Page 46 of Accidentally Engaged
“Are you reading off of something?” I ask wearily.
“Aunt Belinda sent me the itinerary. You’ll probably get yours this week—oh, and act surprised when Gerri calls you later. I’m not supposed to have said anything.”
“Oh, God...”
My mother could have a career as a battering ram. She just keeps plowing ahead. “Now, day three is a spa day and rehearsal dinner at night. Day four is the wedding and reception—noon to midnight it says, and then on day five, you need to check out by eleven. You’ll have five days with Barry’s cousin, who is going to be a groomsman. I’m sure—”
“Mama, I’m going to bring my boyfriend.” The words burst out before I can hold them in.
Mama goes silent.
My momentary feeling of victory vanishes the longer the silence goes on—because I don’t have a boyfriend. And Mama’s silence means that she’s just reloading. “I gotta g—”
“Boyfriend?Boyfriend!?What boyfriend? How long have you been dating? When were you going to say something? Where did you meet him? Why did I not know about this? Chuck! Minnie has a boyfriend!”
“Mama, don’t get Daddy invol—”
“A boyfriend! About damn time. How serious is it? How long have they been dating? What does he do for work?”
“Oh, damn it, I’m getting paged. I’m on call. We’ll talk later.”
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this. Tomorrow night. Facetime.”
“Yep, okay. Love you, bye!”
I sag against the shower.
“Well. That was stupid. Not like I can ‘rent a boyfriend’ for spring break.”
2: Craig
“Craig. I... Do you have any coffee pods for the machine?”
“Uh, no. I stopped at The Pine Loft this morning. Wanted to treat myself.”
“Ooh. Any special occasion?”
Minerva Johnson sits down on the edge of the counter that separates my desk from the hospital corridor, navy blue scrubs pulled tight over her hip, showing me the generous curve of her bottom. I shouldn’t look. She’s a colleague. A co-worker. A long-time work friend. Her full name is Minerva, after the Roman goddess of wisdom, but it should have been Venus because she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
“It’s my birthday. The big three-five,” I finally manage to say, hoping I didn’t just zone out and stare at her for as long as it felt. And the big three-five? Who says that?
“It is? Happy birthday, hon!”
Hon. She called me hon. She’s a nurse in the small geriatric department at the hospital. I lead the even smaller social work department (me and two other people). Minnie probably calls everyone hon out of habit. I try not to drool—and drool is a real possibility. If I had a tail, it would be wagging right now, but fortunately, as a wulver, I have the head of a wolf but the body of a man. (Mostly.)
Humans are oblivious to the supernatural around them, which is why Minnie gives me a critical stare and says, “You’re looking sharp, birthday boy. No gray in that beard yet.”
Beard, she says. She’s not the first person to compliment me on my fur as if it’s a beard or tell me I have “shampoo commercial hair.” I wish she’d see the real me, muzzle and all. If she did, it would be so much easier. She could scream, faint, reject me, and I could stop dreaming that one day she’ll say something like—
“Craig? We’ve known each other for a few years, right?”
My ears prick forward. “Five years, I think.”
“We’ve done a lot of crazy things together. This hospital has seen some weird ass cases.”
Orcs. Mummies. Dragons. She doesn’t realize that some of the stranger cases have been a case of the supernatural, not science. I just nod and chuckle. “Sure have.”
“And we’ve been through a lot. Snowed in for triple shifts. Stuck elevators. Escaped dementia patients. Lobbying for them to put a real nursing home in Pine Ridge at every town hall meeting since...”
