Yours to Keep by Claudia Burgoa
Chapter Nine
Darren
The same dayI arrived in Baker’s Creek, I checked on patients at the medical practice. Hayes wasn’t kidding when he said they were busy. The following day we had another wave of patients, and one of them happened to pay me with a casserole. Since I’m bone-tired, I order a bottle of wine, a fork, and dessert. I doubt I’m going to eat the whole dish of bacon mac-and-cheese. Still, this beats going downstairs.
I appreciate that the Aldridges accommodate me but charging them for my meals doesn’t feel right. My furniture is supposed to arrive by Saturday, and I hope it shows. I have a terrible feeling. Something is nagging at me, and the feeling gets worse as my phone rings and Mom’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” she says.
“Hello to you too,” I try to redirect the conversation because I’m about to fall asleep from exhaustion.
“What do you mean by ‘I got a new job’?”
“Oh, remember Hayes Aldridge? He offered me a position in his practice. Plus, he’s opening a hospital, and I’m going to be the head of neurology.” I sound like a car sales guy or one of those people selling shit on infomercials. They don’t know if the crap they describe works, but they pay them enough to sound convincing.
“Well, nobody told me that they’re opening a new hospital here, in San Francisco.” I love my mom, but she thinks she’s the queen of SanFran, and everyone should ask for her advice and permission to do anything within the city.
“No. Hayes lives in Baker’s Creek.”
“Where is that?” Her voice is low.
“It’s east of Portland. Just a couple of hours from SanFran.” Yes, I admit I’m twisting the truth. It’s not a couple of hours from home. More like four if they’re driving from Portland. But she doesn’t need to know that. Not just yet.
“Wait, you’re in Portland?”
“No. I’m in Baker’s Creek,” I correct her.
“You left without telling me that you were moving out?”
“It’s not like that,” I say, but it’s exactly like that. If I could skip this conversation, I would, but it’s best to do it over the phone since I can’t.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“This is a trial period,” I lie. “What’s the point of telling you I’m moving when I’m not sure if it’s happening.”
“How long are you going to be away?”
“It depends,” I respond. “Three months…” Thirty years. Until I retire?
“That’s a long time. What are you going to do in that place?”
“I already told you, Ma,” I respond, trying not to sound annoyed, but I’m failing. “I’m working at the medical practice. We’re opening the hospital early next year. I’m in charge of hiring some of the doctors and nurses that will be joining us.”
The last part isn’t a lie. None of that is a lie. Only the length of time I’m staying. I don’t know if this is my permanent home, but I want to stay here for as long as it’s possible.
There, that sounds a lot better than I need a break. I love my mother and my family, but they can be overbearing. I’m living far enough from my family that they can’t just show up at my door, but not so far that I can’t still visit them often.
I’m aware it will take about another million calls before I’m brave enough to say I moved to Baker’s Creek. Permanently. Ah, that word sends shivers down my body—and not the good sexy kind. Not because I’m afraid of leaving San Francisco, but because I imagine my adorable mother driving to Baker’s Creek to drag me back home by the ear, like a misbehaved child who went to his friend’s house to play when he didn’t have permission.
“That’s a long time. When am I going to see you again? I’m not that young anymore.”
There we go. The guilt trip is taking a different form. I roll my eyes, and I’m thankful we’re not Facetiming. I adore this woman, but she’s too extra. If I don’t cut this phone call now, she’s going to bring up my marital status, the lack of grandchildren, and my loveless life—again.
I’m not sure how often I have to remind her that she has three daughters—and plenty of grandchildren to spoil. Marriage isn’t for me.
Single looks damn good on me.
I like to play the field. Well, not that I can play it here in Baker’s Creek. There aren’t many men available. There’s Vance, but I don’t have a read on him. I’ve searched through my app, but this town doesn’t have any singles registered to it. Okay, I tried several apps. There aren’t many guys I can match with because not one person in a hundred-mile radius from where I live has an account.
Next weekend, during the festival, I should try again. I bet there’s a guy or two who comes from Portland who are willing and available.
If Anna Tattle, the mastermind behind the social media accounts in Baker’s Creek, found out that any of the people in town are on an app, she’d make it public. That’s the downside of living in a small town. People gossip like it’s vital to surviving. You can’t escape Anna Tattle’s camera phone.
I was already trending before the moving truck began unpacking my things. I’ve never trended in my life. Not even when I went out with Henderson Blackwood, one of the hottest CEOs in San Francisco.
“Did I tell you Mia’s teacher is gay?”
“Mom, you’re not trying to set me up with my niece’s teacher, are you?” I don’t tell her Danika already told me and tried to give me his phone number. What is with my family and their obsession to set me up with any available gay guy they meet?
“You’re thirty-five.”
“I’m pretty aware of my age. You sent me a set of moisturizers to revitalize my skin.” Leave it to my mom to say, “Happy Birthday. Here’s a gift card so you can visit the plastic surgeon. Or better yet, this is a new facial moisturizer because you’re looking too fucking old.”
“Well, you have everything. What else am I supposed to give you? You don’t like the clothes that I buy you.”
She likes to dress me like a preppy guy from the 80s. Don Johnson would like his attire back, Mother. “I appreciate you, Mom.”
“Well, you can show your appreciation in different ways.”
I laugh because she’s about to ask for something and to keep her happy, I might have to say yes.
“There’s this charity event coming up. I told my friends that maybe you’d want to volunteer.”
“Volunteer? What are you getting me into?”
“It’s a bachelor’s auction.”
“No.” I cut her off right away. I’m not going to be in the middle of an event pretending that I’m okay with whoever snatches me for the night. The last time it was an old lady. Well, old as my mom.
“It’s for a good cause.”
“Send me the information, and I’ll donate a hefty amount.”
“Darren Joseph Russell, you’re going to that auction.”
I laugh .You do as I say stopped working when I was a teenager, I just never told her.
“Mom, I can’t. I’m busy with the opening of the hospital,” I lie. The building is still under construction, but if I tell her I have patients, she’s not going to care.
“I don’t understand why you have to be there. You’re one of the best neurosurgeons in the country. You have to be in a big city. Not a little town. Do you know it’s not on the map?”
It takes all my strength not to laugh at her nonsense.
“I’m pretty sure it is, Mom. This is a tourist destination. Plenty of people know how to get here every Saturday.”
“What happens on Saturdays?”
“Ugh,” I groan. My big mouth always gets me in trouble.
“There’s always a festival in town. It drives plenty of people in, and they don’t seem to get lost.”
“Still, I think you’re making a mistake—which is fine. As I told your father, you’ll have to move in with us if you end up homeless. There’s plenty of room.”
I laugh because only my mother could find a silver lining that doesn’t make sense. However, it’ll ensure that I work so hard that the hospital becomes not only a success but the destination for people who need to see a neurosurgeon. I know the place will become one of the best hospitals.
He’s not only creating the best hospital and practice in the world, his brothers plan on making this one of the country’s favorite destinations in the Northwest.
“Way to be supportive, Mom. You were more encouraging when I toyed with the idea of getting a Prince Albert piercing.”
“I knew you wouldn’t do it. It was just nonsense. And that’s not the point of this conversation. I want the best for you, but you moved to a small town without asking for our advice. If you were unhappy with your current practice, I—”
“Mom, I got a patient,” I interrupt her, pretending that I’m still working. As a matter of fact, I’d rather go back to the practice than continue listening to her.
“I thought you said the hospital isn’t ready.”
“It’s not, but as I explained to you, I work at a private practice.”
“You’re playing with your future, Darren. It’s time for you to realize that you’re thirty-five.” She repeats my age the way she used to do it when I was ten and still collecting Matchbox cars.
“I love you, Mom. Say hi to everyone.” I hang up, not waiting for another round of nonsense.
I love her dearly, but she needs a hobby. My sisters are behind this mothering. How to redirect Debbie Russell’s attention? Focus it on the child that’s failing at something. In this case, I’m the one not giving her grandchildren. Maybe I need to do something to get her attention away from me.
