Life and Other Inconveniences(105)

I was going to have to cut them out. Or go to a salon, but it was eight thirty at night already.

“Tess, no!” Miller shouted from the kitchen, and then came a high-pitched scream. “Shit! Oh, honey!”

I went out, my feet still greased with corn oil. Miller held Tess in his arms, and she was screaming in fury—and bleeding from the chin all over Miller’s shirt.

“She climbed on the table and jumped and hit her chin on the counter,” he said, panic in his voice.

“Let me see,” I said, slipping over to them, grabbing onto Miller’s shoulder when I started to fall. I could barely hear myself over Tess’s screams. She had about a half inch cut on her chin. “It’ll need stitches,” I said.

And so it was that, with two metal beaters stuck in my hair, requiring me to hunch over the steering wheel to avoid contact with the headrest, wincing every time we went over a bump, I drove Miller and Tess to the Urgent Care Center in Mystic, which, ironically, was just down the street from the pirate restaurant.

Tess screamed the entire fourteen-minute drive, kicking my seat and whipping her corn-oiled hair around as Miller sat in the back with her, trying to press a dishcloth against her chin as she thrashed in her car seat.

I stopped the car. “Meet you inside,” I said as Miller unbuckled his daughter. My ears were ringing; I couldn’t imagine how he could still hear with her face against his shoulder. They looked like something out of disaster footage, both of them filthy and bloody.

And then there was me. I pulled the car into a space, got out, and yelped as I caught the damn beater on the car. Cursed, because it hurt like the devil—the whole back of my head was on fire—and went inside.

There were a couple of firefighters in their turnout gear milling around. One did a double take when he looked at me.

“Jesus, lady, what happened?” he said. “Oh, hey! You’re the woman who gave that guy the EpiPen! Uh . . . date went south from there?” The firemen, accustomed to people’s pain, laughed.

“It’s like Fifty Shades of Grey, kitchen edition,” his colleague said, and they guffawed and high-fived.

I would’ve been irritated, but they were firefighters and saved lives and had twinkly eyes and all that. “Happy to entertain, boys,” I said. “And I do mean boys. You see a screaming toddler?”

“They just went in.”

“And the guy from the restaurant? How’s he?”

“We’re not allowed to tell you.” He gave me the thumbs-up just the same. So much for HIPAA.

I checked in with the receptionist and was directed through the doors to exam room four. The second the doors opened, I could hear Tess. “You hurt me, Daddy! You hurt me!”

“Honey, you jumped off the table. I didn’t hurt you.”

“Yes! You did!”

I went in. “Hi, guys.”

The doctor was in, and she, too, did a double take when she saw me.

“Are those beaters?”

“Yeah.”

“Fun night for you two.” She looked at Tess’s chin. “Yep, she’s gonna need stitches.”

“Good luck,” Miller said.

The doctor chuckled. “We’d like to give her a little sedation, rather than hold her down. Is that okay with you?”

“Jesus, yes.”

“Great. It’ll just dope her up a little so she won’t fight us. Because we would lose, wouldn’t we, honey? You’re fierce! Dad, you can stay but only if you’re not a fainter.”

“Be quiet!” Tess yelled, then resumed sobbing.

Miller kept trying to hold Tess’s hand, but each time, she yanked it away and tried to touch her chin. “Honey, don’t touch it,” he said. “It’ll hurt more.”

“I hate you,” Tess said. “I hate you!”

“That’s okay,” he said. “I still love you.”

My heart broke a little.

The nurse anesthetist got the stuff for an IV and prepped Tess’s arm, then injected the drug. Within seconds, Tess relaxed, her eyes glazed. The silence was beautiful.

“Hey.” A nurse poked her head in the doorway. “You want help with those beaters?”

“Miller?” I said. “You want me to stay for the stitching?”

“No, no. It’s fine.” He was petting Tess’s tangled, oily hair, and another piece of my heart broke off.

“Thanks,” I said to the nurse. “Long story.”

“You want me to take a picture of you?”

“No, I do not,” I said. “Actually, sure, just one for my daughter.”

She took the picture, and I texted Riley. And how is YOUR night going?

OMG! came the immediate response. Is this Tess’s work?

It is. They have to cut the beaters out. Also, she cut her chin and we’re at urgent care.

Is she okay???

Yep. Needs stitches, though.

Mom, just shave your head. You’ll be totally on fleek.

Twenty minutes and half my hair later, the beaters were out. Sophia, the nurse, handed me a mirror, and I flinched. I had a few thick strands on the right side of my head, almost nothing on the lower half of the back of my skull, erratic lengths on the top, and all of the left side.

“Looks like I stuck my head in a lawn mower,” I murmured. “My daughter says I should buzz cut it.”