-checking to make sure I’m all right. “It’s okay, Bud. Just a bad day. I promise, Momma is gonna be okay.” I give him a scratch behind the ear before picking him up, bringing his face to mine, and planting a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Thanks for keeping Stacey company today.”
He meows at me before wiggling in my hands, signalling he wants to be put down. “Down you go. Let me get this cleaning finished, and then I’ll feed you.”
The only answer I get from him is another meow as I place him on the floor. He doesn’t spare me a backward glance as he heads towards the back of the house, no doubt searching for some additional warmth.
I probably should follow him and put his sweater on him, but the itchy feelings continue to spread across my skin, demanding my attention. I inhale deeply as I look around our condo, checking to see if there is anything noticeably out of place and needing to be cleaned. Who am I kidding? When I get like this, I need to clean every surface at least once, some more than once, before I’m able to sit down.
We have the perfect two-bedroom end unit condo situated right in the Alphabet District of Portland, Oregon. I despise the city, with all the people and—nope, not going there right now—but since the best chance for me to find a job as a physiotherapist is to be in the city, here we are. The good thing about having an end unit is that it’s quiet, and we have no unit above ours either. Another bonus, along with a pretty kick-ass view of Mt. Hood and the city, is that we can walk to just about anything we want or need, including work.
We have a galley-style kitchen that runs almost the entire length of our living room. Unlike some other units in the building, we have a dedicated dining room off the living room, closer to the bedrooms, that we use as an office. I don’t need to bother cleaning in there because I'm usually the only person who spends any time there. It was supposed to be a dining room according to the floor plan, but with those two built-in bookshelves on either side of the arched doorway, how could I have made it anything else but my own personal office? It was an even trade-off because Stacey got the master suite with its two closets and en suite bathroom, although she allows me to use that amazing soaker tub she has in there as long as I clean it.
“Might as well get to work,” I mumble to myself before heading back toward the entryway and hanging my bag on the hook before moving right into the kitchen to grab the basket of cleaning supplies.
Since Stacey doesn’t feel well, I’m going to start with the living room. Mainly because of the empty packets of saltines and empty water bottles lying on the coffee table in front of the couch. She hasn’t moved from that spot all day. I doubt she has anything planned but lying there and watching trashy reality shows on our newly installed television that my dad hung over our fireplace a few weeks ago. According to him, no living room is complete without a television. I never heard that saying before, but I have a feeling he wanted a free place to come watch the game when my stepmom was hosting her book club.
I make quick work of cleaning the rich, warm-tone hardwood floors with the Swiffer and spraying down the couch and two armchairs we have in the living room with Lysol before grabbing all the trash off the coffee table and tossing it into its respective bins. I grab a few cleaning wipes and start wiping the coffee table down before freezing. I probably should clean it properly with some furniture polish, but I just did a deep clean in here a few days ago. That should be fine, shouldn’t it? No, I’m going to clean it just to be sure.
Ugh, why is my brain like this? Something as simple as cleaning up turns into a multi-step process just because of that night all those years ago. Everyone else has seemed to process what we saw and are living a healthy and fulfilling life, but not me. Another thing to check off the list of reasons I’m so fucked up.
“Are you hungry?” I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of my friend's voice coming from behind me.
Stacey giggles softly, running her towel along her red hair to soak up any remaining water. She no longer has the sickly green hue to her skin. Her coloring is much better than it was earlier, which is a sign that she must be feeling better. Thank goodness, because the last thing I want to do is deal with any more puke. Her favorite pale blue Nirvana T-shirt has replaced the ratty shirt she had on, tucked slightly into a pair of black pajama shorts.
“I thought you were in the shower?” My hand grasps the front of my shirt, willing my heart not to beat out of my chest. “Are you finished puking? I’m not dealing with puke again today. I just can’t.”
Stacey shakes her head slightly as she grimaces. “I haven’t puked since this morning. I think it was just some twenty-four-hour bug or something.”
I narrow my eyes in her direction, trying to decide if she’s telling me the truth, which causes her to laugh loudly.
“If I randomly start puking again for any reason, I’ll go to Parker’s place. The team won’t be starting rookie camp for another few weeks. I think he said mid-August, so he won’t be the least bit worried about the risk of getting sick. Besides, he loves me.”
Parker and Stacey have been dating for a few years now, having met when she tagged along with me to a Timberwolves game. They hit it off immediately, much to my father’s chagrin, and have been dating ever since. I don’t know why my dad thought Parker and I would be a good fit for each other. We have nothing in common other than him and the Timberwolves, but he and Stacey are a different story. I have a feeling that we might be hearing wedding bells in their future.
“Of course,? he does. There’s not a thing about you not to love, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll give them what for.”
“You’re the least violent person I know, Michele, but it’s the thought that counts.”
“That it does.” I smile before heading back into the kitchen to grab the furniture polish and finish cleaning the table. “Please give Parker my thanks for keeping me safe from your cooties.”
“Anything else you’d like me to pass along?”
I open my mouth to beg him to call my dad and see if they’ve decided about the open physiotherapist position, but I slam it tightly shut. I could’ve made this all easier on myself by just asking my dad for the job in the first place, but that would’ve been a complete disaster.
Dad has warned me away from anything to do with being part of the National Hockey League (NHL). He has been a coach all of my life, hockey is in his blood and mine, but according to him, I deserve better. Not that I agree with him. There is no greater reward than helping someone achieve their dreams?.
It was hard enough telling him and my stepmom I wasn’t going to become some fancy doctor or surgeon like they had hoped. The disappointment in their eyes was almost enough to make me go right back to school and change my major, but Kyle and Stacey talked me out of it.
There is nothing wrong with choosing to be a physiotherapist, which is just a fancy way of saying I am a physical therapist, but according to Dad and my stepmom, I deserve better. Whatever the hell that means. A physical therapist and a physiotherapist do the same thing, but a physiotherapist emphasizes manual therapy, like massage and joint mobilization, more than some physical therapists, which is the perfect profession for someone who wants to work with athletes.
It took a few months for them to come around, but they weren’t as passive-aggressive about their displeasure as they used to be. The snide comments are few and far between nowadays, but if I get this job, that is likely to change. I guess I’ll be back to limiting my time around my family. I love them all, but I can’t be around them all the time. Especially when they’d rather pull me down than build me up and support me in my new career.
This is one of the many reasons I couldn’t tell Dad about applying for this job. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know if he’d help or hurt my chance at snagging this position. Dad has always said I deserved more. But I can’t remember the last time he asked me what I wanted. And I want this job. I didn’t want to be given this opportunity because my dad was the head coach for the Timberwolves. I wanted it because I earned it.
“Nah, that’s okay.” I force a smile and spray the table with the furniture polish, wiping the surface clean before changing the subject. “You said something about food?”
“Yes! I’m freaking starving, but I don’t think my stomach could handle anything too heavy.”
I don’t even bother to look up as I fluff the brightly colored throw pillows she insisted we have on our couch. Apparently, it gives the room some character, whatever that means. Once I have them fluffed to my satisfaction, I give her my full attention. “How about your favorite soup?”
“The lemony one with chicken in it?” Her eyes light with excitement as she bounces from foot to foot. If there’s one thing Stacey loves more than Parker, it’s this soup. My mom used to make it every time we had a sleepover at my house when we were younger. It's taken me years to perfect the recipe, but a few months ago, I finally got it right, much to my best friend's delight. I usually only make it for special occasions, but we both need a little pick-me-up today.
“That’s the one.”
Stacey does a little fist pump in the air before answering. “Heck yeah, but can you not make it so salty this time?”
“It was one time, Stacey,” I groan, rolling my eyes. I swear you make someone’s favorite soup incorrectly, and they never let you live it down.
“But that one time almost gave me high blood pressure.”
“You’re so dramatic.” I wave her off, focusing on placing the pillows back into the perfect order on the couch. “I’ll get it started once I finish cleaning up your mess.”
“Thanks! Love you. I’m gonna call Parker and tell him what you're making for me. He’s going to be so jealous.”
With a firm plan in place for dinner, I head back into the kitchen and open the fridge. I need to double-check that we have all the ingredients we need. I pull out the crisper drawers and find celery, onions, and carrots, exactly what I need for the recipe. Luckily for Stacey, I also had the forethought to take chicken out of the freezer this morning before heading in to cover both our shifts. I don’t know if I can take a crowded grocery store right now. My medication is doing its job to bring my anxiety level down, but I don’t want to do anything to trigger it again. Not that I ever know what that is on a good day. It could be literally anything from seeing a dirty tissue sitting next to the trash can instead of inside it to someone sneezing on the back of my neck during the height of the pandemic. Yes, that happened. People are fucking disgusting, but I digress.
“Say hi to Michele,” Stacey chirps from the other side of the door, her hand suddenly coming into view as she wiggles her cell phone in my face.
“Hi, Michele,” Parker says with a smile and a small wave, causing me to laugh softly.
“Hey, Parker.” I wave back before grabbing the veggies and chicken and standing to my full height, waiting for her to pull her arm out of the way. “I guess our girl is feeling much better this evening.”
“It would seem so. If I’d gone by the voice message she left me this morning, I'd have thought she was dying.”
“I had been puking for hours. How else did you expect me to sound?” Stacey grumbles, turning the phone screen toward her and sticking her tongue out at Parker.
“No more puking, though, right?”
“She better not, or I’m sending her to your place,” I shout, wanting to make sure he heard me as I drop everything on the counter. “She knows I love her, but not enough to deal with puke more than once in this lifetime.”
The prep work to make this soup isn’t hard, but it is tedious. Thank goodness for the fancy chopper Dad got me for Christmas a few years ago. Judging by the way Stacey is licking her lips as I wash the veggies, I doubt she has the patience for me to dice everything by hand. After I finish washing everything, I bend down to grab the large soup pot from the cabinet.
“You’re going to need to get used to seeing all types of bodily fluids if you’re going to be working in the Timberwolves locker room.”
“Fuck!” I shout as I slam my head into the cabinet frame before snapping to my full height. I rush toward Stacey, basically ripping the phone out of her hand and turning the screen toward me. “What did you say?”
Before Parker can answer, Stacey gasps loudly. “Wait! That’s what was wrong, isn’t it?”
My cheeks heat in embarrassment, but I nod my head in the affirmative, my eyes still focused on Parker’s face. He gives nothing away, his eyes looking anywhere but at me.
“Spill it, mister. You can’t say something like that to her and not give us the details.” Stacey snatches the phone from my hand as I drop to the floor.
The floor is fucking gross. I can’t remember the last time I mopped it, but it doesn’t matter. Stacey walks all over the place with her bare feet all the time. I push to my feet, making a beeline for the sink and filling my hands with soap. With the water turned on high, I scrub my hands together and rub the suds up and down my arms, all the way to my elbows for good measure. I’m spiraling again, and I know it, but damn if I know how to make it stop. Just as I’m about to fill my hand with soap a second time, Stacey grips my hand tightly in hers. She doesn’t say a word, her eyes narrowed at Parker’s reflection on the phone.
“Babe, I could lose my job for saying anything in the first place. Can’t we just go back to talking about how you’re feeling?”
“Not if you want to have sex with your girlfriend.”
Damn, my bestie brought out the big guns in this fight. I give Stacey’s hand a small squeeze, letting her know I’m okay. “It’s okay. I can wait and hear from the hiring manager like everyone else.”
“No, you can’t. Especially when my very loving boyfriend already knows whether you managed to snag your dream job.” Stacey pats my hand softly before turning her attention back to the phone. “Right, honey?”
“Shit,” Parker swears loudly as Stacey turns her phone around. Parker’s entire demeanor has changed since I saw him earlier. His eyes flick between Stacey and me before he runs his hand through his hair. “The hiring manager may have let me know they had decided on an applicant before Stacey called.”
“And?” Stacey motions with her free hand for him to continue speaking. “Did they give you a name?”
I know there is no way that the name the hiring manager gave to Parker for the new physiotherapist for the Portland Timberwolves is mine because when I applied, I didn’t use it. I know what you’re thinking. Lying on a job application is illegal, at least I think it is, but it was the only way I could guarantee no one knew it was me.
Michele Mercer, youngest daughter of three-time Stanley Cup-winning coach Graham Mercer, could get any job she wanted from the Timberwolves organization, regardless of how unqualified I was for the job. I didn’t want that. I’ve wanted to work with a world-class NHL hockey team since the first time my dad brought me to a practice when I was a little girl. At first, it was a way for me to spend more time with my dad, but eventually, it became a game I loved with my whole heart. I was never going to be a hockey player. I’m way too clumsy for that, but the body and how it works has always fascinated me. After I took my first sports medicine class, I was hooked.
I could’ve asked Dad to put in a good word for me so I could get the job easily, but not without strings and a very healthy guilt trip. I almost passed on applying in the first place, afraid of Dad interfering, but the more time that passed, the more I realized I wanted it. I wanted to be given the chance to be part of the Timberwolves training team. I just needed to figure out how to get it myself, hence the use of a fake name.
“What name did you put on the application again?” Parker asks, shuffling papers around on his desk. “I know I have the name here somewhere.”
“The first thing you are doing when we get off this phone is cleaning off your damn desk.” Stacey groans before turning her attention to me. “This would’ve been so much easier if you had told someone besides me what you were doing.”
I didn’t want to tell a soul about even applying for the job, but after one too many bottles of wine after sending the applications off to the hiring manager, I spilled my guts. I had to bribe her with double chocolate brownies and pay to have her laundry done for a week to convince her to keep it from Parker, but as you can see, that didn’t last long. There’s no doubt in my mind that if Parker knew, he’d have told my dad, and everything would’ve been for nothing. I needed to do this on my own. Fake name and all.
Stacey spilled her guts the moment her last load of prepaid laundry was delivered to the condo. She’s never been good at keeping secrets, especially from Parker and me. I knew she was going to spill the beans at some point, but I’d hoped I had more time before telling Parker. Thankfully, it all worked out, and I don’t have to wait any longer to find out if my dream job is mine.
“Sadie Morris,” I whisper, sending a silent prayer to the powers that be that everything is going to work out as I planned.
I’ve always been an overachiever. Taking enough AP classes to have an associate's degree before even graduating high school, then finishing college and managing to get a master's degree in physiotherapy before I turned twenty-one, it’s a no-brainer that I’d want to work for the best team in the league. Sure, there are other places to work, but Oregon is my home.
Yes, I chose my college based on how far away it was from my family, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love Oregon. The plan was always to come home, find a job, and be the best version of myself. Besides, Dad has been coaching the Timberwolves since I was nine years old. My entire childhood was spent in this city. It’s as much a part of me as this team is. I want this more than anything else in my life, and it’s finally within my grasp.
A blinding smile spreads across his face as he says the one thing I’ve been waiting weeks to hear. “Congratulations, Sadie Morris. You are the newest physiotherapist for the Portland Timberwolves. The hiring manager will more than likely call you in the next few days to discuss details and get you set up and ready for your first day of rookie training camp.”
The world seems to narrow down to just me at this moment. My chest tightens as I gasp for air. The pure elation of knowing I’ve finally obtained my dream is overwhelming. My hand grips at my chest as my vision blurs with tears of pure joy.
Stacey screams before quickly ending her call with Parker.
“You didn’t say goodbye.” I giggle as tears of joy pour down my cheeks.
“Serves him right for holding out on us for an entire conversation.” Stacey grasps both my hands in hers, matching tears streaming down her cheeks. “You did it, Michele! You fucking did it!”
We both screech in pure elation as we jump up and down, our hands still tightly clasped. “I fucking did it!”
We continue jumping, screaming, and crying for a few moments before Stacey freezes, her eyebrows instantly pulling down in confusion. “Wait. What are you going to tell them when you arrive on your first day? All your identification says Michele Mercer, not Sadie Morris.”
I guffaw at the look of pure horror on her face. “I know. I’m not a complete idiot.”
“No, you're not, but—” I swear I can see the steam coming out of her ears as she tries to make sense of what is going on right now. I kind of want to let her continue to stew as payback for cleaning up her puke this morning and working a sixteen-hour shift today, but I decide against it.
“Stop thinking so hard. You’ll hurt yourself.” I pull her out of the kitchen before pushing her softly onto the couch. “I had to go in for an in-person second interview. The hiring manager knows my legal name and who I am, but agreed to keep the information secret from my dad.”
“Okay, this is starting to make sense. Please continue.”
“If it wasn’t for all those glasses of wine, I never would’ve told you and Parker that I even applied. Neither he nor my dad is involved in the hiring process, besides giving final approval over whomever they choose to hire.”
Stacey opens her mouth but snaps it shut immediately, nodding her head in agreement. “It’s so stupid looking back on it, but I didn’t want to deal with my dad.”
Stacey wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me in for a hug. “He has never been supportive of me working for a sports team, let alone the Timberwolves. I just wanted a chance to get the job, not having to worry about if he was going to interfere.”
“I’m sorry, Shell my Belle.” She plants a kiss on the side of my head. “You wanted to know whether you were hired or passed over because of your résumé, not whatever your dad had to say. But they realized how freaking badass you were, and the rest is history! I don’t know why you’d think that in the first place, because you are seriously the hardest-working person I know. Who the hell else would they hire if not you?”
Stacey has always been my biggest cheerleader and defender. When things went south a few years ago, she was there to help me pick up the pieces of my self-esteem and my heart. But when Stacey gets going, she rambles. Said rambling could go on for minutes or hours, who knows? I lean back on the couch and listen to her rattle on in my defense. It would be pretty damn impressive if it were necessary.
“No need to defend me, Stacey. I got the job.” I giggle.
“Sorry, I was prepared for all possible outcomes. Not that I didn’t believe you were going to be hired, but it always helps to be prepared.”
I give her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “I love your face.”
“I love you, too. Now we must celebrate.” She jumps off the couch and rushes into the kitchen, noticing the ingredients for the soup on the counter. “After we make the soup, I’ll order you a new pair of pajamas.”
“Deal.” I push off the couch and head into the kitchen to get to work on making our dinner. “Once you wash your hands, you can finish chopping the veggies while I get the orzo boiling.”
“Umm, you know I don’t cook. But I can open a mean bottle of wine or two.” Stacey giggles before pulling two wine glasses out of the cabinet.
“Noted. You can open the wine and order my new pajama pants.” I wash my hands and step around her to begin chopping the vegetables before adding them, along with some extra virgin olive oil, into my soup pot and turning the burner on medium. While I wait for the burner to heat, I add butter and grab some minced garlic from the fridge, and throw a teaspoon of that in, as well.
“I grabbed the chicken broth while I was in the pantry. We only have two bottles of wine. That’s not nearly enough to celebrate.”
“It is only Tuesday, and we both have to work tomorrow.”
“Semantics.” Stacey shrugs before placing her goodies on the counter and hopping up to take a seat beside them.
“That’s not the least bit sanitary, Stacey.” My nose wrinkles in disgust, but Stacey doesn’t move a muscle, only shakes her head.
“I’ll wipe everything down once I get down,” she responds.
I dump the chicken broth and flour into the pot, giving it a good stir before turning my attention to the chicken. While I let everything simmer, I dice the chicken and drop it into the pot before bringing everything to a boil.
“You’ll need to do more than just wipe it down with water, you know that, right? You need to get out the cleaning supplies and even the Lysol wipes. You’ve been sick. Even though you took a shower, lord only knows how many germs are all over your clothes.”
“Shell my Belle, I promise I will clean everything to your exact specifications under your watchful eyes. I’ll even do the dishes.” Stacey leans over and inhales deeply, humming softly under her breath.
“I need to get my dream job more often if it will make you willingly do the dishes.” I put the lid on and turn the burner down to a simmer. “Wait, you can’t put them in the dishwasher. I want them all washed by hand. And dried—not air dried—with a towel and put away.”
“I know how you feel about dishwashers. No dishwasher or air drying. God forbid any of the dishes have streaks.” She rolls her eyes at me before turning her attention back to her phone. “Favorite PJ pants have been acquired. I even paid for expedited shipping, so they’ll be here by Friday.”
“I could get used to this.”
“Don’t. This is a one-night-only thing.” Stacey giggles, hopping off the counter as she reaches for the lid of the soup.
I smack her hand away and shake my head. “One night? Does that mean I can ask you to clean and disinfect the bathroom, too?”
“Don’t push it, Michele. Cleaning is your thing, not mine. Besides, you'll only follow behind me and redo it yourself.”
“True, but it’s nice not to have to scrub the grout with a toothbrush.”
“You scrub the grout? With a toothbrush?”
The look on her face is beyond comical, but I put her out of her misery. “No, I don’t. I can be neurotic about cleaning, but I’m not that bad.”
“So my toothbrush is safe to remain in the bathroom?”
“OMG, Stacey, are you nuts? If I used a toothbrush to clean anything in the bathroom, which I don’t, I wouldn’t use yours. There are over seven hundred different species of bacteria that have been identified in the human mouth.”
“The horror.” Stacey giggles, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “You never told me how the shift went today?”
“OMG, you’ll never believe what happened to me.”
Not only did I get my dream job without help from my father, but I had a total hottie ask me out. The only thing that could’ve made any of this better is if I had actually told him yes. Maybe I’ll see him around again before I start working at the arena. I can guarantee this time if he asks me out, I’ll say yes.