When I made the decision to become a veterinarian, I was bright eyed and eager. It was a dream to save animals and become my own boss, but the reality has turned into a twenty-four-hour, seven day a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, solo slog. As a consequence, my personal life is nonexistent, like fucking dead in a ditch. There’s been the odd one-night screw here and there but not enough to satisfy a man’s needs. My phone is permanently glued to my ear, and my days are jam packed, so women are rungs down the ladder, under a pile of invoices and beneath a heap of medical supplies.
I used to thrive on the adrenaline rush of working an emergency case and loved the gratification of figuring out why a patient was sick. These days, those highs are beginning to fade, becoming a daily grind instead. It still thrills me to rescue a sick animal and nurse it back to health, but sometimes I wonder if I care for them more than I care for myself. Anyways, it is what it is. I’m the local vet, and they all need me. With a tap on the bar and a small wave to Jace, I walk over to the boys.
“Hey, look what the cat drug in.” Hayden smirks. He stands up to meet me with a handshake and scoots to the next chair over making room for me at the table.
“Well, well, well, wasn't sure if you still lived in this town, Clay. I thought you up and left us to go marry a cow with big teats,” Mr. Wise Ass Ryder has such a warm welcome.
I flip him the bird. “Yeah, I’m still around to see Levi pull your shit heap Ford out of the mud on the turn off to the Bates’ farm.” I flash him a grin. “What? Could the poor little Fordy not make it. My Chevy made it just fine on that exact same turn earlier that day.”
Ryder swigs his beer. “Shut the fuck up, asshole.” He pouts. “I love how you call it Fordy, like you have great affection for her too.”
“Even if your Fordy had a pussy, Ryder, I still wouldn’t ride in it,” I say as I take my seat.
“Yeah, yeah. All talk, Dr. Dolittle.” Ryder winks. “It’s great to see you, Clay. We’ve missed your ugly face at the table.”
Shane watched our usual banter, sitting back in his chair with his feet out in front, relaxed so much that the front legs of the chair came off the ground to rock and chimes in, “Yeah, it’s great to see ya. You need to get help, to free up some time. You’ve been neglecting your pals.”
“I know.” I sigh. These guys are awesome, true friends since school. We’ve grown up together in Heartville, and I wouldn’t change that experience for anything in the world. They’ve always been there for me. Levi, who hasn't made it to the bar yet, used to be joined at my hip until adulthood and life put a wedge between us. We've been tight since we were knee high to a grasshopper, instantly becoming best friends when we met in pre-school.
“Levi said to tell you guys to drink one for him tonight. Beck has a sore throat, and he can’t make it?” I look at Hayden who’s texting Summer.
“That kid is always spreading germs.” Levi’s a single dad to the sweetest little three-year-old boy, Beck, and he busts his ass for that boy. His ex, Jenny, is not even worth mentioning. She ran off with a city boy when Beck was a baby, and no one has seen her since.
“You gonna be at that shit all night?” I throw him a raised eyebrow and tip the beer bottle to my lips.
Hayden lifts his eyes. “Summer is making cookies while wearing an apron.”
“What’s so interesting about Summer wearing an apron? You got some weird baking fetish thing happening?”
Hayden grins. “She’s wearing an apron and nothing else.”
“You lucky fucker.” Ryder clinks his bottle with each of ours.
A little pang of happiness blends with a flicker of longing. I’ll go home alone tonight, and Hayden will land into the house with a hot chick and the smell of cookies. “Save me some cookies,” I demand with big, pleading eyes.
“I’m sure she’ll make you a batch, buddy.” Hayden pats my arm, and we sit back, listening to Harley’s raspy voice as she gets the ladies moving on the dancefloor.
“Ryder, are you ready for that ass whippin’ at pool?”
“Ha, you’re funny, but I can’t. Lora is about to pick me up, so this is my last beer. Shane just got here, and I’m sure he’d love to be the champion of the table tonight.”
“Absolutely, but I’d rather have a little more competition than the doc,” Shane punches in with a sarcastic jab.
“Okay, Mr. Sure-of-yourself, let’s go. Rack ‘em up. Ryder, next time we are on. Tell Lora hi, and you guys keep your hands to yourselves.”
“For the millionth time, we are just friends.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, buddy. I believe ya,” I say and lift the bottle to my lips for another swig.
2
Come on, Romi, think. What colors fit Mr. and Mrs. Winters’ personalities.
I’ve been racking my brain for hours, and inspiration just isn’t coming to me. This house screams of all things warm and loveable, but Mrs. Winters wants to mix it up with a modern and austere vibe. Her husband likes clean lines and chalky finishes whereas she adores thick velvets and open fires.
What colors match that? Fabric samples, swatches and color charts litter the floor around me as I sit in the middle of their den lost in a sea of ideas, none of which suit the desired decor.
I came out to the small town of Heartville just over a week ago, after I got a call from Mrs. Winters. She checked with me about being available to complete the job in a quick turnaround time frame, and at that point I assured her I’d have no problem coming through with a minimalistic yet cozy den. I knew it would be a challenge to bring together two personalities in one all-encompassing interior room design, and to date every single client has raved about my talent. It’s my passion, and I can’t see myself doing anything else.
However, this is the first true job outside of my mother’s circle of friends, and that makes me uneasy. Or maybe I should say, it makes me feel sick in the pit of my stomach.
Every idea I imagined before seeing the room, is all shit now. This monster of a house, in the rural community of Heartville, is well outside of the city. All my projects before this were for snooty socialites who Mother set me up with.
While the elegant city houses are white and grey tones with sparkly crystal chandeliers, the Winters’ place is cozy tans, warm dark brown wood, light fixtures and large rustic metal accents on the furniture. It’s like comparing apples and pears and coming up with oranges.
A few years ago, I graduated with a business degree because that’s what my family expected of me. So my interior design plan for a career came as quite the outlandish surprise to them. I’ll make it work; I know I will.
I thumb through the color deck for the hundredth time. Damn it! Empty particles float around in my blank mind, like zero design genius coming through. No Yoda vibes or award-winning ideas available today. My eyes squeeze shut, and I let out a frustrated growl. When I blink them open, all I see are soft furry ears and a full fluffy tail coming for me at high speed. A tiny bell tinkles from a diamante collar as the blur of brown and white springs into my lap.
“Well, hello there, cutie pie. Where did you come from?” I stroke the puff ball, giggling as the adorable dog sniffs my face with a wet, button nose and licks my hand with a miniscule tongue. “Roxy! Where have you gone, you rascal?” Mrs. Winters shrill voice calls from the kitchen.