Indefinite (Salvation #6)(6)

Clara is the best. She’s brilliant, beautiful, and has a kind heart. It’s honestly one of the main reasons I continue to work here. We have a very good rhythm and she never pulls punches. If there’s an issue, she tells you and then goes to work to fix it. There’s never any drama and she likes to face things head on.

There’s not a challenge she won’t accept.

We’re total opposites in every way, but we are the perfect combination. She grew up in a gang-ridden area of New York City, raised by her single father after her mother took off. Clara could’ve fallen right into the pattern so many have with the violence around her, but she fought against it and earned herself awards and accolades other doctors only dream of. Including being the first African-American woman to earn recognition from both major reproductive organizations in America.

Having her on my side with this is everything.

“Sounds great. When?”

“I have time for the exam now, if you want to get started right away?”

“Really? Yes! Of course!”

Clara’s eyes fill with warmth, and I relax a bit.

The door that slammed in my face has been unlocked.

It’s not opened yet, but we’re getting there.

For the last six months, I’ve been in a rut. Now, I know what I want, I have a plan, and I’m going to get it.





4


Ashton





“Ma!” I yell as I enter the house. “You home?”

“In the kitchen!”

Our family dinners are the only requirement my mother has of me. She doesn’t care that I moved to New York or that I’m a fancy baby maker. To her, I’m just her daughter, and that means I move heaven and Earth to get my butt in this house on Sunday afternoons.

Being away at college was an understandable excuse, after that, it was only acceptable if I was traveling. Even then it was a bit dicey because she firmly believes that I should be home on Sundays. However, I don’t actually travel, I only say I do because she exhausts me and I need a break sometimes.

“Hey,” I say as I enter the room that hasn’t changed since I was six. It still has the dark wood paneling that matches the floor and the drop ceiling that I hate. It’s old, but homey. My parents bought this house from my mother’s parents, and the only update they have done is to install new countertops.

If it were me, I would’ve gutted the entire house.

I walk over and kiss her cheek, but when I pull away, she grabs my face. “Look how tiny you are. You’re working too hard and not eating enough.”

My mother is the best. She’s about four foot eleven and continues to tell everyone she’s really five foot, but we know the truth. Her once brownish-red hair has turned silver, but each week, she’s at the beauty parlor getting it done and covering any of her “glitter.” She also blames me for each gray hair on her head.

“I’m not working too hard, and I’m not losing weight,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her shoulders.

“You need to eat more.”

“I eat enough.”

“Look at you,” she says with her Jersey accent thickening. “You’re all skin and bones. Here, eat some bread.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m going gluten-free.”

The look of horror on her face is worth it. “You’re what?”

I fight every part of me that wants to smile and give it away. “I hear it’s bad for you, so I’m not going to eat it anymore. No more bread or pasta,” I say while looking over at the pot. Sure enough, there’s the spaghetti cooking. “I’ll just be eating chicken and vegetables from now on. Do we have chicken?”

Her lips are parted and she keeps shaking her head. “What are you saying? What about all of this food? You love pasta.”

“I can’t eat it, Ma. You don’t want me to do anything that would make me sick, right?”

“I-I—of course not . . .” She pats her hands down her apron. “I’ll make you some chicken.”

She turns around and now I feel bad. It was funny before, but she looks so sad that I can’t keep this going. “I’m kidding, Ma!”

She slaps my arm. “Oh, you’re such a brat.”

I shrug and grab the piece of bread. “I get it from Daddy.”

“Yes, your father is a pain in my ass, just like you are.”

“But you love us.”

“God only knows why.”

I kiss her cheek again and then sit in the chair. Each week, I offer to help cook and each time she tells me to sit. So, I’m skipping the first part. This is how she expresses her love, and I love her for it.

“How are you?”

“Good,” she smiles. “I went and visited this morning with Mrs. Burke. She misses Gretchen so much. I hope you never up and move on me.”

My mother and Gretchen’s are very close. Gretchen’s family is as insane as mine and have forced Sunday brunch. I say forced because we don’t get to miss if you’re related to them. When we were kids, I would go to Gretchen’s house and then she’d come to mine.

“I’m sure you’d survive if I left. But I have no plans to go anywhere.” Not since my love life is in the crapper and I’m going to need my parents once I’m pregnant. I glance around, noticing there are more chairs than usual. “Who else is coming?”