Page 5 of Thiago (Family Ties #6)
Chapter Five
“ A ll done.” Mikah, India’s barber, turned the chair around so she could see the finished product.
She turned her head to examine her profile as she smoothed a hand down the newly trimmed sides of her fade. “Perfect, as usual.”
“You know I got you,” Mikah said, passing her a hand mirror.
She checked the back, which looked as good as the front and sides.
“What would I do without you? Don’t go anywhere,” India said.
He laughed as he untied the cape from around her neck.
She was joking but serious. After her last barber closed up shop, it had taken her months to find Mikah. She had visited three separate barbers in the process, none of whom had done a good enough job and had left her so frustrated she had contemplated learning to cut her own hair.
“I’ll see you next month,” India said, handing over cash.
“Have a good one,” Mikah called as she walked away.
As she strolled out of the shop, the eyes of several of the men followed her.
Oddly enough, she seemed to get the most attention when she was dressed down like she was today, in burgundy joggers, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt with Not Adulting Today on the front.
The shirt had been a gift from her best friend, Kiara, as a reminder to slow down and do nothing sometimes.
India had ended up purchasing two more in different colors.
Despite the shirt, she had a little adulting to do today. It was Saturday, so she was on her way to the grocery store. She climbed into her Audi A7 and drove to Whole Foods. After parking, she walked into the store, mentally going through the short list of items she needed.
She took her time in the produce section, examining apples, grapes, and strawberries before adding the chosen ones to her cart.
Slowly, she browsed the other aisles, stopping to toss in a bag of chips before moving toward the refrigerated section with milks and creamers.
She smiled briefly at a mother pushing a cart with her toddler seated in the basket, the little boy babbling away while his mother absentmindedly nodded and mhmmed as her eyes scanned the shelves.
In front of the refrigerated section, India gently gnawed the inside of her lip. There were so many choices for non-dairy milk nowadays. Not only almond, oat, or soy, but also organic, sweetened and unsweetened, vanilla flavored, and on and on.
She sighed. She just wanted something to splash in her morning coffee.
“First world problems,” she muttered to herself, swinging open the door to the case.
She reached for a carton of unsweetened almond milk but stopped when pressure bloomed in her chest. Tight and suffocating, the sensation spread quickly, clamping like a vise around her ribs and stealing her breath. Her heart thudded against her sternum, erratic and heavy.
Her hand gripped the refrigerator door for balance as a wave of nausea rolled through her. Suddenly, the overhead lights seemed extra bright, and the distant hum of the conversations around her were rather loud. Downright harsh.
India pressed a palm against her chest, a panicked whisper of air slipping across her lips.
Oh no.
Was she having a heart attack? Like her mother had suffered when she passed in her late twenties?
Panic kicked in. She wasn’t ready to die yet, and certainly not in front of the non-dairy milk products of her local Whole Foods.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The mother with the toddler trained concerned eyes on her.
Unable to speak, India could only give a vigorous shake of her head. Then she shoved the milk back onto the shelf and power-walked away, switching to a jog as she neared the front of the store. When she slipped through the automatic doors, a man coming in gave her a strange look.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she muttered to herself, as if saying the words out loud would make them true and force the pain in her chest to disappear.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d prayed, but she uttered a quick one now. “Please don’t let me die,” she whispered desperately.
As she approached her Audi, she removed the keys from her shoulder bag with a trembling hand and hit the power button. The doors unlocked, and she climbed into the driver’s seat. After quickly buckling herself in, she peeled out of the parking lot with her hands gripping the steering wheel.
Where is the darn doctor?
Clutching her purse on her lap, India shifted restlessly, the paper on the exam table making a crinkling noise beneath her.
She shouldn’t be so grumpy. They’d led her back for tests right away when she told them she might be having a heart attack, but as far as she was concerned, that had been the easy part. The hard part was waiting.
She was terrible at waiting, and that’s all that ever happened in an emergency room, it seemed, which was worsened by the smell—like some horrible combination of antiseptic and overused grease from a fast-food restaurant.
She sighed, looking around the white room. At least her chest had stopped hurting. A good sign, surely.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and she perked up. In walked the doctor, a good-looking man with tanned skin, wavy hair, and glasses. He wore an easy smile and held a clipboard in the crook of his arm.
“India Monroe?”
“That’s me.” She breathed quietly through her mouth, waiting for his assessment.
“I’m Dr. Stone.”
They shook hands. His were large, enveloping hers in a warm grasp.
“I have great news,” he said, looking down at a sheet of paper on the clipboard. “Your EKG was normal, and the labs look fine. I can say with confidence you were not having a heart attack.”
India exhaled, her muscles relaxing. “Thank goodness. Then what the hell happened?”
“Classic case of heartburn. Dramatic heartburn, but heartburn nonetheless.”
She stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not,” he said with a laugh. “It happens. Stress and diet are among the biggest contributors. You’d be surprised how many high-powered execs come in thinking they’re dying after eating a spicy meal.”
“What makes you think I’m an executive?” she asked, considering how she was dressed.
He studied her for a moment in silence. “You have that look about you.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Doctor.”
“It is,” he assured her.
The direct, interested way he was looking at her made her cheeks flush with heat.
India cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Well, I’m glad to hear I wasn’t having a heart attack. My mother died of heart failure at only twenty-eight years old. I assumed I was about to join her in front of the non-dairy milks and creamers.” She grimaced.
A crooked smile touched his lips. “Not today.” Then he sobered. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
She waved off the comment. “It happened a long time ago. I was only ten at the time, but the reason for her passing stayed with me. I’m very careful about my exercise and diet.”
“As everyone should be, but you especially. I see here you have lupus?”
India nodded. “Complications from lupus killed my mother, and I was diagnosed in college.”
The pain started in her hands, persistent and eventually spreading to her shoulders.
The first doctor she went to suggested she might have arthritis but couldn’t find any evidence of the disease.
When the pains expanded to her legs, she went to see another doctor who gave her a blood test and noted the elevated markers for lupus.
They referred her to a rheumatologist, who confirmed the diagnosis and started her treatments.
With subsequent research, she learned her mother hadn’t died from simple heart failure.
Her mother had complained of aches and fatigue for years, and by the time she died, rashes had broken out on her skin.
When India searched through her mother’s paperwork, she found the truth: her mother had suffered from lupus, which had inflamed her heart and ultimately caused her death.
Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Dr. Stone folded his arms. “How are you doing now?”
“I’m fine. I had a bad episode about five years ago where I was hospitalized for a while, but I’m better now, thank goodness. Occasionally I have a flare, but nothing extreme. It’s mostly under control.”
“You’re taking care of yourself, taking your meds?”
“Always. Like clockwork," India said.
“Good, but I do need to scold you a little bit. You should not have driven yourself to the emergency room. That was very risky.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to waste time calling 911?—”
“If you were really having a heart attack, you could have lost consciousness and caused an accident, injuring yourself and others.” He interrupted her with a gentle but firm no-nonsense tone.
“You’re right,” India said.
He arched an eyebrow. “That was surprisingly easy.”
“I’m a reasonable person,” she said with a smile.
“So next time you’ll call 911 or have someone bring you to the ER?”
“Hopefully there won’t be a next time, but I will if it happens.”
The truth was, there weren’t many people India could count on in such a situation.
There was her best friend, Kiara, but she was visiting her mother out of state, and India didn’t have any close family in town.
She couldn’t call the man she was sleeping with because of their no-strings relationship.
The doctor straightened. “Do you have any questions for me?”
India shook her head, distracted by her sobering thoughts. All she had going for her was work. How sad. She’d turned into her mother without realizing it. At least her mother had her, a child. India had no one.
“Since you narrowly escaped death, I suggest celebrating with a non-acidic meal.”
“I will,” she promised, thinking about her abandoned cart at Whole Foods. She needed to finish shopping. One of their frozen family meals typically fed her for a few days.
“I know some great places if you ever want a recommendation, or company while you eat.”
His words snapped India out of her ruminations. She was about to ask if he was hitting on her when he extended a white business card.
“Call me any time if you have questions or… need anything else.” Light color tinged his cheekbones. At least he knew he had no business hitting on her in the ER.
“Thank you,” India said, taking the card. His first name was Simon. Simon Stone.
He cleared his throat. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Monroe. Lay off the spicy tacos, okay?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “I’ll do my best.”