“Smart girl. I have an excellent attorney.” She stood beside me, smiling as she swung her gaze around the room to admire her handiwork.
“You know you didn’t have to do all of this,” I told her.
“Yeah, I did. After everything you’ve been through, this is the least you deserve. I sure am going to miss you, honey.” She sighed and looked at me, emotion welling in her eyes.
“Awwww.” I pulled her into a hug. “I’m gonna miss you too. My waistline isn’t, but I will.”
She giggled and hugged me back. “You still have my number, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then you better promise to use it.” Bracketing my shoulders in her palms, she set me away, her green eyes never leaving mine. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed watching you thrive and reach your goals over the last few months. Honestly, Remi. I don’t know how you do it. It’s inspirational to me. You survived a plane crash and still walked in here every week with a smile on your face.”
John used a blue-and-gold Congratulations Remi napkin to wipe his mouth and then smirked. “Linda, relax. As clumsy as Remi is, she’ll be back in a matter of weeks. Aim for your legs this time. I put a lot of work into those arms and shoulders.”
I shot him a glare, but it held no heat. He was a good guy, and as much as I would not miss our PT sessions when he put me through the wringer, I would miss him.
Linda rolled her eyes. “And this guy never took it easy on you, either, so no one would have blamed you if you’d skipped out a time or twelve. But you handled it all with grace and dignity, bringing joy, and sometimes succulents, to the entire staff. I’m proud of you. But most of all, I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
Damn. Now she was going to make me cry.
“Jesus, Linda. It’s a party. We aren’t supposed to be crying.” I hugged her again.
Truthfully, I was proud of myself too.
There were a lot of days right after the crash when everything had felt impossible. Everyone had told me to take it one day at a time, but that was easy to say when they didn’t have to rely on friends and family for every task. Those first few weeks when Mark had to spoon-feed me every meal and Aaron had to brush my teeth each morning were enough to test any level of friendship.
Don’t get me wrong. I was happy to be alive. Grateful that my head injury hadn’t been worse. And damn near ecstatic that a nurse had told me about a plastic tool they sold on Amazon to scratch underneath my casts.
But getting better and back to the life I loved so much had always been my main focus.
So, yeah. Physical therapy had been painful, arduous, and sometimes flat-out torture. But I’d showed up for every single appointment—for myself. Being able to walk out of there for the last time, a smile on my face, pain free, without any lingering limitations, made it all worth it.
“You’re right,” Linda said, stepping away. “I’ll stop blubbering so you can enjoy your party. Did you get some of the pigs in a blanket over there? I wrapped them myself.”
“Not yet, but clearly that’s where I should head.” When I started toward the table in the back, the corner of a streamer caught my foot. Like a baby giraffe on new legs, I went stumbling forward, the contents of my plate spilling all over the floor.
John was fast though. His hand snaked out and caught my arm, keeping me upright. “Careful. I didn’t mean to break a leg today.”
I pinned him with a glare, but if I was being honest, the likelihood of me breaking another limb was pretty damn high.
I spent another hour or so hanging out with the Atlanta PT team. Staff drifted in and out as patients came and went, and Linda fluttered around, making sure none of the chip bowls got too low. There were no more tears, but when it was time to leave, I hugged everyone goodbye at least twice.
Six months earlier, when I’d walked through the doors of Atlanta PT, I had been nervous about what to expect. But as I walked out the doors that afternoon, I had a second family—and a pan of Rice Krispies treats.
Oh, and the final bill that would no doubt be in the mail.
“Oh my God,” Aaron said, snatching the minced garlic from my hand.
“What! You told me to add some.”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Yes, some, Remi. Some. You’re making baked spaghetti, not a potion to eradicate vampires from the Earth.”
I rolled my eyes. “Currently, I’m more concerned with feeding Bowen something that doesn’t require a warning label than I am with vampires.”
“Yeah, well. The eight seasons of Vampire Diaries you forced me to watch suggests otherwise. But move and let me get in there.” He hurriedly stepped in front of me and began scooping the garlic out of the spaghetti sauce we—he—had made from scratch.
While Mark was excellent on the grill, Aaron was the real Gordon Ramsay in our house. He hadn’t always been a natural, but he’d taught himself out of necessity the first few years when he’d gotten sick of constantly eating takeout or whatever concoction I’d over-seasoned or burned. Luckily, I had been able to strike a deal for Aaron’s help in exchange for Linda’s famous Rice Krispies treats. Or at least what was left of them, since Mark had put a huge dent in them before he’d left for work.
Aaron gave the pan a stir and then brought the spoon to his mouth for a taste. “Okay, I think it’s salvageable. But you are officially banned from the stove.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Go on. I’ll be faster without you anyway.”
“What time is your date with Becca?”
He turned his attention back to the sauce, a shy smile tipping the side of his mouth. “Seven.”
Oh yes, he had it bad for the sexy barista he’d met at the coffeehouse. This was only their third date, but it was safe to say he was smitten. It had been so long since I’d seen Aaron genuinely interested in someone that I was worried she was going to break his heart. There was nothing I could do or say to prevent it, so I saved my breath.
“You do realize it’s already five thirty, right?” I asked. “Don’t you need at least two hours to shape your hair into that gel helmet you wear?”
“You keep being a smartass and you can finish this yourself.”
“I’m kidding. You win. No need to get hostile.”
I was almost sure he was kidding too, but just in case, I stole a piece of mozzarella off the cutting board and moved to the far end of the kitchen, out of his way.
“What time is Bowen supposed to be here?” he asked, straining the noodles over the sink.
“Six. He used to cut out early all the time, but he has a new accountant in his office, so he’s been staying until closing all week. Ya know, good impressions and all.”
“Mmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement as he dumped the pasta into a casserole dish. “Things still going well with you two?”
“So, so, so good.” I stole another piece of cheese. “The other day, we actually talked about marriage and kids and stuff.”
He spun toward me so fast I thought he’d burned himself. “What?”
“Yeah. Totally out of the blue.”
“And, um…what did you have to say about that?”