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I prepare to dial Wes again when I spot a word out of the corner of my eye, “I see snow leopard.”
“Fuck, really?!” Hill enthusiastically exclaims. “Where?!”
“Nope.” Good natured giggles help mask the sniffles. “You gotta find it yourself.”
His long-shaped face somehow falls further. “Seriously?”
“You won’t get better if I just circle the answers for you.”
He lightly laughs; however, the opportunity to join him is cut short by the door to my left, the door that patients use to enter the facility, opening.
Hope swiftly swoops into my stare as I hold my breath in anticipation of seeing my fiancé finally walk inside to join me.
Probably rushing Pham or Evie off the phone in the process.
Or maybe finally giving Valora the greenlight for moving our wedding date.
A hooded male walks in, but unfortunately, it’s instantly revealed not to be mine. He flicks the gray coverage down, shakes away whatever water droplets have managed to drop down, and grins brightly at his waiting partner who probably isn’t that much further along than me.
The sight of him embracing her pushes my attention back down to make another phone call, truthfully not wanting to do this alone, yet don't know who to dial.
J.T. is extremely busy with work.
Vanessa’s out of town for Avó’s – her Portuguese grandmother’s – ninetieth birthday.
And Mom is helping Clark assemble a small Justice League approved care package for the ecoterrorist that happened to try to kill her.
Hesitation regarding the one option I have left isn’t surprising.
Maybe I should just go in there alone.
Get used to what my future is going to consist of at this rate.
Letting my finger hover over the call button continues for just a moment more before I hit the key and lift the device to my ear.
Much like Puppet Boy, there are merely two rings prior to an answer. “I already agreed to be your Groom of Honor,” Calen lightly chuckles. “Please don’t make me regret that decision by telling me I have to find a Pine lookalike stripper or wear a Trekkie uniform or give my toast speech in fucking Klingon, dude.”
“None of that crossed my mind.”
“Good.”
“But now that it has…”
“Not good,” he laughs a bit louder as I fidget with my airplane necklace. “Totally not good.”
I don’t bother fighting the small smile doing its best to wash away the sorrow.
What can I say?
Giving each other shit always shifts my mood.
“And like actual not good. Not the not good I used when we were weighing different marine veterinary program options, which were relatively speaking all good, just not good for my great, great grandchildren who’ll be stuck paying off the mountain of debt I’ll have accumulated in lifetimes before theirs.”
Additional snickers seep free.
“You’re not calling to give me more responsibilities, are you? ‘Cause Nes and I were pretty good with the fifty/fifty split we agreed on. It definitely has us stacked for the least amount of dings.”
“You surfin’ today?”
