“What if I need surgery? I need surgery?” I said as tears began to fall from my eyes. “I don’t need surgery. Do I need surgery?”
“Ladies,” the cab driver said, “what’s it gonna’ be?” The “Don’t Walk” sign had come up and I could tell that our red light was about to turn green.
“Lenox Hill!” I said.
“She means Mount Sinai,” Vanessa said.
“No, I don’t!” I said. “Vanessa, for the love of God! Lenox Hill!”
The cab hopped the traffic light on red and took a sharp turn onto Seventy-second Street as Vanessa and I stared each other down. Neither of us even moved as the cab lurched as it turned. We were like Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday at the O.K. Corral, even though we were actually in a taxicab and I think that those guys were on the same side. But you get the general point I was trying to make with that one.
“Ladies,” the cab driver said, “we’re going to compromise and take you to Weil-Cornell New York Presb on Sixty-eighth Street, okay?”
“Thank you,” we called out in unison.
Our cabbie ripped across town to York Avenue and I was hopping into the emergency room in two minutes flat.
“Maybe your friend can help you to a seat so that you can fill out these forms,” the admitting nurse said to me with a smile as she handed me a clipboard filled with papers.
“I’m here alone,” I said to the admitting nurse as I steadied myself on a wall. “My best friend has absolutely no regard for my health whatsoever.”
“She tripped on a hot dog in the park,” Vanessa said, ignoring me completely. “And now she has blinding pain in her ankle.”
“Can you walk on it?” the nurse asked me, silencing a laugh.
“It’s not funny,” I said to the nurse.
“She can’t walk on it,” Vanessa said.
“I’ll take care of these two, Nurse Carlson,” an English accent from behind us announced. “Are they checked in?”
“Yes, they are, Dr. Locke,” the nurse said, smiling coyly at the doctor.
I turned around and recognized a set of immaculately groomed dreadlocks. They were held back by that same chocolate-colored bandanna he’d worn when we’d first met him at Millie’s art gallery.
“Christian?” Vanessa said. “Brooke, you remember Christian from my mom’s art gallery, don’t you?”
“It was a week ago,” I said, still clutching the wall, “so, yes.”
Christian helped me into a wheelchair and walked us back to the examining area. He and Vanessa then carefully got me up onto a hospital bed where Christian pulled back the curtain to examine my ankle in private. Which was good since I hadn’t shaved my legs since the wedding.
Oh, please. As if you shave your legs when no one’s going to see them.
“So, how was your ex-boyfriend’s wedding?” Christian asked as he poked and prodded my ankle.
“Fine,” I said. “Ouch!”
“Okay,” he said, “I’m going to put a little pressure on it. Tell me if this hurts.”
“Ouch.”
“So, everything worked out at the wedding?” he asked, still looking down at my ankle. “Are you and Douglas back together?”
“It didn’t exactly work out the way I had planned,” I said. “Ouch.”
“Most things never do,” he said. “But that’s what makes life exciting, right?” Vanessa and I both stared back at him blankly. It was still before eight o’clock in the morning — my usual wake-up time — and I could do without my current “excitement.”
“So, whatever happened with that other guy,” Christian asked, now moving my leg around in circles, “the one who was at the opening with you two? He seemed very interested in you, Brooke.”
“Oh, that didn’t work out, either,” I said as Vanessa grabbed my hand and smiled at me. Christian turned my ankle in a slow circle. “Ouch.”
“I see,” Christian said, looking up at me as he stopped poking and prodding my ankle. “Okay, Brooke, the good news is that it’s not broken.”
“Thank you,” Vanessa said, taking on the maternal role, her hands clutching the metal bar of the hospital bed.
“You do have a nasty sprain here, though,” he said. “I’m going to put you on crutches for a while.”
“I can’t be on crutches!” I said. “I live in New York City! How will I get around? I walk everywhere — how will I walk? Or the subway — how will I get down the stairs to the subway?”
“Think of it as a good excuse to take cabs everywhere,” Vanessa said, and then added under her breath: “Which you sort of do anyway.”
“Staying positive,” Christian said. “That’s good, Vanessa. I’m glad to see that. I hear from your mom that you’re not having the best time of things lately.”
“I’ll be okay,” Vanessa said. “At least I’m not on crutches.”
“Ha ha,” I said.
“Well, if you ever need to talk about it,” Christian said, “you know where to find me.” Is this man flirting with Vanessa while he’s examining my ankle? The nerve! How is he going to give my ankle a proper analysis? This is why people are always complaining about the state of health care in the United States.
“I don’t need to talk about it,” Vanessa said, smoothing back her hair.
Even though the pain was maddening, all I could think was if Vanessa marries yet another doctor before I’ve had a chance to marry even
“So, I can’t go to work today, right?” I asked Christian.
“No, you can go to work,” he said, still preening in Vanessa’s general direction.
“Are you absolutely positively sure?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, eyes still glued on Vanessa.
“Because I don’t have to go to work,” I said, ever the trooper.
“Brooke, you can go,” he said.
“Can you check again?” I asked. He shook his head
“Let’s start with an ice pack and some ibuprofen. I’ll go get you a soft ice pack that you can use for the next forty-eight hours,” Christian said as he pulled back the curtain and walked off to get me an ice pack, but not before he patted Vanessa on the hand before he did so.
“Don’t worry, Brooke,” Vanessa said. “Everything will work out.”
“It’s badly sprained, Vanessa,” I said. “It’s done. It’s over. There’s nothing to work out.”
“I was talking about Jack,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. “I guess I feel the same way about Jack. I screwed up. It’s done. It’s over.”
“No, it’s not. With Jack, it is in no way done or over. With the ankle thing, you’re just screwed.”
“Thank you for that sensitive commentary,” I said, grabbing at my ankle.
“I’m kidding!” she said. “It’s going to be fine! It’s not broken, and you’ll be back on your feet within weeks. In the meantime, you have an excuse to not exercise and take cabs everywhere! I would think that that would be your secret fantasy or something.”
“It would have been my fantasy if I also got a note saying that I couldn’t go to work.”
“I’ll work on it when he gets back,” Vanessa said, looking out past the curtain for Christian to return.
“Are you going to flirt with him some more?” I asked.
“I wasn’t flirting with him,” Vanessa said, toying with the zipper on her sweatshirt.
“Yes, you were,” I said. “You know, it’s okay if you were.”
“I know,” she said. “It just still feels like cheating somehow. I’m not ready to flirt with strangers just yet.”
“You don’t have to be ready yet,” I said. “Just take your time. Everything is going to work out the way it’s meant to.”
