Faking It

Chapter 1

May

I threw my bag into the car so hard that it hit the passenger side window and tumbled onto the floor, its contents scattering. I pulled myself in and rested my forehead on the steering wheel, staring at my lap through the dark, my car keys pressing into the palm of my hand. Visions of the day flashed through my head: ribs cracking under my hands as I performed CPR on an 80 year old woman, her crying family huddled together in the hallway, coming into the room to talk about next steps with a patient who had just been told by the doctor that the cancer that had been in remission was back, helping whisk a patient away to surgery only to have them never open their eyes again.

I lifted my head and looked through the windshield into the dark parking lot. The lights of this new city glittered beyond the lines of cars, Rattlesnake Bridge lit like a runway in the distance.

That was the last day of my 12-hour shifts, I tried to comfort myself, Now, I get four days off. I turned my car on and ran a hand through my hair, weighing the options in my head: part of me wanted to go directly to the house and crawl into bed with my Newfoundland, Boatswain, and not emerge for four days, but another part of me wanted to get shitfaced. I pushed my car into drive, the balance in my head shifting towards the latter option.

This hospital in Tucson was my eighth assignment as a traveling nurse, and the hardest adjustment so far. Normally, by the second week I had been able to acquire at least one friend from the hospital who would unwind with me after a shift, but my current coworkers were preoccupied with being run ragged by the facility and dealing with their own interpersonal dramas. I wasn’t usually one to go out alone, but I was beginning to think that on this assignment, my friends might have to be found outside of the hospital. The clock showed 7:35 on my dash—plenty of time to walk Bo, get showered and changed, and get to downtown just as the Friday evening bar scene emerged.

Bo met me at the door, shoving his massive, furry head into my stomach as a way of greeting. I knelt to rub his face and give him kisses, which he gratefully accepted with the thudding of his tail on the wood floor. He was a 5-year-old Landseer Newfoundland, with a thick black and white coat that I made sure to brush every other day. Apart from being a whopping 150 pounds, he was the perfect travel companion—he rarely ever barked, was friendly with people, other dogs, and all animals, and he was large enough to deter any potential threats to a young, single girl traveling to new cities alone. Just seeing his happy, drooping eyes automatically helped push away the day’s lingering emotions.

“Let’s go on a run, bud.”

I threw my bag onto the king-sized bed and changed out of my scrubs and into a pair of leggings and a zip-up athletic sweatshirt. It was March, and although the Tucson days were reaching 80 degrees, it would still dip into the 40s once the sun set. I pulled on my running sneakers, clipped Bo into his collar, and locked the door behind me as we stepped out onto the sidewalk.

I had rented a house for this assignment in a gorgeous little suburb about 15 minutes from the hospital. The neighborhood appeared safe and wealthy, there was a large fenced-in yard for Bo, and there was a local dog park only about a mile from the house. The house itself had impressed me with its dark oak floors, high ceilings, shelves of books, newly renovated kitchen, and large waterfall shower and jacuzzi.

Outside, the pavement still radiated heat from the day. I breathed in the beginning of the spring air as Bo and I sped to a light jog. He thumped along beside me, panting, toward the dog park.

Just as we reached the front gate of the park, my phone buzzed with a text notification. I looked at my watch and saw the name of the sender—Ryan. I sighed and opened the gate for Bo before unclipping the leash from his collar. A couple that we had seen there a few times played fetch with their two dogs under the outdoor lights at the other corner of the park and Bo trotted over to see them. I pulled out my phone to read the message.

Can we talk, please?

I thought of Ryan, in his expensive apartment in San Francisco, his chocolate hair falling over his forehead as he swirled the wine around his glass and watched his phone for my response. Ryan, with his kind, rich friends who all worked with him in a tech company that none of them could really explain, their beautiful girlfriends of generational wealth so unexpectedly welcoming and warm. Almost against my will, I thought of his firm chest, the ridges of his abs, the veins popping out on his arms as he held my hands above my head and kissed my neck, breathing heavily and giving my neck little bites.

It's not that I don’t want to talk to you, I just know it will make it harder, I responded. He had been amazing, he was the reason I had extended my contract twice and stayed in San Francisco for 9 months instead of the intended 3, and I had enjoyed my time with him, but he had family and a job and an established home. He wanted to live there forever and have kids, and I didn’t want that, yet. I wasn’t ready to give up my adventures and my freedom. I had escaped an abusive long-term relationship and found a love for traveling and independence. Over the last few years, I had paid off my debts and bought two houses, which I rented to other travelers. I was successful and happy, with just Bo and I.

It doesn’t have to be hard, May. It is so easy when we are together.

He was right, it had been so easy, but I knew that if I stayed, I would have regretted the time I missed exploring, and I would grow to resent him. Sometimes, the fleeting moments only remain perfect in their brevity.

I will come visit soon, Ryan, I typed out, But you know that this is best for both of us.

I made my way across the park and visited with the couple for a minute, watching Bo try to keep a stick away from their two terrier mixes. I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep thoughts of Ryan out of my mind. When the notification of his response buzzed on my watch, I ignored it.

After a little while, Bo tired of playing with the other dogs and sauntered to the gate, indicating that he was ready to leave. I said goodnight to the couple, returned the headphones to my ears, hooked Bo to the leash once more and began the jog back.

The adobe houses sat quietly in their neat little rows, with their manicured lawns and warm lights seeping from the windows. The perfect nuclear families ate their dinners, watched the evening news, and worked on the children’s homework together inside of each perfect little home. I quickened my pace, sweat trickling down my temples despite the cool air.

At home, I peeled off my clothes and took a shower so hot that it burned my back in a way that was almost sweet. I poured myself a glass of wine and sipped it while I blow-dried my hair and applied makeup, my phone sitting on the bed, heavy with the unopened text message.

I decided, on a whim, to text one of my coworkers—the only one whose number I had bothered to obtain—to see if she would be willing to meet for drinks, despite having very limited social conversation at work. To my surprise, Ally responded that she could meet for a drink or two, and she sent me the address to a bar downtown that she liked, called The Stallion.

It’s a little more upscale, she texted me, wear something nice.

Her willingness to go out with me, especially on such short notice, surprised me. I knew very little about her personal life—we rarely had a chance to chat between the overload of patients and absolute lack of lunch breaks. She was from Tucson, was engaged to a woman who she had dated for more than 8 years, and she had no actual plans for a wedding. They lived just out of the city with two cats, and I gathered that she was rather estranged from her family.

I wasn’t sure if she would bring her fiancé, or what exactly she meant by a “nice” outfit, but I didn’t want to bug her with questions at the fear of seeming desperate, so I picked out simple, black form-fitting dress, a pair of sleek heels, and some minimalist gold jewelry. Scrutinizing myself in the mirror after getting dressed, I was pleased with my appearance.

I had always had a naturally athletic body shape, which I kept lean by running every day and lifting weights regularly. I maintained an hourglass shape with perky, muscular glutes. The only part of my body that I worried about was my boobs, which were small, due to my naturally thin figure. I had always justified it to myself, though, because running and working out with big boobs would be, I concluded, a giant nuisance. I had employed a padded pushup bra for the night, which rounded the tops of my breasts pleasantly and accentuated my flat, toned stomach.

I had long, blonde hair which I curled and fashioned into a messy half-up hairstyle that highlighted my long neck and collarbones without concealing the length of my hair, which fell down my back.

When I was pleased with the final touch-ups to my appearance, I completed my rounds of the house, locking up doors and confirming that all my hair appliances were unplugged. Bo had fallen into a deep sleep on his massive dog bed in the corner of the living room, and I kissed his forehead before slipping out and into the night.

I decided to drive, reasoning that I would be able to get an Uber home and get my car in the morning if necessary. I drove a new Forerunner, which I had splurged on after completing a particularly difficult, but especially lucrative, assignment in North Dakota. The drive to the bar was easy, but it took a few minutes to find a parking spot in the cramped lots of downtown. I checked my phone once I had parked and realized that there was still about 20 minutes before the time that Ally and I had agreed to meet. I decided to go in anyway and get a seat before the area got any busier.

My heels clacked against the pavement as I made my way down the sidewalk and towards the large wooden doors. A steady heartbeat of music thumped from behind the doors and the amber light from within spilled out from the large windows facing the street. In front of the building, showered in the warm glow of the light, stood a group of men in business jackets with their ties loosened and collars unbuttoned, smoking cigarettes and bantering.

I made eye contact with a tall, brooding man whose cheekbones caught the light and cast shadows onto the rest of his face. He was tall, with his shoulders slightly stooped and he had one hand in his pocket, with the other feeding his mouth puffs of a cigarette. He had wavy dark hair, which looked nearly black in the dim light, that was slightly tousled, as if he had run his hands through it too many times that day. He held my gaze for a moment, which made my heart leap into my throat. There was something about that angular face, the large, dark eyes that captivated me and made me utterly incapable of looking away. One side of his mouth flickered in a sort of half-smile greeting, but the voices of the men he stood with had lulled and it appeared that something in their conversation required his attention, and he broke from my gaze and I ducked my head and hurried past them, into the bar.