GRACE’S LIBRARY

18+ | a series of things i write

[bienenuegracee989]

THE ART OF TWENTY-SIX PLAYLIST

𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘴𝘪𝘹.

SYNOPSIS:

Claudia Graham is a social worker just scraping by, and Theo Anders is a professional hockey player already watching things slip at twenty-six.

They move through the same city, in the same year, carrying the quiet aftermath of things that didn't work out-what remains, what lingers, and everything that almost happened.

PART I: WHAT REMAINS

winter → early spring.

Midnight City - M83

Mind Over Matter - Young The Giant

Angela - The Lumineers

Holocene - Bon Iver

No One's Gonna Love You - Band of Horses

PART II: THE IN-BETWEEN

Spring.

Youth - Glass Animals

10 Mile Stereo - Beach House

Smoke Signals - Phoebe Bridgers

Seventeen - Sharon Van Etten

Your Dog - Soccer Mommy

PART III: SHOULD'VE KNOWN BETTER

Summer.

I'll Believe in Anything- Wolf Parade

Should've Known Better- The Beaches

All the Things She Said- t.A.T.u.

Archie, Marry Me- Alvays

Blood Bank- Bon Iver

Matador - Khatumu

PART IV: THE SHAPE OF ALMOST

Fall.

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Space Song - Beach House

Apocalypse — Cigarettes After Sex

Ribs - Lorde

PART V: TWENTY-SEVEN?

Winter.

The Suburbs - Arcade Fire

Wake Up - Arcade Fire

Runaway - AURORA

[bienenuegracee989]

THE ART OF TWENTY-SIX | II

THEO

Toronto has always had this strange smell to it in the morning.

I noticed it first when in my rookie season after a bad hangover, the result of a party hosted after my first National Hockey Federation goal; a complete fluke if you’d asked me—it hadn’t even been on purpose. Just a blind shot as I fell face first over someone’s skate in a scramble to get the puck as it flew down the rink. The goal had also been paired with my first broken nose of my career. Genuinely, it wasn’t even on purpose but I’d celebrated it nonetheless, bruised and sore still.

As I’d rolled out of bed that next morning, nauseous and praying to god for forgiveness and to just end my suffering as I threw up my life’s worth into the toilet that morning—I’d noticed it. Yes, it smelled like your typical city—that polluted city air that felt almost stifling, filled by the odd smell of grease from nearby restaurants, fumes from the constant flow of public transit that ran late into the night, but it had this edge. Like sewage, I’d assumed. Ever since, I noticed it during every morning run on my usual route; fuck, I hated that I noticed it too because there was just no not noticing and forgetting it once you did finally notice it. And it was only near Queen Street, I realized—partly why I had changed my route two years prior, all in an effort to avoid it, but somehow it just wafted its way into every crevice of the city.

My eyes lifted, glancing up along the jagged line of high rise buildings that towered over the downtown neighbourhood of Toronto. The low hum of early morning traffic as rush hour had started to pick up carried down the streets, even through my headphones. I dropped my gaze, glancing forward to dodge through the odd body of someone on their way to work, cheeks puffing with each sharp exhale—one, two, three steps.

My eyes shifted, looking down at my right wrist to check the time— five, six, seven. One, two, three—eight-sixteen a.m. I’d left five minutes late that morning, fighting for my life from a pinched nerve as I searched my apartment for ibuprofen. My eyes lifted again, legs tired but still pushing as I rounded a corner onto Front Street, Union Station coming into view; I sniffled, circling around another passing woman who was visibly frustrated by whoever she was speaking to on the phone.

Four, five, six.

I moved around her, running along the edge of the sidewalk, closest to the road; my right hand lifting to fix my AirPod back into my ear as it slid out of place. My pace slowed, the familiar yellow convenience sign coming up on my right, dodging a man in a suit who barely even gave me a second glance. I sharply exhaled, stopping out front and quickly swinging the door open, the familiar bell chime sounding overhead as I stepped inside into the quiet; the city going silent behind me as I tugged my right headphone out.

“Mornin’, Anders,” Oliver said, already sitting back down in his stool as I nodded at him.

“Morning,” I said, panting as I shuffled down the centre aisle towards the coolers in the back of the store.

I slowed finally, eyes scanning the doors before landing on the usual spot—a water bottle, a redbull. Circling down the right aisle, the can and bottle balanced in one hand and phone in the other as I approached the counter. I set the two items down, eyes looking out the window as Oliver scanned them, “Supposed to rain today,” he said.

I glanced up towards the sky through the tinted windows, “Again?”

“Uh-huh. Eleven-thirty five,” he said, reflexively turning the debit machine to me. “How’s your back?”

I shrugged, using my phone to tap my debit card and letting out a soft ‘eh’, “No better, no worse honestly. Back in pretty intense PT as of last week,” I admitted, looking up as he leaned against the counter separating us, nodding through the plexiglass shield.

“Take it easy, you’re only young once you know,” he added after a moment. “Only got one body—trust me. I probably could have made it into the big leagues too but you know,” he half seriously commented.

I grinned, the debit machine pinging as it approved. I took the drinks and nodded slowly, “Right—the offer still stands to show me up on the ice one of these days by the way.”

He snorted, beginning to sit back down as I withdrew from the counter and stepped back outside, drinks in hand as I paused on the sidewalk outside. I paused, replacing my headphone back into my ear before continuing the path back to my place—five minutes if I walked slow, but three and a half if I kept a brisk pace. I cracked open the redbull, finding a brisk pace as I weaved down the sidewalk, the traffic having already picked up more to my left as I scanned the road with my eyes and lifted the can to my mouth to take a drink.

I hadn’t even been sure if I wanted to do a run outdoors this morning—the weather forecast had said something about rain expected, following a week of twenty plus weather, reminding me just how bipolar the weather had been lately. To be frank, it was starting to piss me off lately—threw things off for me and I found I had more migraines lately compared to the usual.

My eyes lifted as I had approached my apartment, keys being fished from my pocket with my free hand in the mess of being jumbled in with my phone in order to retrieve the building fob to open the door. I watched as a neighbour whose face I recognized, but name I did not know passed—a girl near my age, nice and lived on the sixth floor—smiling at me as she walked outside with her dog. I glanced back over at her dog—a golden retriever named Hunter, watching as they disappeared into the city. I looked ahead, using my fob again to open the second door and entering the lobby.

I exhaled, walking across the communal lounge space to reach for the elevator button and press it. I readjusted an AirPod again, eyes lifting to watch the little sign above the elevator flip through numbers, lowering as it descended. I stepped inside once the doors opened with a ding, bringing the redbull to my mouth again for a drink while I used the hand holding my keys to press the twelfth button.

The building was otherwise silent—uninterrupted as I climbed the floors, leaning against the back wall and closing my eyes for a moment as I let the elevator drag me back up higher and higher until it dinged once more.

I stepped out, just in time as a gentleman appeared at the entrance of the elevator, reaching for the buttons with a trolley stacked with boxes. We made eye contact briefly, equally stunned to see each other as I awkwardly apologized and stepped out past him, deliberately going out of my way to circle him to prevent accidentally running into the guy’s shoulder. I looked back over my shoulder as I walked down the hallway, back towards the elevator just as style doors shut, looking ahead.

My head cocked to the side, visibly confused as I neared my front door to find it wide open, the soft lull of conversation inside drawing my attention besides the fact that the door was open; slowing in the doorway.

I watched as a second mover wheeled a trolley stacked with boxes out of the apartment, the subtle clinking of decorative pieces tinkering from inside them as he nodded politely to me as I pulled my right AirPod out, drinks in hand as I stepped into the open door. My eyes scanned the space, slowly being emptied of any final reminders of a past life that had been shared for the past five years—the counters felt emptier, the walls blank now, half the dishes even gone from the open glass cupboards. I held my AirPod, music pausing as I then noticed the familiar blonde haircut even from the back—stiff and straight as a board as she rambled into her phone, some legal jargon I couldn’t even be bothered to try and understand.

I kept my gaze low as I slowed to a stop in the kitchen, setting the water bottle down on the countertop near the stove before making a slight show of setting my keys down with enough noise to bring attention to my arrival. She suddenly turned, processing the sight of me for a moment visibly with parted lips, “Sorry, right. I’ll have to call you back—yeah, he’s here.”

I let out a breath, clearing my throat and setting the open can down as well, “I thought you were coming this afternoon.”

“Something came up,” Dana dismissed, earning a slow nod, “I tried to call and give you a heads up. You didn’t answer.”

“I…” I lifted my phone, turning it to glance over the notifications that had accumulated on the front screen before seeing the missed call, “right. Sorry. Didn’t see that.”

She forced a tight smile that bordered something pitiful, “I’ll try to be out of your hair as fast as I can be. I just assumed it would be better if we got everything out sooner rather than later,” she explained. She paused, mouth open like she was unsure how to approach the remainder of the unnecessary conversation, “How’ve you been?”

I shrugged, my right hand lifting to rub my eye with my index finger, “Busy. Playoffs are coming up quickly so…lots of training. PT has been kicking my ass.”

She nodded, “Right—physical therapy because of your back. That was almost a year ago now, wasn’t it?”

“Uh—yeah, March 16th,” I replied.

She hummed, a pause in the conversation finally happening as I tried to wrap my head around the situation just as she began to speak again.

“And your back—

“Look, we don’t gotta do this, Dana,” I softly said, voice quiet, resting a hand on my hip, “the small talk. I get it, yanno? This whole thing is weird for both of us.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her chin, giving a short, curt nod and pausing once again.

“Alright,” she said, her voice equally soft. She cleared her throat, her demeanour shifting as she lifted her hands and flicked some strands of hair back and away from her face, “Kate says she’s tried calling you but you haven’t been answering.”

I blinked, a tight smile coming to my face as I huffed out a breathy laugh from my nose, “No.”

“Why?” She asked.

I opened my mouth, stammering for words, “I—I don’t really think there’s much to talk about…I guess? I packed up everything, covered the moving expenses, even offered to pay for storage—

“That’s not what I mean. I’m not talking about moving, I mean you two,” she quickly interjected.

“I still don’t think there’s much to say,” I admitted.

Dana sighed, her head shaking slightly as she moved to stand by the opposite end of the island counter to mirror my stance, her gaze only leaving me as she stepped out of the way of a mover who carried two stacked boxes with him from the bedroom, “you guys were together for five years. That’s a lot to just throw away,” she said, her arms folding as I fidgeted with the AirPod in my hand. “She’s only asking for a five minute conversation to talk about five years, Theo. You could at least give her that.”

“Five minutes to remind her she slept with my cousin after five years of trying to make it work,” I pointed out quickly, moving to pull out a stool from the island counter and sitting.

Dana’s expression softened—like she was torn because she morally knew what her sister had done was wrong; however she struggled to openly side against her.

“She made a mistake, Theo,” she finally said.

I hummed, tilting my head and squinting at her, “A mistake is getting oat milk instead of almond in my morning coffee, not…that,” I said, pausing.

“She’s had a rough year—

“Oh right,” I groaned, standing up and pushing the stool back. I paced towards the living room.

“Her partner pulled out of a huge deal and she lost her job,” Dana attempted to reason.

“That’s not something you do by accident, Dana,” I said, a quiet laugh leaving me as I turned to face her, hands settling at the back of my neck, “if she wanted her job back that badly, she had other options that didn’t involve my cousin, alright?”

She fell silent, staring back at me as I let out a breath and dropped my hands from my neck, sighing suddenly as a silence filled the apartment.

It was only disturbed by a second mover who briefly returned and appeared over my shoulder, glancing awkwardly between us before he intervened long enough to speak while I pivoted and away from the front door area while Dana walked towards us to take my place; pacing towards the windows that overlooked the city.

I turned away before I had to truly hear it, pacing toward the windows that overlook the city. I swung my arms at my sides, shaking out the tension, stretching my neck with a low breath. I inhaled deep, exhaled harder—so hard my cheeks puffed slightly—like I could force something out of my system if I tried hard enough. My head felt like it might have imploded, the early hint of a migraine beginning to throb behind my right eye as I squeezed my eyes shut, while their voices blurred into a dull hum as Dana finished arranging whatever’s left of her sister’s life.

“Bring them to the Queen Street address,” she quietly explained, “I’ll be there to let you up shortly. I’ll be right behind you. Thank you.”

Her tone shifted—formal, practiced. The kind I imagined she’d used with clients, signing off on something that had already been decided.

I glanced over my shoulder in time to catch a glimpse of the mover retreating, his bright uniform disappearing into the hallway.

I waited, looking away as I felt her gaze return to me, hands stilling by my sides and turning slightly; just enough to see her in my peripheral vision, but not be forced to make direct eye contact as she took a few steps forward and stopped against the island counter. Even she seemed unsure how to proceed with the conversation or what to say next as she watched me quietly, analyzing and picking me apart like a court case. Her nails tapped against the counter.

“Queen Street, huh?” I finally said, avoiding her gaze as I looked out the balcony again, “didn’t move far.”

“It’s close to the office,” she replied after a pause, her voice softer now.

“Mm,” I reply, beginning to mindlessly circle the living room. It’s strange. The room still felt somewhat intact, but something had shifted—the room felt emptier, but the only thing that had really changed is the lack of a picture frame from the tv stand, a few stray books that were purchased more as decorative pieces from the coffee table and some coasters I always thought were a bit too dramatic for the space.

I scratched the back of my head as my left hand propped against my hip, pausing as my eyes landed on a far corner by the balcony door, empty like there was something missing—and it dawned on me. I inhaled, “She took the bamboo tree?” I asked, confused.

I look over as Dana’s eyes flit towards the exact spot I referenced, “She purchased it,” she reminded.

I scoff, shaking my head as my hand dropped to my side, “Right.”

She waited, lingering on the exact spot in question before she quietly spoke again, “I figured it would be easier for the both of you just to take whatever she bought and leave whatever you purchased—logistics,” she stated, like it was the most common sense thing, pursing her lips. “For you, I figured you wouldn’t want reminders of her just lingering around, taking up space,” she added.

My hand rubbed over my chest, nodding as I slowly pivoted once more to face her slightly, “Gotcha. Thank you,” I sincerely replied, that same sympathetic smile returning to her face.

I glanced away, looking towards my bedroom as she continued to watch me before she nodded, “Yeah, of course. And you know if you ever need anything, I’m only ever a call away, right?”

I licked my lips, nodding as I glanced at her for half a second, “Yeah…yeah, I know,” I said, “I appreciate it.”

My arms swung again against my sides, turning to sit down on the couch abruptly because the thought of standing there just her gaze made me feel dizzy—overwhelmed and like I’d fall over any minute. But rather than some form of relief, Dana set her phone and keys on the counter and joined me on the couch; sat on the opposite end and stared at the black screen of the television on the wall. We were quiet, but I had the feeling she had a thousand things she wanted to say—but what do you even say to someone in that moment? Sorry my sister slept with your cousin, we’re cool though?

I mindlessly rubbed my chest again and took out the second AirPod; tossing both onto the side table.

“I’m sorry,” she said once I sat back, leaning towards me and raising her eyebrows at me, “It’s not fair of me to ask you to talk to her given the circumstances.”

My hand lifted, brushing through my hair and shrugging, “It’s fine, I get it. She’s your sister.”

I could see her nose scrunch in the corner of my eye, turning to look at her briefly—

“Yeah, but still—you don’t even owe her that,” she pointed out.

I was suddenly reminded of the resemblance between the two of them, the right corner of her mouth turning down as she pursed her lips and furrowed her eyebrows. I couldn’t count how many times I’d watched that same look come to Kate’s face as she argued over the phone or sent a particularly colourful email. I found myself blankly staring at her, blinking slowly and buffering for a moment before nodding slightly and having to force myself to look away again.

The only difference between them truly had been the hair—rather than blonde, she was auburn. I had started this ritual of every fall, I’d bring home a leaf that resembled closest to her hair each time I found one—stuffed them in the bottom of my duffle bag once or twice just to bring them back from Buffalo for her. She thought it was silly but over the weeks, those leaves would collect in her home office, stuffed into a drawer—it had taken me a while to even find out she’d been keeping them.

I rubbed my eye, scratching the inner corner as my migraine throbbed once again.

Usually, once they’d died and had begun to crumple apart as the season drew on, only then would she finally bring herself to throw them out. Her mom had thought it was sweet when Kate had told her about it one Christmas.

“Theo?”

“Yeah, no—sorry, just,” I said, sighing so hard I genuinely felt lightheaded. I frowned, looking at the wall underneath the tv, “I don’t think I’m ready to talk to her. That’s all. I don’t know what more there is to say at this point. Feels like a waste of time.”

“I get it,” Dana replied, glancing down at her lap and beginning to fidget with the oversized wedding ring and engagement ring duo she always wore, “I don’t know how I’d…deal if I was on the other side of this…”

There was a moment of silence that passed, her head lifting finally to follow my gaze.

“I think she just wants to remind you she loved you and she still does,” she said, pausing, “I don’t think this has changed anything for her. I mean, obviously things have changed but—I mean it hasn’t changed how she feels about you.”

My face scrunched up, head tilting as I shrugged and found myself staring at a chip in the paint by the baseboards, unsure how to reply. We’d done our best to talk the night it came out—talked three days later after she had spent a few days with her sister and her husband. And all of it just felt like we were talking in circles and going nowhere.

Dana lifted her hand, looking at her watch before sighing and planting her hands against her thighs to push up to her feet, “I should get going. The movers are probably on their way already,” she explained, turning to face me, “sorry to have to leave so suddenly. And I mean it. If you ever need someone to talk to, or anything to do with legal advice, I’m around…okay?”

I didn’t reply right away, my stare still focused on the chip in the paint—how the fuck did it even get there?

She crouched beside me, eyebrows raising as she tilted her head in an effort to find my eyes. I snapped out of my daze as she reached out to touch my hand, turning to look at her, “did you hear me?” She asked.

“Right—yeah,” I finally said, clearing my throat and forcing a nod.

“You going to be okay?” She asked, her gaze narrowing as though she was trying to read through me.

I nodded, swallowing, “Yeah. Just going to tidy up—take a shower,” I said, hands coming up to rub my face and standing up from the couch to pace again, “I uh—I have practice this afternoon,” I said, my tone softening.

Her eyes followed me, nodding after a moment in a slow way that suggested she didn’t believe me. But she didn’t say anything—paused, analyzed, picked her battle. Dana stood and slowly approached the counter, collecting her phone and keys in her hand and beginning to walk to the door before pausing. Her mouth pursed, lips pressing together as she scanned the apartment one last time, “Alright. Well…you take it easy, okay? Get some rest,” she said, gesturing to me, “you look exhausted.”

I smiled—genuinely smiled finally—looking at her and I laughed softly, nodding, “Sounds good.”

Her hand lifted in a wave, extending then to pull the door closed behind her. I stood in the middle of my living room, listening to her footsteps retreat down the hallway; the distant sound of the elevator dinging its arrival to my floor before fully succumbing to the silence. I waited only until I knew she was gone to sigh again, a little louder this time and tilting my head back to look up at the ceiling.

“Fuck,” I exhaled.

[bienenuegracee989]

THE ART OF TWENTY-SIX | I

CLAUDIA — 2024

I glanced over the chart, immediately pausing before shaking my head and extending it back to Evelyn, “Can’t take this one.”

Simple—matter of fact. I slid my glasses to the top of my head.

She frowned, not yet reaching for the clipboard as she looked at me from over her desk, “why? He’s being discharged—athlete, he’s got physical therapists and specialists out the wahoo, it’s the easiest discharge plan we could have gotten today.”

I dropped the chart on the desk, elbows coming to rest on the table as I folded my arms and looked at her, “Exactly. I want something exciting—come on, give me something dramatic today. Like…” I said, waving a hand to encourage her, “psych, court ordered to take urine tests and regular medication. Something.”

She shoved the chart back in my direction, “Theo Anders. Date of birth, December seventeenth, nineteen-ninety-nine. Being discharged following a concussion and minor spinal injury.”

“You hate me, don’t you?” I asked, snatching a pen from the bedazzled cup, Evelyn’s stupidly fluffy pen leaves feathers on my fingers as I retrieved it. She grinned, already looking back at her laptop, only giving me a brief glance before looking back to the screen.

“Your words, not mine.”

I flicked my fingers in her direction, watching as a purple feather awkwardly floated onto her desk with a look of disgust, “Oh hey, did Michael mention if he sent that referral for Mr. King? We really can’t keep sending him home without outside support—he and Camille are just getting too old to care for themselves alone at home.”

I glanced down, brushing off my top to make sure none of her feathers had clung to me, “Yeah, someone from the community outreach team is going to connect with them this week and help them arrange for at home support from an agency that’s covered under their benefits,” she said, bringing the tip of her pen to my mouth to gently chew on the end, “see what their options are.

“alright,” I sighed, “he’s been in hospital three times since the start of the year already and it’s only April.”

Her mouth twitched, turning downwards, “Yeah, I mean—unfortunately, their options for coverage are limited unless they start paying out of pocket for at home care,” she explained, the same spiel we circled back to regularly, retrieving a binder of resources from her desk to flip through. “Could their kids step in and help with at home care?” She asked.

“Janette spoke with them last week—their oldest son lives in Nova Scotia and their daughter has young kids. Single parent—says she just doesn’t have time between work and the kids, dad isn’t in the picture so child care options are limited,” I explained, taking a deep breath and scratching my eyebrow.

She forced a sympathetic smile, eyebrows furrowing as she seemed to contemplate the conversations, “Yeah. I mean—I guess it’s the same routine again—

I blinked, mouth pursing.

“Don’t make that face at me, I know, I know—just…offer resources for now, outreach will connect and we can go from there for discharge,” Evelyn said.

“I’ll drop by on my way, where’s that chart for the concussion patient?” I asked, looking around the contents of my desk again.

“Leave Mr. King for me, I’ve got it,” she insisted.

Her hand lifted, holding it up while I slid my glasses back onto the bridge of my nose to look over the details, quietly reading over its contents as I stood. I gathered my notepad and the chart under my armpit, my left hand reaching out to squeeze Evelyn’s shoulder as I walked past her and towards the elevator, waiting impatiently as I pressed the button.

I hated the elevators—they took forever because there was always a constant flow of patients and staff going in and out of them, resulting in a several minute wait. My feet restlessly tapped, rocking on to my heels before stepping in after what felt like eternity.

The ride down to gen surg was brief—quiet and sterile smelling, the air stale as I leaned against the left wall. The dinging indicating my arrival felt obnoxiously loud, and the brief break from the chaos of being on the floor felt far too short, sighing before I stepped off the elevator.

I immediately forced a smile as I approached the front desk to the floor, the nurse there lifting his head, “Hello, just looking for a mister Theo Anders for discharge?”

“Room three,” he softly replied with a nod in the direction of the room, glancing at the board behind him briefly to double check.

I mouthed a soft thanks, turning to follow the signs on the wall towards room three.

The privacy curtain had been drawn, obscuring my view into the room besides the sliver of his foot at the end of the bed. The lights had been turned off, the room filled by the constant hum of his monitor as I gently pushed the door open and pulled back the curtain just enough to see him finally.

“Hello?” He immediately said, rousing from the half asleep state and lifting his head from the pillow behind him. My right hand reached out, flipping on the light switch.

I watched as his eyes rolled, struggling to refocus as the light turned on, a little groan leaving him as his arm lifted to cover his face. I internally cringed, shutting the light off, “My apologies, Mr. Anders—

“Theo,” he slurred, yawning as his hand dropped back to his side and he closed his eyes. His head twisted, chin resting against his right shoulder, hair falling into his face, “s’fine…”

I hesitated, slowly entering the room and glancing towards the IV bags to his right as he rubbed his face, the wires and catheters clinking with each movement. I wasn’t even sure why they thought now would be the best time to meet with him—maybe it was a mix up. There was no fucking way this man could even understand—

“S’Kate here?” He asked, eyes rolling again as they opened to look at me.

I straightened my shoulders and looked at him, tentatively approaching his bedside chair, “No unfortunately, I’m sorry— we have contacted her,” I explained, my voice softening as I tilted my head to find his disoriented gaze, “My name is Claudia, I’m a social worker here at Presbyterian. I work with patients due for discharge to discuss transitional plans to return home soon. Does that make sense?” I asked, watching as his brows furrowed and lifting his head.

“I got hit,” he said, words bordering incoherent as his head flopped back into the pillow, “my—my neck…”

“I’m going to come by and talk with you and Kate a little later about at home care—

“Is Kate here?” he repeated, frowning still.

I felt my expression soften, letting out a soft exhale as I watched him for a moment, “No, Theo, unfortunately not yet,” I replied, “but I’ll have them bring her here as soon as she arrives, okay?”

His head rolled to the left, nuzzling into his own shoulder and breathing deeply, “Mmmph—mhm.”

—

I dropped the chart on Evelyn’s desk as I walked past her to sit, her eyes lifting as she listened to a message on the voicemail system, following me as I sat down with a dramatic huff.

“Who said he was ready for discharge? Who called?” I asked, head leaning back against the chair and sliding down into it.

She hesitated, letting out a long uh as she scanned through the paperwork once again and tilted her head to make out the scribbled handwriting, “Moreau according to his discharge paperwork. Why?” She asked, setting the phone back down on the receiver.

I sat up, looking at her and leaning forward with my elbows on the desk. My right hand lifted, reaching behind my head to remove the claw clip and let my hair down for a moment, “He isn’t anywhere close to being ready for discharge,” I stated, sighing, “he’s high as a kite on morphine in there right now. I kind of actually felt bad for the guy. I don’t think he even knows what planet he’s on right now.”

Evelyn paused, suddenly letting out a snort and staring at me with an open mouth, “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope!” I replied, emphasizing the p.

“What a fucking guy,” she muttered, pushing the chart aside for a moment, “has his emergency contact arrived?”

“His wife? No,” I answered quickly, shaking my head, “I told them to call as soon as she arrived. I’ll go over the paperwork with him once she’s here, see what kind of support he has at home,” I explained while running my fingers through my hair and combing it out.

“You’re done at five, right?” Evelyn asked, leaning back in her chair.

“Yeah,” I answered, hand lifting to check my watch—4:47, “As long as Janette doesn’t decide to keep me back again tonight. I was here until seven last night.”

“Because you’re such a good worker,” she teased, joking.

“I think if she fired me today, I’d be fine with that,” I half-seriously replied, hands gripping the armrests of my chair as I twisted back and forth.

She snorted, “I really doubt Caroline would be thrilled to hear you couldn’t pay rent this month.”

I waved my hand dismissively, “Caroline would just have to make do with it for a bit. She’s a strong, independent girl.”

“Her friend still crashing on your couch?” She asked, smiling as she raised her eyebrows.

“God—no, thankfully. They broke up again,” I explained, squinting at her.

“Is his stuff actually gone this time?”

“No, I’m still finding his shit all over the place—it’s like it never ends,” I said. “I think I’ve packed it all up and I find more stuff, I do not understand how he has so much stuff.”

My phone rang, reaching out to mindlessly bring it to my ear, “Claudia speaking.”

I listened to the quick ramble over the phone before setting it back on the receiver and sighing, quickly putting my hair back up with my clip, “Concussion patient’s contact is here. I’ll be back—looks like I’m doing overtime again.”

[bienenuegracee989]

THE ART OF TWENTY-SIX | CLAUDIA: THE NOTE

Claudia Miller is a social worker just scraping by, and Theo Anders is a professional hockey player already watching things slip at twenty-six.

They move through the same city, in the same year, carrying the quiet aftermath of things that didn't work out-what remains, what lingers, and everything that almost happened.