The Ultimatum

Chapter 9

"So, I went dress shopping with a friend from work today. I wanted something nice to wear for tomorrow night. Is a dress too much? How formal is it going to be? What are you wearing?" Why, for the love of God, am I talking so much? I'm making a complete fool of myself. He hasn't even had time to react to the first thing I said, much less answer 21 questions.

"Um, it's a mix, people will come in work clothes, people will dress up, it's whatever you feel comfortable in, but I don't think a dress would be overdoing it. I don't think you'll be the only one wearing one. We're not super formal, but a lot of people like the chance to dress up, I think. I'm probably gonna wear a dress shirt and a nice pair of jeans, or I can wear.. something else, if that helps." I smile.

"That'll be fine. I just worry too much, it's kind of my thing. I've, uh, got anxiety. I've had it since I was a kid.  I just get kind of restless and worry too much sometimes. I'll get over it. Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," he says, clearing his throat. God, why did I just say that? "I know that you probably don't trust me yet, but you can talk to me about those kinds of things if they're bothering you, you know? I don't want you to just bottle up everything and hide away. If we're going to do this thing, I'd love to give a real shot at being.. friends." Friends, right. Of course. Anything more than that would be silly, presumptuous of me.

"Yeah," I say, a small smile on my face that I hope looks real, "I'd like that. I have a bit of a hard time with that, making friends, talking to people, at first. But I'll come around, I promise."

"I know," he smiles warmly, "I just wish you didn't go so hard on yourself in the meantime."

"You've got me there," I admit, wagging a finger in his direction, "I have a habit of that."

"So," he says, "How do you feel about tomorrow night? We could do something that morning to help you calm down, maybe get breakfast at Judy's donut shop?"

"Yeah, sounds great, we can go before my shift if you want. I'm sure it'll go great tomorrow, I'll probably be too tired to be that nervous anyway." I hope my false bravado isn't as see-through as it feels, but I've been flying by the seat of my pants for the last two decades and made it this far, I suppose. I must be doing something right.

"Okay, good." He speaks up again as I stand up to leave, all too ready to flee my growing humiliation at our discussion of my shortcomings, "Um, Olivia?"

"Hmm?"

"You can come in and talk to me whenever you want. I know it gets quiet sometimes, but I'd like the company, too. Seriously."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Ryan."

"No problem." And with that, I leave.

I really am an idiot to have ever thought he could like me. He obviously just feels obligated to help me because of our situation and as a friend because he's a nice person, and it shouldn't be a surprise, shouldn't bother me so much as it does. How could I possibly expect him to be over his mate? I barely knew Peter and it felt like a part of me died when I lost him, a childhood dream, an innocence that expected the world to work out and for people who were supposed to love each other to be together. For him, it was so much worse. He lost all of that and the love of his life, and so young. No, that's not the kind of thing you get over. He was cool when he thought we could be friends and nothing more, so I just need to stick to that. Friends. Not this irrational wanting him when there's a million reasons that it's a terrible idea.

No, I just need to stick to being a good nurse, and, hopefully, a good Luna to this pack. I'll just focus on working part time and learning about the pack and doing whatever we have to do and only that and finding a way to be okay with that. It's better than I could've hoped for after everything that happened with Peter, because I won't have to go back to his pack ever again, so I can live with it. I'll live with it and it'll be enough. It has to.

The next day, as always, comes for me much too fast for my liking. The only redeemable quality might be eating blueberry donuts and getting mesmerized by Ryan's laugh before my shift, as mortified as I feel for my own thoughts afterwards. I pass Macy coming in and she asks what has me smiling today and I tell her about breakfast with Ryan, of which she is characteristically overly enthusiastic aout. I still can't figure out how she musters the energy to smile this much this early in the morning, but today I'm grateful for it for keeping my mood light, at least until she asks me how I'm feeling about tonight, of which I'm even less enthusiastic and she is bewilderingly more cheery in her encouragement of. After hearing all about how they're going to love me because they'd be fools not to, I've never been so thankful to trudge into the ER and get lost in the routine of diagnostics, doling out medicine, and updating electronic records. By the time I grab my jacket and trudge out of the door, I find myself loathe to leave, dreading the idea of leaving the cacaphony of beeping, scuffing shoes, and clicking of computer keys for the click of heels, clink of glasses, and polite chatter of the party I'm expected to attend in a few hours.