Page 29 of Brain Damage

Jamie grins at her. I was right—he does have a nice smile. “I don’t have it.”

Betty’s voice becomes more stern: “Where is it then?”

“It’s in my butt,” he reports very seriously.

I start to laugh. Hard enough that I almost start choking on the water I worked so hard to be allowed to have.

“That’s not funny,” Betty says.

Jamie winks at me. “Helmet Girl thinks it’s funny.”

Betty folds her arms across her chest and taps her foot angrily. After a few seconds, Jamie pulls out the package of cream cheese from the seat of his wheelchair, and throws it in her general direction. It misses her by about two feet and lands on the floor.

Betty sighs and scoops up the package of cream cheese from the floor. “Come on,” she says to him. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I watch as Betty wheels him away. Lunch in the hallway really isn’t so bad.

20

BEFORE

I can tell Clark is in a good mood this morning because he’s whistling. Clark always whistles when he’s happy. I recognize most of the tunes he whistles as pieces from Mozart, which seems like an odd thing to whistle. I mean, who whistles classical music?

I recognize at least some of the music from my amazing music appreciation class in high school (thank you, Mr. Lieberman). This morning he’s whistling a piece I think is called Requiem as he makes his way out of our bed and into the bathroom. I smile and hum along softly to myself.

I’m going to marry this guy. We’re actually going to have a use for the second bedroom.

After Clark takes what sounds to be the longest piss in the history of the universe, he comes out of the bathroom full of energy and presumably ten pounds lighter.

“Let’s go out to breakfast,” he says, “and then we’ll get your ring resized.”

The ring he bought me is a bit big. He got my size by measuring one of the rings in my jewelry box, but considering my weight is currently at an all-time low, he overestimated the size. And he adorably wants to go with me to get it fixed.

“Sure,” I say.

Clark flicks on the light, and I shield my face instinctively. I washed off all my makeup last night, and I don’t want Clark to see the purple circles that formed under my eyes during residency and never went away. And that reminds me, I’ve got to get my hair retouched—my roots are very visible.

I’m as quick in the bathroom as I can possibly be, then Clark and I take off in the direction of Our Diner. Yes, we have a diner. Initially, we went to a different restaurant every time we went out, but we both love the silver dollar pancakes at the Greek diner two blocks away, so every time we go to breakfast, that’s where we end up. Everything is still pretty new between us, so it’s nice to have one comfortable habit forming. I can see us going to Our Diner thirty years from now, when we’re old and gray-haired. (Well, Clark will be gray-haired. I’ll still be honey blond thanks to the hairdresser.)

Clark holds the door open for me. “After you, m’lady.”

I smile and push past him, nearly running smack into a man who looks incredibly familiar. His face lights up when he sees me. “Hi there!” he says.

“Hello…” I say, hoping to place him before this gets embarrassing. A patient maybe? A former classmate?

Luckily, he notices my hesitation. “It’s Stan. Stan Leroy. You treated me in your clinic for…”

Groin Fungus Guy! Right. How could I forget? Especially after he asked me out and I was forced to reject him.

“Oh, right!” I say. “How are you doing, Mr. Leroy?”

“Can’t complain,” he replies. He glances over at Clark, and they eye each other curiously.

“This is my fiancé,” I say, nodding in Clark’s direction. God, it feels weird to say that. I’m sure it will be even weirder to say “husband.”

“Oh, congratulations then,” Mr. Leroy says, his face falling noticeably. “How did the two of you meet?”

I send Clark telepathic vibes to keep his mouth shut. It doesn’t work. He grins with his perfect white teeth. “Actually, I was her patient.”