Lucky for them, moving day proved warm and sunny. Petra, clad in red shorts and a worn T-shirt, looked around her at the chaos of friends, drop cloths, bags, and crates, and twitched her mouth into a grin.
Moving wasn’t so bad, now that she had gotten used to the idea. It was a good thing, too, because her practice would probably be next. Her patient base had grown as the spring months came, and now that Petra had won a part-time position at a hospital across town (made easier by the fact that she had use of Ian’s car), she wasn’t as afraid of losing people or of being crushed by debt. Her mother had settled surprisingly well into city life. Jim Morrison occasionally drove in to take Lisa to dinner or to squabble with her. The relationship remained tempestuous. Apparently, Jim Morrison had hidden depths. Now, Lisa had decided to move back to Astoria.
Field thrived, and Stream had grown so much that Gerry and Ian considered expanding into the space next door. They also toyed with opening another restaurant. Petra’s suggestions for names included Scientific American and The Atlantic Monthly.
In the meantime, she and Ian found a narrow old Victorian house just ten minutes from the restaurants and Petra’s office. It needed a little work, like everything in their lives, but Ian was already relishing the idea of using his power tools.
Everyone was at their new place. Helen retied the bandanna around her head, while Gerry watched admiringly. Lisa lounged on the couch. Even Jenna and Ellie had driven down to help. Although the only person currently doing any work was Sarah. Good old Sarah, peering at boxes, moving them around the new house, following the directions on the stickers she’d placed on them. “Blue for the bathroom, green for the kitchen, red for the bedroom, and yellow for delicates,” she repeated.
“About that,” Petra said, “we may have crammed additional items into boxes which didn’t quite follow sticker protocol.”
Sarah muttered something under her breath and continued to work.
Petra looked around for Ian.
He had just come back from his office. He looked tousled and dusty, and a streak of dirt ran down his calf. He looked better than anyone had any right to look.
He smiled as he caught sight of Petra. A small box sat on his shoulders. In the other hand, he balanced some pizza boxes.
“I like a man who can carry a big load,” she said.
He grinned and put the food down on the dining table, which was conveniently jammed in the middle of the hallway, waiting to be moved. “I think you’re just sweet-talking me for the carb injection,” he said.
The troops crowded in, ready to eat.
“Sarah,” he said, “I managed to find a kale, tomato, and garlic pizza—no cheese—for you.”
I love him, Petra thought, as Sarah blew him a kiss.
“Are you going to miss Petra’s old place?” Ellie asked, munching on a slice of pepperoni.
“No,” Ian and Petra replied, together.
It had been tough at first. The apartment was small for two people, and Petra found herself strangely reluctant to part with her clutter. Suddenly, her World Book encyclopedia set seemed useful, even though she just Googled everything nowadays. The ratty duvet cover that she’d thought to make into curtains still sat in the linen closet. The tennis racket seemed too new to give away, the baseball bat too old.
And Ian kept bringing home rocks.
When Petra asked—nicely—why he was doing this, he said it was because he needed to add to his collection.
When Lisa noised about moving back to Astoria, Ian made a decision to sell. He and Petra were doing well with immunotherapy. They offered to take Snuffy back, but Lisa seemed reluctant to part with him. They considered a cat custody arrangement.
Petra wandered into the kitchen, trailing her fingers on the appliances holding a slice of pizza. Sarah was washing her hands in the scratched farmhouse sink.
“Things seem better between you and Helen,” Petra said, settling herself onto the counter.
“Yeah. We aren’t avoiding each other anymore. It’s easier now.”
Sarah dried her hands on her jeans.
“So, why are you in here?” Petra asked.
Sarah laughed. “Because I need to declutter, my friend. Don’t get between me and my label gun.”
“You know, if this physician thing doesn’t work out, you could organize moves for a living. In fact, I’m going to have to ask you to do this again, since I’ll probably have to pack up the practice in a few months.”
“Does the landlord have a new tenant already?”
“Nope. But I’ve decided that I’m not going to worry about it. Ian’s broker is culling places for me. She thinks she can find something in the area. If not…well, I had an informational interview with a practice across town.”
Sarah toyed with her box-cutter. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “My contract with Pronto!Docs is up next month and I don’t want to stay. I have money saved up. I wondered how you’d feel if I became a partner in your practice?”
“An allergist and an OB?”
“Well, it’s not like I’m a veterinarian. We still work on the same species. We’d just be a multispecialty place, share the same receptionist, offices, some of our equipment. Plus, I’d be giving you a fresh infusion of capital and sharing the rent. My presence would provide some foot traffic to yours, and vice versa. Although, uh, maybe with just two docs, calling it ‘multispecialty’ would be pushing it. Plus, with the money that I put in, maybe we’d be able to keep the office in its location. And I’d be a lot happier than I am now.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought this through,” Petra said. “I would love to have you. But I speak from experience. It’s a big outlay. You’d have to buy your own ultrasound equipment. And having your own practice won’t always make you happy, especially because you feel such ownership. Although if you bought in, we could invest in hiring a nurse, which would be so great.
“Listen to me,” Petra added, gleefully. “I sound so seasoned. It’s like I know what I’m doing now. At some point, I might actually become a decent physician.”
“You’re getting there,” Helen said, sticking her head in the door.
“Sarah was talking about purchasing a share of the practice,” Petra said.
“Cool. Hey, maybe I should go in, too.”
Sarah snorted. “I’ve been running numbers, picking up used equipment on the sly, and secretly sounding out my patients for months, and you just march in and are, like, Hey, cool, I should buy in, too. God, sometimes I can’t stand it.”
“Sarah, you mean, Sometimes, I can’t stand you, Helen. Sometimes, I can’t stand you,” Helen said placidly.
Petra sat on the counter, her slice still uneaten. She stared at her friends.
“Well, say something,” Sarah said, turning around.
“This may be awesome, or my very worst nightmare,” Petra said.
“Probably a little of both,” Helen said, still cheerful. “Send me some numbers. We can talk about it next week.”
Sarah muttered again.
Helen said, “I heard that,” and Petra slid down and left.
She was glad that there were many rooms in this house.
Ian was sitting at the table in the hallway, alone. Petra pulled up a box beside him.
“Where is everyone?” Petra asked.
“Gerry decided they should get dessert. He’s got his heart set on some sort of Italian ice. Jenna offered to drive and your sister is giving Gerry a much-needed lecture about intersectional feminism. They could be a while.
“Don’t you want to know what’s in the box I brought from the office?” He pushed it over to Petra.
She peered inside. A photo album of his parents’ wedding. Some loose pictures. “This is you when you were a little kid,” she said, delighted. “I thought you said you couldn’t find these.”
“I started looking through everything, finally, and I discovered them.”
He pulled out a black and white photograph of a smiling young couple. “They seemed happy there, didn’t they? I figured we could put some up, of your family and mine. I also found this.”
He took out a beautiful filigreed silver ring. “It was my mother’s engagement ring. It wasn’t the happiest marriage, but I look at it and I feel like it deserves a second chance. If you don’t want this engagement ring, it’s okay, I won’t be hurt.”
She tried it on. It was a little big.
“It would need to be cleaned, and resized, of course,” Ian said.
“I love it,” Petra said serenely.
They sat eating pizza. Ian eyed her with darkening intent. “Where are Helen and Sarah?” he asked, a little too casually.
She tried to ignore the warmth that flooded her. “They’re right in the next room,” she said.
He nodded and leaned into her. “How about happy pants?” he asked.
“That might be the least clever name, yet,” she breathed, darting another glance at the door. “The absolute worst.”
“Maybe so,” he said, reaching for her, “but happy pants make for happy endings.”