Page 23 of So Not My Type
“You getting dunked in the toilet like the old initiation days for being my daughter?”
“Seriously, what hellhole fraternity did you belong to?” She tore her gaze from the man sautéing a mound of onions. “No, everyone’s been good.”
Her dad removed his money clip, ordered, and motioned to a picnic table. She stood on the side and tugged her coat tighter. No chance was she coming back to the office with dirty butt marks.
“I bet Sophie’s a great trainer. Reminds me a bit of me, you know?”
Ella breathed out through her nose, not understanding why out of all his employees, Sophie stood out to him so much. She’d heard this comparison more than once over the years. Rumblings of meager beginnings, and how her dad respected anyone who “had the stones” to work their way up like him, how he started a company MacGyver-style with two effing markers, a half-used notebook, and a dream.
Mist gathered on her glasses. She yanked them off, rubbed the lenses with her sweater, and peeked at her watch. 1:52 p.m. Her neck heated. They needed to leave now. She should be prepping for her first solo meeting, not waiting for food.
“She treating you well?” He stepped to the side as a group passed him.
Not really.Sophie wasn’t doing anything inherently wrong, and today was the first time Ella saw the chip on her shouldercrack, but she certainly wasn’t part of the cheer committee. “Yes, everyone’s been really nice.” A notification buzzed, and she grabbed her phone. A wait-listed doctor appointment opened. She made a mental note to check her schedule to see if she could snag it.
“You have to get that?”
“No. It’s UW Medical. I’ll call back.” She shoved the phone in her purse. She took her health seriously, she really did. Limited caffeine, lots of sleep, medications ritual perfected, avoided blinking lights. But right now, work came first. She needed this to land more than she needed her doctor’s laundry list of restrictions, harping on the same message she received since her first seizure fifteen years ago.
Her dad shoved his hands in his slack pockets. “Seems like the new meds are working.”
She stretched her neck and looked behind him, verifying that none of her co-workers had followed them here and overheard her dad blab about her personal business. “Dad.” The words pushed through gritted teeth. “You promised.”
“We promised we wouldn’t tell your new co-workers about your condition, and we’re outside of the office.” He flailed his hands. “I don’t see any of them here.”
Perhaps she should have been clearer with her threats that during working hours, he was never, ever, allowed to ask about medical things.
“And I want it stated, for the record, I think it’s ridiculous your co-workers don’t know,” her father said. “They should all be trained on the nasal spray, and the doctors have repeatedly?—”
“I know, I know.” She put her hand up, not wanting another word. Of course, having the ones surrounding you know about your condition in case of an emergency was best practice. She knew that. The entire world probably knew that. And she wouldtell them, eventually. But right now, she didn’t want any more attention.
“I told Mom I’d keep an eye on you at work. You know how cranky she gets if I fail. Especially when it comes to you.” He chuckled at his decidedly unfunny remark. Tapping his fingers against each other, his chest expanded in a large inhale. “We’re exploring the possibility of getting a therapy dog for you.”
A blaze tore through her chest. A therapy dog?A therapy dog!Yes, they were wonderful and amazing and gifted creatures forotherpeople.Notfor her.
Never once had Ella been ashamed of having epilepsy. Sometimes even, the disorder was a badge of honor. She wanted to hug herself for the way she powered through EEGs as a kid with technicians attaching electrodes to her head, glue sticking in her hair, taking meds, therapy, doctors, everything. She wanted to high-five her thirteen-year-old self who missed a year of school because the memory loss that year was pretty substantial, and studying was impossible.
So, no. She was not ashamed. But the reaction in others gutted her. A sliding scale from “oh, you poor thing” to people terrified she’d drop and shake like a priest dumped holy water on her to rid the demons from her soul. It was her mom damn near having a panic attack when she was younger and left her alone, practically announcing her condition via a bullhorn, while reminding everyone not to stick a metal spoon in her mouth. Or her parents homeschooling her for most of her life, then sending Thomas with her to her college classes like she was on parole. It was having a nanny/nurse/prison guard be on staff at the house, and baby monitors in her room until she was fifteen when she broke down about how invasive it was.
She clocked the time and her stomach burned. 2:08. She was barely going to make it back for the 2:30 meeting. How in the hell had she let her dad talk her into coming here? She shouldhave stood her ground and grabbed a granola bar from a vending machine. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest. Her first meeting, and she was going to come in reeking of onions and sweating. What the hell was she thinking?
The cashier yelled their names and she rushed to the counter. She pushed the bag into her dad’s chest and grabbed his arm. “We need to go. Please, hurry.”
In the vehicle, sinking her teeth into the salted pork and onion sandwich brought a moment of temporary reprieve. She basked in the flavors of the chewy fresh baked bread and warm goodness. Her belly filled, the nauseating hunger bubbles slowing as she checked her watch. It would be tight, but as long as they kept going at this pace, she’d have five minutes to spare.
The SUV slowed to a stop. Ella stretched her neck. “Thomas? What’s going on?”
“Looks like a minor fender bender. Down to one lane.”
No. No, no, no!Her heart thudded against her chest wall and her stomach rolled into a ball and threatened to spill over. “Dad, I can’t do… I’m supposed to be running a meeting in like ten minutes.”
He looked up from his phone and glanced up at the traffic. “Not much you can do about it. Just text Sophie and let her know you’re running late.”
“I don’t have her number!” This was such a rookie mistake. Heat was everywhere. She unzipped her jacket and fanned her face.
“Kid, it’s good. I’ll message Malcolm and have him send it to you.” He set the phone on his lap and gripped her on the shoulder. “I know it’s not ideal, but things like this happen. Don’t worry, Sophie’s great. I’m sure she can handle it.”
Of courseSophie could handle the meeting on her own. That wasn’t the point. Ella wanted to show Sophie thatshecould handle it.