Abruption (9 page)

Finn held his arms out for me to pick him up, and my already melty heart turned to pureed mush.

“I’ll have Maya pick Max up at preschool and meet you there. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

One more time I reiterated the obvious. “It’s pizza. Of course I don’t mind.”

I lifted Finn onto my hip and he monkey-wrapped his braced little legs as best he could around my waist. All I smelled was baby shampoo. And not the all natural, no suds, fragrance free organic stuff this generation of parents felt the need to use now, but good old Johnson & Johnson. The gold bottle, the kind a single dad with too much to deal with would choose. The kind that reminded me of everything innocent and pure. The kind that could easily clog my throat and make my lungs seize.

Guy’s facial expressions continued to question my sanity while I bent for Finn’s winter coat. “Let’s take the elevator up to get my jacket and purse and then we’ll go. K, handsome?”

“Fine, I’ll grab his stroller for you.”

“No.” It came out harsher than I intended.

“But—”

“No, we’re good.”

Definitely no stroller. We’d get there when we got there, leg braces and all. Or maybe I’d hold him all the way there since he seemed to nestle right into my side as if my body was created to carry a little someone.

Twenty minutes later I belted a very chatty Finn into the wooden high chair, after Purell-ing down the gross handlebars first, of course. I slid him closer to the red and white checkered table and placed our order.

“Dada.” Finn’s delicate finger pointed at the front window. Guy, holding a slightly bigger, pig-tailed version of Finn, pushed through the double glass doors, setting off the chimes. It was weird how I felt his presence immediately, no chimes needed.

He was out of scrubs, and dare I say, out of arrogance, if that made any sense. I saw a glimpse of something else earlier when Finn flustered him, but this was different. Dressed in faded jeans and a dark North Face, he seemed calmer, almost relaxed. The exact opposite of everything I’d ever known him to be. It was the clothes. Had to be the clothes.

“Mind if we join you guys?”

Huh
? Now I was the one flustered.
It’s just the clothes
. The appropriate response would have been, “absolutely” or “so awesome you made it.”

I said nothing.

Again.

“Jules, this is my princess Maxine.”

The little girl climbed in the chair closest to Finn and quickly corrected her father. “I’m Max.”

Thankfully, she also snapped me out of my denim-induced haze, reminding me of who I was dealing with.
It’s just Dr. Hunter
. The same Dr. Hunter who had a track record of treating me poorly, and who, up until a few hours ago, rubbed me the wrong way. The same man who was raising these precious children alone because he lost his wife.

God, how had
I
not said anything?

Something. Anything. I knew better. But now it was too late, right?
Wimp
.

Loss was never a get out of jail free card, but I understood how it had the power to make you forget the rules of the game every now and again. Grief could be all-consuming, and some days just waking up was your only play. Staring at Maxine’s angelic smile and remembering how
she looks just like her mother
, I imagined Guy Hunter had more than his share of bad game days. I suddenly felt like a hypocrite for passing judgment. It was time to start over. And to ignore the clothes.

“Max. That’s an awesome name for such a pretty girl.”

“I’m a big sister,” she said, poking her finger into her polka dot ruffled sweater.

Finn pouted, obviously not too keen on sharing attention or having his sister rain on his pizza day parade. I eyeballed them, waiting for an epic brother/sister showdown and caught a small smirk from Guy.

“Wait, what happened to your case?” I asked, suddenly remembering.

“She ate.” Two words explained enough. It never mattered how many times you reminded patients “nothing after midnight,” people inevitably screwed up. “It was an elective hernia repair so I rescheduled her for next week. More importantly, I promised my little man pizza.”

Finn cheesed so hard his glasses turned crooked, making Guy laugh. It was a deep, genuine sound that raised the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck. My eyes were magnetically drawn to his. The intensity and guarded arrogance was gone and all that was left were bright blue orbs pointed directly at me.

Seriously, Jules?
No other explanation than I was delirious. I was way too old for sleep deprivation—those overnight shifts were making me loony. Mama CeCe-crazy.

“Finny, your glasses, silly.” Max reached over and straightened them for her brother, dousing my uncharacteristic hormonal surge and inexcusable internal awkwardness. “All better. Daddy, I’m hungry.”

“I’ll order a few more slices.”

“No need. I ordered a pie. Should be out any second.”

“A whole pie?” He scrunched his brow and looked at Finn. “Dude, you must be hungry. Or is someone’s eyes bigger than his stomach?”

“Finn and I had a very serious discussion on the walk over. He hasn’t had Maria’s Pizza in a long time. Too long, according to him. It might’ve even been years. And well, I haven’t had breakfast. So a large pie seemed like the only option at the time. And besides, leftover cold pizza for breakfast rules.” Finn pumped out his fist. We bumped. And blew it up. And the magnetic pull brought us back together. “Phew.” Thank goodness I was a fast learner.

Guy’s laughter filled the small restaurant. And I thought I liked his laugh before. This one topped it. I also figured out where Finn got his humongous cheese and adorable dimples. Although I wouldn’t use the word
adorable
in this case. Nope. Definitely not adorable. The adjectives I’d use were not for this PG crowd.

I’d officially lost it—padded room lost it. The giggles coming from Finn and Max were the only thing keeping me grounded. I wondered how often Guy laughed like this (I hoped a lot), because his kids absolutely loved it, and because it was seriously contagious. Enough so, I caught it. Before I knew it, I was clutching my sides and could barely catch my breath.

I hadn’t laughed, really laughed, in seven years.

T
he south elevator was more painful than the downtown local, stopping at every floor. I never took elevators—for this reason, and because surgeons took stairs. It was ingrained from internship, day one. Yet this was my third ride today.

“Hunter, what are you doing over here? I don’t have the blueprint memorized, but I’m pretty sure the OR’s on the north wing. Please don’t tell me Finn’s back in the unit. I’m heading up there now—I didn’t see him on the list.” Meg caught me in the elevator ride to nowhere.

“No, no. Finn’s good. I’m just heading, um—” Shit. What else was over here? “—to the lab. Waiting on some STAT results, you know, trying to speed things up.”

“And you couldn’t find an intern to do that?” She dragged out aaaand when she really wanted to say
yeah right, you’re full of shit
. When the doors slid open to the PICU family, she added salt to the wound. “Have a good one, and don’t get lost down there. I hear the lab guy is pretty scary.”

“Hold the door!” Meg’s hand reflexively reached back and triggered the sensors, beating me to it. I would have used my foot but that was beside the point. The smell of fresh soap and sweet apples permeated the confined space. “Thanks, Meg. Tube system is down again—have to drop these off.” Jules lifted up a couple of specimen bags.

“The lab seems to be a popular destination today. So strange.” Meg peered back over her shoulder and attempted direct visual contact. Smart ass.

This was a stupid idea.

“Oh hey, what are you doing over here?” Jules asked as soon as she noticed me, her high-energy voice stirring something dormant inside.

The doors closed behind her, but she stayed facing me. Wasn’t it elevator etiquette to turn around? She rolled back on her bright purple clogs and crossed her arms. “You were looking for me, weren’t ya?”

“You always so blunt?”

Jules laughed. The real laugh. Shorter and quicker, but definitely the one from the pizza joint. The one that had me riding this stupid elevator, and the one that invaded my dreams every night since last Friday when I watched her pop the last bite of pizza into her sharp-witted mouth.

“Do you always answer a question with a question, Dr. Hunter? Very interesting. You first.”

I couldn’t stop staring at her slightly parted lips and her pinked cheeks. Every other time she’d blushed I was usually acting like an ass and had to look away. This was different. I liked it.