THE THING ABOUT life is that you never know when it will show you something that touches you so deeply that you can’t help but be grateful for everything . . . even the bad. That’s how I feel when wheelchairs holding kids pass by me as I walk down the halls of the hospital with the box of supplies in my hand. I round the corner on my way to Jen’s office and stop dead in my tracks when I see Oliver leaving a room, still talking to whomever is inside. Apparently, his residency keeps him in the hospital for endless hours, because every time Vic mentions his name, he’s here. I’m still standing there when he closes the door and walks toward me. Those green scrubs and that doctor’s coat really do nothing to diminish his good looks. If anything, it makes him look even better, but it’s that confident stride of his and the lopsided smile on his face that makes my heart thunder.
“You’re early,” he says, stopping in front of me.
I frown. “No, I’m not. I’m on time.”
Oliver grins. “On time is early for you. You’re always fashionably late.”
“I used to always be fashionably late. Now I’m on time.”
“I’m impressed,” he says, his green eyes playful, as they scan my face. My hands full with the box I’m carrying, I’m forced to blow out a breath to get a strand of hair out of my face. Oliver chuckles, grabbing the hair and tucking it behind my ear. It’s a simple motion, but somehow he makes it feel intimate. His eyes are on mine, his hand still behind my ear, when he steps closer. I’ve never been happier to be holding a box in my life, because the way he’s looking at me makes my heart trip, and I’m not sure what I would do with my hands if they were free.
“What?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
“You’re so grown up,” he says, dropping his voice to match my whisper. It ignites little butterflies in my stomach to take flight.
“You make it sound like you’re so much older than me.”
Growing up, Oliver loved reminding me that he was older. Sometimes he would say it in a lighthearted tone—other times it sounded like a curse—though the curse was only when it was paired with, you’re Vic’s baby sister. And then one time he said . . .
He smiles softly. “I’m old enough to know better.”
My mouth pops open, and I take a step back so he’s forced to drop his hand. That. He said that.
Oliver clears his throat, as he seems to recall the same memory.
“I have to go. I don’t want to be irresponsibly late,” I say, rushing off before he can stop me.
What is he doing?
What am I doing?
I stop in front of a sign that reads: Jennifer Darcia, Assistant Coordinator, and I knock on the door. She calls for me to enter and I do, bumping the door with my hip to close it. I place the box down on one of the empty chairs in front of her desk and smile.
“Hi. I’m Estelle,” I say, letting out a heavy sigh.
“Take a seat. I’m Jen,” she replies.
We shake hands, and I sit down in the chair beside the one that holds the box. She looks like everything I picture as being Oliver’s taste—blonde hair, bright blue eyes, nice smile, and big boobs. The only thing that throws me off is that she’s older. I’m pretty sure she has ten years on me, which would give his little statement a whole new meaning. Maybe that’s his deal—he’s into older women, and I’m too young for him.
“Thank you so much for doing this for us,” she starts. “I’m always looking for new things to keep the kids entertained, but lately the clown shows and movies aren’t cutting it. I just want them to do something different, or at least with someone different, you know? If they have to be here, they might as well have a chance to interact with people other than the ones giving them their medicines.” Her eyebrows draw together as she speaks, and I can tell she’s passionate about the kids. I decide I like Jen.
“I’ll do my best to keep them happy,” I say with a reassuring smile.
“Thank you.” She pauses. “Oliver says you two go way back.”
I startle at the sudden change of subject. “Yeah, he’s my brother’s best friend.”
“I believe the term he used to describe you was his ‘favorite person, ever,’” she says. She’s smiling, and I get the impression she wants me to tell her something private about Oliver, but the thing is, her statement floors me to the point of speech loss.
“He said that?”
Jen nods. “He did.”
“That’s . . . interesting.” Considering everything, I want to add, but don’t.
“Let me show you your new work space. You said you are available three times a week, correct?” she says, standing up.
“I’m available upon request, kind of like a clown minus the face paint—unless you need me to face paint—but I can’t promise you the stuff I work with will come off easily.”
She laughs and puts her hands up. “No, thank you. I don’t want to be held responsible for that disaster.”
Jen takes me to the next wing and shows me where to go and who to speak to, before heading back to her office. As I walk the hallways, I take in the outdated murals that adorn the walls. The only contrast to the blue that covers the walls are the fish that swim in all different directions. Looking at it makes me feel like I’m suffocating. Who would paint a fish tank on the walls of a children’s hospital? For a place that’s supposed to be comforting to the children and parents that have to see this every day, this is unacceptable. I’m shaking my head in disgust when a laugh snaps me out of the moment.
“I take it you don’t approve?” Oliver says, appearing beside me.
“Don’t you have a job to do?” I ask, dishing out my annoyance at what happened earlier and at the hideous hallway in front of us. I move to brush past him, and I bump his arm slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he says, making me stop dead in my tracks. I don’t turn around. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he continues. “It’s just . . . seeing you and then you . . . I just . . . shit.” He laughs.
I turn and face him. “It’s okay. Apologies have never been your strong suit, after all.”
He cringes, and this time I walk away for good.