Maybe there is no grand plan for everyone, no happy ending waiting in the wings for those who have patience.
Maybe the key to life is to act like it’s a shopping spree and grab what you see.
I run my tongue over my teeth. I think I have a loose filling.
Maybe I should call a dentist.
Maybe I should go home, put on my sexiest underwear, and call a dentist.
In fact, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
My sister would not approve.
Chapter 14
Back home, I monkey around with my teeth for about an hour. Is my filling loose? Or is it the whole tooth? It would be ridiculous for me to call Dr. Drew Morgan’s after-hours answering service with an “emergency” as minor as a slightly wiggly tooth.
So, I grab a pair of pliers and pop the filling right off. Technically, I guess it’s a cap, or an onlay, not a filling, because it fits around the tooth.
I lean over the bathroom counter and give myself a crooked grin. I look like a jack-o-lantern. This calls for a selfie! I take a picture and upload it as evidence of my real dental emergency, just in case I’m questioned later by… the dental authorities or whatever.
Ouch. Maybe pulling my dental cap off with a pair of pliers wasn’t a great idea. Now I’m looking at the grody little stump thing that should be inside the cap, and looking at it makes the stump hurt.
Worse, my mouth is all germy because I didn’t brush my teeth and use mouthwash before attempting home dentistry. Now I need something to make sure my mouth isn’t too germy.
What’s this? A bottle of vodka? Well, I only had one shot an hour ago, to work up the nerve to phone Drew’s answering service, but I think I should take a medicinal shot now. For my stump.
I pour a splash into the only shot glass we have in the house—a 40th birthday glass someone gave my mother—and toss it back.
Oops. I meant to swoosh it around in my mouth. I pour another half shot, swoosh it around, then put the call through to Dr. Morgan’s answering service.
A familiar male voice says, “Hello?”
It’s not an answering service. It’s Drew, and he sounds cranky.
“Oh, shit.” I end the call and toss the cordless house phone on the bathroom counter.
The phone starts ringing. I scream.
Muffin, who was standing in the tub licking the drips from the tap, rips out of the bathroom in a tumbleweed of cat fear.
I pick up the phone and answer in what I hope is the accent of someone who doesn’t speak English: “Allo?”
“Meenie?”
“You meanie! Wong numba.” I stay on the line, holding my breath and waiting to hear his voice.
Drew says, “I know it’s you. I know your last name because I googled your flower store.”
I shake my fist. “Curse my mother’s old-fashioned land line! I should have used my cell phone.”
“What can I do for you? Are you having a dental emergency? This is my special phone number for after-hours emergencies.”
I snort. “I know that.”
“Well?”
“Is it an emergency if my cap fell off?”
“That depends. What did your dentist say? The one who put the cap on and has all your dental charts?”
“Nothing, because she died.” I shake my head and send a silent apology to my dentist, who’s a nice lady in excellent health, I hope.
“Meenie, are you trying to get me over there for a house call?”
“I didn’t drink a bunch of vodka and take pliers to my mouth for no reason!”
“What?”
“Joking!”
He chuckles softly. I can see his handsome face, lit up by a smile. He sounds nice on the phone right now. He sounds like he’s wearing a chunky, cable-knit fisherman’s sweater. I’d like to hug him and kiss him, with a fisherman’s sweater between us like a woolly chaperone.
“Give me your address,” he says.
“Just a minute. Let me get a pen.” Holding the cordless phone to my ear, I exit the bathroom and start wandering through the house in a state of urgent confusion.
Drew keeps laughing at me, then finally tells me I don’t need a pen, because he’ll write it down on his side. After a few minutes of arguing over the logistics, I decide to do it his way, and give him my address.
After I end the call, I run to my room and yank some clothes on. I’ve been running around in a towel for the last hour. I go back into the bathroom, where I grab the tiny white ceramic cap and put it in my old retainer case for safekeeping.
The pliers are sitting on the counter, angling at me in an accusing stance. I pick them up just as the doorbell rings.
Dr. Drew Morgan, Emergency After-Hours Dentist, is fast! I yank open the laundry hamper and toss the tell-tale pliers in.
I run to the front door and yank it open with one hand, holding my other hand to my cheek. This is, after all, a dental emergency.
Drew is wearing a sweater, just as I suspected. It’s not a chunky cable-knit, but a lightweight cotton in a bright orange. He’s wearing a collared shirt underneath, and his lower half is looking equally respectable in a pair of chinos.
“Wow, you look yummy,” I tell him. “Are you on your way to a date?”
“I don’t date.” He glances past me, like he’s hinting I should invite him in.
I wave him into the house. “You didn’t have to dress up on my account.”
He comes in, carrying the most adorable leather bag I’ve ever seen. It looks like something a country doctor would bring to deliver a baby in a movie.
He wastes no time finding the dining room table, turning the overhead light onto its brightest setting, and then laying out some tools on the table.
I run to the bathroom, grab the cap, then run back and drop it in his palm. He winces, and sets the cap gingerly on a white tray on the table.
I sit down in a chair and cross my arms. “You weren’t so scared of my saliva germs last night in O’Flannagan’s, when you had your tongue in my mouth.”
He sits on his chair and shuffles closer to me, so that his knees are on the outsides of my knees. His legs are hugging mine. I want to touch his sweater.
He gazes deeply into my soul with his beautiful brown eyes and lush eyelashes. “Open,” he says sexily.
I open my mouth, and he quickly swabs my stump with what smells like more of the vodka I was drinking. I close my eyes and think about something funny to say next. Maybe something about no foreplay, just diving right in there?
I smell something like solvent, and then feel pressure on my tooth. His hand is in my mouth, tasting like latex. When did he put on gloves? My eyes flutter open. I grunt in alarm, because he’s wearing a green medical mask over his mouth.