Page 2 of Jilted By Jack Frost
“Bedpans are the price you pay for your vacation in Hawaii with your boyfriend, unfortunately.”
Alana hesitates, then shrugs. “Worth it.”
I go back to staring out the window, not bothering to hide my disgust. “Blizzard or no, I’m walking out of this hospital immediately after clocking out.”
“Violet, no.”
“Alana, yes,” I reply, nodding aggressively. “I live two blocks from here. Hell, I walked to work this morning. Literally nothing will keep me here past midnight, Alana.”
“They’re going to find your ice-covered body in a ditch three miles from here tomorrow morning.”
I debate it for a moment. “That’s still preferable to spending the night here.”
She shakes her head and clicks her tongue. “You’re insane.”
“I’m determined,” I correct.
“Insanely determined,” she amends.
Laughing, I turn away from the window and face her. Alana’s messy bun is more messy than bun at this point, but somehow she makes it look good. I blame it on her gorgeous blonde curls and the facial features her equally gorgeous mother passed down to her.
I, on the other hand, am the brown-haired, round-cheeked version of my father. Same mossy green eyes, though mine are doe-eyed like my mothers, same straight nose, same smile, with my top lip just slightly smaller than the bottom. We even share the same freckle that sits just below our jaws on our necks.
We’re both quiet for a long moment, but then I say, “When am I going to get to go to Hawaii?”
Alana snorts and hands me her bag of chips. “It’s not my fault you’re not living your best life, babe. You could always join me on a vacation to Cancun! I could use someone to help me keep the boys in check.”
“Ah, yes. Because I’m renowned for my charming personality and social finesse,” I reply, pretending to contemplate. “That might be a dangerous mix.”
We both laugh, and I add, “But maybe Ishouldstart planning a getaway.”
She turns her head to look over her shoulder before saying, “I’ve got to get back to work. How much longer is your break?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. “A solid six minutes.”
“Perfect. Gives me just enough time to change Mrs. Bradford’s bedpan before you and I sneak into the operating theater and catch the tail end of the laparotomy Brad’s doing?”
Brad, her current boyfriend, is a surgeon. They’re the cutest, most vomit-inducing couple I’ve ever met, and I’ve been their third wheel for a little while now.
Because it’s always just been me. The last time I had an even semi-serious relationship was in college, and I was so emotionally detached that I had to think about my betta fish that died three days prior to pull enough tears to act sad when he told me he’d been cheating on me.
One could say I am chronically unavailable when it comes to my emotional vulnerability.
“Sure,” I say, smiling back at her. “Who am I to turn down the opportunity to watch your boyfriend root around in some old lady’s innards?”
Alana made a face. “I hate when you describe things like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like, with the most disgusting words you can think of.” She shakes her head, but I can see the laugh she’s fighting back.
“That’s not true. Icouldhave said that he was wrist deep in—“
Alana interrupts me by fake gagging. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet I’m not the one who’s about to go dump a bowl of urine down the drain. Funny how life works.”
Alana laughs and gives me the finger while backing away. “Screw off.”