Page 61 of Meant for Mayhem

I looked down at the backpack resting against my chair, picturing the finger puppets, plastic dinosaurs, bubbles, and all the cards I’d laminated myself because I was so excited to use it all.

I’d packed for my first day as a pediatric speech pathologist.

Instead, I would now spend the next nine months helping people navigate the same disease slowly stealing one of my favorite people.

I made it back to Mikko’s that afternoon, more tired than I’d ever been. The garage opened the moment I pulled up, and I returned the car to the same spot I’d found it this morning. Mikko had also put a key fob on my key ring, and I swiped it by a security reader, calling the elevator. It dinged, then opened for me, and I stepped on, sagging against the wall. Without even selecting a floor, it zoomed upward and deposited me in Mikko’s foyer far faster than I was prepared for.

When the doors slid apart, Leena looked over, then broke into a run toward me. I dropped to my knees and let her crash into me, arms around my neck. Her little giggle was almost enough to chip away at my walls, but a tear slipped free when she planted a little kiss on my cheek. I wiped it away before Mikko noticed and forced myself to smile at Leena.

“I missed you.” I pushed to my feet, taking her hand when she reached for mine. “Did you have fun while I was gone?”

She answered by dragging me toward the kitchen.

Mikko stood at the stove in a faded charcoal t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders and a pair of gym shorts that had absolutely no business looking that good on anyone. One hand stirred a pot while the other rested on his hip, his attention bouncing between whatever was simmering on the stove and the toddler now proudly escorting me into the room.

“How’d it go?”

Before I could answer, Leena tugged me the rest of the way into the kitchen.

A pot of tomato sauce bubbled on the stove while a pan of browned Italian sausage waited beside it. A loaf of garlic bread sat on the counter next to a bowl of Caesar salad. I looked between the ingredients, then back at him.

“You cooked again?”

“That’s a generous interpretation.” He pointed at the pan. “The sauce came from a jar, and the bread was frozen. I’m also ninety percent sure dumping salad out of a bag doesn’t count as cooking.”

“It absolutely counts.”

“Good.” He pointed toward the refrigerator. “Because if this goes badly, we still have chicken and rice.”

Leena banged a wooden spoon on an overturned bowl, shrieking in delight at the racket she made. It was the best sound I’d heard all day.

I pulled out a barstool and dropped into it, letting my head fall to the marble counter. “Today sucked.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mikko didn’t say anything else, only the happy sounds of Leena playing at our feet filling the room. Maybe someone else would have been put off by his non-attempt to further the conversation, but I was starting to understand him. It wasn’t so much that he wasn’t listening or didn’t care, but more so that Mikko himself was a deeply private person. He was letting me choose if I wanted to end the conversation there or give him more. On any other day, I probably would have dropped it, but today was a disaster of epic proportions, and texting Stevie felt too daunting right now.

I lifted my head, resting it on my hands. “What if I actually hate the job I’ve worked so hard for?”

Mikko mixed the sausage in with the tomato sauce, then put a lid on top of it. He turned and leaned against the counter, arms crossed across his chest highlighting every single muscle.

“Do you? Hate it, I mean?”

I heaved a sigh, then looked down at Leena. “I was supposed to work in pediatrics, to help kids like her. That makes me feel important, to feel like I’m helping kids who need someone to go at their speed. To help them find their own voices.”

“And that’s not what happened today?”

“No.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “I got placed with a mentor who handles adult neurology patients instead. They want me to work with Parkinson’s patients.”

“Like Lori.”

I put my head back down before more tears could fall.

“That makes you sad,” Mikko said, the words sounding more like a question than a statement.

“Well, it sure doesn’t feel good.”

“Can you ask for another placement? One that’s back with kids.”