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Gabby’s day had started out well, was the thing. The cosmic humor. The real kicker. She woke up before her alarm, but only by twenty minutes, so she got to do bonus yoga before her shower. She rolled her mat out at the foot of her bed, then turned to the tall acrylic pen by the window, where Lily and Robin were already trilling.
“I hear you,” she cooed while she scooped Lily up, the rabbit's long, cashew-colored ears flopping. Once Gabby set her down, the bunny zoomed across the room. To Robin, she gave a gentle forehead tap once she set her down. “Go on; play while Mama stretches.”
Robin hopped off toward Lily, and Gabby grabbed a couple of seagrass chew balls and tossed them on the floor, then sat down on her mat while the rabbits hopped around her. She smiled up at the ceiling, eyes closed. This was her own personal Heaven.
The sun was up, the temperature was rising, and the early summer blooms were starting to dot the bushes overflowing her garden apartment’s three-foot-by-three-foot patio. She realized while wiggling through holding pigeon pose at the end of her routine, that she should have done her yoga on the patio. Tomorrow.
In the kitchen, she made herself coffee and had time to sit and scroll Instagram while she ate a toasted bagel with avocado spread. One knee over the other, her foot bobbed. She hummed along to the current trending song when it popped up five separate times. She cooed at the presentation of a new beagle puppy from a ranch in Italy, the owner of which was tattooed and did not provide English subtitles.
But like, puppy.
She let the rabbits play while she wrapped up her shower and changed, then deposited them back in their pen. She blew them kisses. She stroked their perfect little heads.
On the six-minute drive to work, she listened to Sabrina Carpenter.
“Hey girlie,” her vet tech, Cindy, called without looking up when Gabby came in through the staff door. “I brought in Munchkins.”
Gabby smiled and dropped her bag on her desk. “Why?”
“Just ‘cus.”
Gabby waited. She pressed the power button on her computer and set her water, with the little bow cap on the straw, down beside her monitor.
“Okay,” Cindy sighed, drawing out the vowels. “I want to take a week off around Memorial Day and see my parents. I’m trying to bribe Ty into covering for me.”
Three Rivers Animal Hospital had exactly two veterinarians and four vet techs. While it was a small clinic and definitely teetering toward capacity, Gabby and the other veterinarian did everything they could to run it as well as they could. Would Gabby have liked to take on more? Yes. More exotics. Horses, even—though that was a slippery slope toward being a farm veterinarian, and she knew it. Sometimes, if she let herself, she’d think about her parents’ ranch three hours away, where there were the kind of animals no one really wanted to deal with. Those animals were the ones that took time. They didn’t fit neatly into a fifteen-minute appointment slot.
But everybody had a limit.
And it sounded like Cindy needed a break before she reached hers.
“I’m sure Ty would be happy to.” He was a new grad and had a reassuringly genuine love for animals. Gabby remembered being that eager, before the energy had softened into something more like affection and familiarity.
Cindy circled around to Gabby’s desk and set down a napkin with three plain donut holes on top of it. “For my favorite girl with grandma tastes.”
Gabby smiled. “Cake donuts are the best and you know it. They taste like breakfast instead of sugary air.”
“Uh-huh,” Cindy deadpanned. “Just don’t touch the jellies. I’m hoarding them for Ty.”
“‘Here are ten jelly Munckins! Can you cover my shifts for a week?’” Popping one of hers into her mouth, Gabby reasoned that she’d at least consider the offer. “Is the grand cabin retirement scheme going okay?”
“That’s kind of why I’m going. Dad said he’s building a shed.” Cindy sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her dark pink scrub top. “He’s sixty-eight. He can’t be building a shed by himself.”
“Are you volunteering to help?” Gabby knew that answer already. Cindy was both an only child and often the first one running to get her hands dirty for anybody—of course she’d get herself elbow-deep in her parents’ business without being asked.
Cindy shrugged. “I can swing a hammer.”
Just then, 80s pop started floating through the clinic, synths stretching from the waiting room, through reception, and into the back office. Gabby and Cindy looked at one another for a beat, then burst out laughing.
“Ooh,” Gabby cringed, “I lost Spotify privileges for the day.”
It was first-come-first serve. A constant “war” between her and Kathy, the other veterinarian. Kathy had grown up in the era of legwarmers and neon, or whatever, and figured out how to get her phone to connect to the waiting room TV while she was still in the parking lot.
Gabby turned back to her schedule. It was going to be an easy day of check-ups and vaccines, and one neutering in the afternoon. If she was lucky, she could sneak out early and read her book in the park by the river. “Okay,” she declared. “Let’s get started.”
With an it’s-almost-summer smile on her face and Madonna now stuck in her head (“Touched for the very first ti-ime…”), she glided into the waiting room, adjusting the stack of National Geographic magazines on her way in.
Her first patient was already there, laying on the floor and drooling.
“Good morning, Mr. Rufus!” She crouched and took his big, wrinkly face in her hands. Immediately, he rewarded her with a wet, pink tongue on her cheek. “Let’s get you your vaccines.”
Crus didn’t often work day shift, but McKay had a parent-teacher conference in the morning, and he wasn’t about to tell a single mom he wouldn’t lend a hand when he could. Or anybody. He liked to help out. Besides, what was the difference between working on his case studies while watching One Piece in the morning or at night?
After his morning case of kidney stones got set to imaging upstairs, he picked up the animal bite in North 2. It was one of those cases that was probably going to be clean and easy, good for a med student—
Actually.
“Hey, Whitaker!” He tapped the guy on the shoulder, noticing how he’d looked surprised Crus had picked up his name already. As if he wasn’t going to learn the names of day shift’s staff—trades were common enough that he just needed to know who everyone was. “I want to show you how to irrigate an animal bite.”
As they rounded the hall, they heard the patient before they saw her. It was a little funny, a little jarring—North was their quieter, lower-maintenance wing, usually.
“…and I knew I should have waited another minute,” the woman was saying at a mile a minute. “but he’d been so calm all morning, and I started to think that maybe today’s the day he decides to be chill.”
Nurse Jesse’s voice followed hers. “That was your first mistake.”
She lowered her voice and whispered something, which made Jesse start laughing.
“Right?” She was laughing, too. “Thank you. Exactly. Anyway, I got complacent. And with cats, that’s when they humble you. Dogs will warn you. Cats are like, ‘No, I’m going to let you build confidence first.’”
“Keeps things interesting.”
“And horses, they’re like, so sweet, but they’ll absolutely take you out by accident.”
“So,” Jesse hummed, “no cats for you?”
“No, oh my gosh. I have two rabbits. What about you?”
“I have three cats, actually.”
“Three? Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry. I’m sure they’re amazing. You seem like a great cat dad.”
“Uh, Gabriela Landry?” Whitaker stopped short in the doorway, forcing Crus to skirt around him to get into the space. The kid needed to be less hesitant about being personable, Crus could already tell, but he’d get there. He just needed to be shown.
“Just Gabby, please.” Deep brown, almond-shaped eyes landed on Whitaker, at whom Gabby smiled, before her gaze floated over his shoulder and settled on Crus. Her brow furrowed, echoing a feeling of deja vu in the back of Crus’s mind, while he stepped inside.
“My name is Dr. Henderson,” he said while he pulled a pair of gloves on, then handed another pair to Whitaker, “and this is Dennis Whitaker, a medical student—”
“Oh!” Her face lit up with a brighter smile, unaware or unbothered that she’d cut him off. She was too excited, clearly. “I remember you. Farmer’s market. You bought a lemon bar candle from my sister and chatted about our parents’ ranch.”
All of a sudden, Crus was back at the winter market over in Bloomfield. He’d gone on a whim, just wanting to check it out, get out of the house on a Saturday morning in February, and maybe grab some fresh bread to turn into French toast. There’d been a candlemaker—two sisters in knit hats and gloves, both with braids, sparkly dark eyes, and smiles so warm he’d forgotten the cold. One of the women had a pom-pom on her hat, and she spent a whole five minutes talking up her sister’s creative process and her parents’ horses. She’d pressed a candle in his hand. He didn’t even look at what the label said before he dropped $20 on it.
Now, in the ER, the woman whose hat had a pom-pom was idly swinging one of her legs while she sat across a hospital bed. He’d since finished the candle. It was nice, having a kitchen that smelled like baked goods whenever he wanted.
Shaking his head, he took a seat on the rolling stool. “I am amazed you remember that.”
“Some things just stick with you,” she replied, looking at him with a tilted head like he was the only person in the room.
His chest did a funny thing. She was really pretty—but she was also currently bleeding. He could fix that for her. “Well, let’s hope you don’t have a bad ER experience stick with you. What happened to your hand?”
“I’m a vet. A cat was coming out of anesthesia and I spooked him, so he bit me.” She sighed and rolled her eyes at herself. “I should have been more careful. Deep Dish is skittish on a good day.”
Crus looked up. So did Whitaker. “The cat’s name is Deep Dish?”
“Oh, yeah.” She looked completely unaffected by that. “He’s one of the Pizza litter. There’s also Neapolitan, Pepperoni, Mozzarella, and Thin Crust. When a cat has kittens, the owner usually gives the litter silly names so they don’t get attached before giving them away.”
Whitaker pressed his lips together, cheeks firm. Was the kid trying not to laugh? Did he not know that you could laugh in the ER?
With a laugh—set a good example, be a good teacher, so on—Crus bent to get a good look at the puncture wounds. “His bite kind of matches his name.”
She frowned, nose wrinkling along with it, and peered at the bite. It looked pretty deep for something a kitten could pull off—she had been right to come in and have it cleaned. “He didn’t mean it.”
“He’s a cat,” Whitaker pointed out, quietly, like he wasn’t quite sure of the mood in the room.
Gabby didn’t argue. She just giggled.
Crus felt himself struggling not to smile. He bit the inside of his cheek while his hands skimmed over Gabby’s forearm. “The punctures are deep, but too small to stitch.” He leaned away and met Gabby’s eyes. “I’m going to wash this out with saline and set you up with a prescription for an antibiotic.”
She looked sheepish. “This feels like such a waste of your time.”
“Not at all,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you getting an infection.”
“Neither do all the cats in Pittsburgh,” Jesse added, smiling at both Gabby and Crus when he brought over a tray with saline and a syringe.
Dr. Henderson, with medium brown skin and a charming smile, was tall and husky and so nice to look at that Gabby was sure she was blushing every time he drew near. He was also probably the nicest doctor she had ever met. It was good he worked in the ER, then; he was so calm, so easy with his smiles, that she’d want him around if she was having a medical emergency.
Which, for the record, she didn’t really think the bite was. Maybe she should have gone to urgent care.
But if she had, she wouldn’t have seen Dr. Henderson again, and that was a nice little thing. She’d have to text Jasmine about it. She wondered if she’d remember him, too.
“All the cats have their own homes now?” he asked while supervising the medical student carefully dress her hand with antibiotic ointment and the thickest bandage Gabby had ever seen.
He mustn’t have ever had cats. “Almost. They started rehoming the kittens a couple months ago. Just Deep Dish is left.”
“Is he okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” She waved her good hand. “He’s just particular.”
When she met the litter, stopping by the owner’s house to check on Mama Cat and the babies, Deep Dish hid underneath his mom and hissed when Gabby picked her up so she could take a look at both of them.
Every time he’d been to the clinic since, he found a new corner to hide in. The first time he did it, his owner was convinced he slipped out the door and into the street—but he just wound up under the receptionist’s desk.
Even at home, apparently, he avoided affection and made himself at home underneath things instead of out in the open. He played, but only if no one was watching; if his owner or her husband came into the room, Deep Dish ran.
Gabby felt for him. An animal didn’t need to be so shy when he was absolutely safe and loved.
While Dennis was finishing up, Dr. Henderson turned toward the rolling computer desk and reached underneath Jesse’s arm for a pad of Post-Its and a pen. “Why don’t you write down his owner’s number? I’ll see if anyone in the department’s looking for a cat.”
Dennis paused when he turned to reach for the snips to clip her bandage.
From the inside, Gabby’s chest lifted. “Really?”
“Sure.” His smile was warm in the most reassuring way possible. “Maybe Jesse wants another cat.”
“I don’t need a fourth cat.”
Dr. Henderson didn’t look at the nurse. “Whitaker used to live on a farm in Nebraska.”
Gabby looked at the medical student, a smile growing on her face. He looked surprised Dr. Henderson knew that. His ears pinked. She gestured to get his attention. “No way, really? Do you have pictures? I can show you my parents’ ranch.”
“I mean— Sure.” He blinked, then sheepishly smiled as he opened up. “Just because I can handle a bunch of cows, corn, and uh—my own parents—doesn’t mean my roommate will let me get a cat. Sorry.”
“Of course not,” she soothed while Dr. Henderson strolled back over to her. “Honestly, Deep Dish isn't for someone unconfident with pet ownership. He needs patience. But if you ever think you want a calmer cat…”
“I’m sure someone around here would be great with him,” Dr. Henderson said. “Let’s get this little guy a home.”
Smiling up at him, Gabby took the pad and pen, then leaned on her thigh to write the owner’s number. “Texting is better than calling. I’m also putting down my clinic number since we’ve been taking care of him; whoever takes him home should probably stick with us. We’re not far from this hospital, don’t worry.”
Two weeks later, on a Thursday morning, Crus pulled up to his apartment building with a cat carrier in his passenger seat. In it was the most skittish creature he’d ever seen: a tortoiseshell cat who’d had to be carried out to his car and unceremoniously placed in the carrier like his owner was all too happy to get rid of him.
Poor guy.
Cutting the engine, he turned to look at the pair of wary yellow-green eyes staring through the gaps in the wire door. “It’s cool, bud. You’re gonna love your life; I’m gone all night, so you get to do anything you want, and you get to keep the vet you like so much.”
He reached toward the carrier and presented his fingers for Deep Dish to smell, hoping that would work. The cat clung to the carrier’s wall, watching him without blinking.
Crus nodded. He could handle this. He handled things all the time. He pulled his hand away and reached for his phone instead. “We’re just gonna send your Uncle Jesse a quick text. Everything’s going to be great. You’ll see.”