-

Next to me, the printer rumbles to life. For a while, the only sound in the waiting room is the soft shrrr of the machine as it slides out the pages. Doc is currently at delivery, and Sadie is in the back with a patient. There are four other patients in the room, and, so far, they are behaving.

Eventually, the printer spits out the last page and falls silent. I stack the warm sheets of paper and begin going through each of them to ensure that they are in the correct order. I'm in the middle of the stack when, as I flip through, my thumb gets caught on the edge; it shears into my skin. It's not a deep cut, but tiny droplets of blood bubble up. I push the papers aside and grab my purse. I take out the small Lululemon pouch I keep for self-care and take out a Band-Aid from it. I dab at the blood with a Kleenex and then wrap the Band-Aid around my thumb. The whole ordeal takes less than a minute, and, when I look up again, I find myself face to face with Mad Cow.

I barely catch myself from cursing. I paste on a smile and say, "Hi there! How can I help you?"

Her wide-set eyes look me up and down. "Erin, it's me," she says.

"Do you have an appointment with us, or would you like to set up an appointment?"

She narrows her eyes. "Whatever you're doing, stop it."

My sister resembles the Pillsbury Doughboy in shape and complexion, but unlike the Pillsbury Doughboy, she's neither cute nor endearing. She does, however, know how to dress, and today, she's opted for a light pink dress with a cowl neck and silver bangles on both wrists that clatter against the counter of the front desk. Her light brown hair is tied up in a bun, and two locks frame her round face. Her eyes are hazel, and her lips are glossed. She looks perfectly normal, kind, even, and I suddenly have the urge to laugh out loud.

"If you do not have an appointment with us, and you would not like to set up an appointment, I, unfortunately, will have to ask you to leave," I say. I push back my chair and stand up. I'm five foot seven, and, in heels, I can easily be five foot ten or more. Mad Cow is shorter than I am, at five foot four, and no matter how high of a heel she wears, I will always look down at her, and she knows it, and we both know that she loathes it, and I fucking love it.

"Erin!"

I refuse to let her make me feel like a child being scolded. I let out a sigh and jerk my head to the back, away from the prying eyes and ears of the preggos in the waiting room, who, by the way, haven't flipped one page of their magazines or scrolled even one centimeter on their phones from the moment Mad Cow opened her mouth.

As I expected, she follows me past the door and into the break room. I drop all pretenses. I cross my arms and raise my brow at her. "What do you want?"

"I know you're ignoring me on purpose."

"Good."

I grab a glass from the cupboard and set about making my own seltzer with lime. I grab a can from the fridge as well as a fresh lime. I wash the lime in the sink, taking extra long with it, and I can just feel the fumes of anger radiating off Mad Cow. I turn off the tap. She begins to speak. I turn it on again. She closes her mouth. This is fun. I do it twice more until she reaches over and violently pulls the handle. The tap turns off.

"If you break anything in here, I'm sending you a bill," I say.

"Shut up," she says. Her expression has turned ugly, and I see her true self clawing its way out. "Listen, the only reason I'm even here at all is because you've been ignoring me, and I've been trying to set up a family dinner because I'm actually a good daughter. I could be doing so many other things right now, but I can't because of you. As always. "

"You're welcome." I pop open the can of seltzer and pour the contents into my cup.

She rolls her eyes. "Tell me when you're free for dinner. And do not tell me you're busy because I know the fuck you're not working at this dump."

I grab a knife from the knife block, and I catch my reflection in the blade. I imagine twirling the blade and sinking it deep into Mad Cow's gut. The blood would gush out, coating my hands in its stickiness and staining her pink dress red. She's always hated the color red. "Family dinner?" I say. I slice the knife through the lime. It cleaves in two easily. "I didn't realize I was a part of this family. You, of all people, have made that very clear."

I slice through the lime again. I take one of the wedges and squeeze some of the juice into the seltzer and then push the leftover wedge into the edge of my glass. I swirl my glass and take a sip. The bubbles dance down my throat.

"You're so fucking dramatic, oh my god!" Her voice rings in the room.

Now, I'm getting angry. I lower my voice, but it slices through the air. "I'm dramatic for you trying to kill me?"

"That was just for fun!" she practically shrieks. "It's not my fault you were afraid of the water."

"No," I say. "You made me afraid of the water after you tried to drown me."

She laughs out loud. It's the laugh of a hyena, and the sound makes my stomach drop, even after all these years. She shakes her head as if I'm the stupidest person to exist. Her laughter abruptly stops, and a sneer curves her mouth. "Too bad it didn't work."

I stand up straighter. "If that's all you came here for, you can leave now, or I'll call security." We don't actually have security, but there is a security camera in the corner of the room; the way we're positioned, the camera has only a view of my back but a full view of my sister.

Gripping my glass in hand, I sidestep Mad Cow. She seizes my wrist, the one holding the glass, and, instinctively, I drop it. The glass shatters onto the floor in four big, sharp pieces that glint in the fluorescent light. There is a puddle of seltzer on the floor, and — ugh! — some of it has splashed onto my dress.

"You're coming to the dinner," Mad Cow hisses at me.

Her grip on my wrist is strong enough to bruise. The pain gives me fuel. "Or else what?" I hiss back.

Her eyes flick down to the shards of glass laying on the floor. Her lips twist. "Or else we'll have some fun like old times."

"Is something the problem here?"

Doc's voice is unmistakable. I see his form in the doorway, and for half a heartbeat, we lock eyes.

I yank my arm back. "No, Doc," I say after a moment of tense silence. "She was just leaving."

"That's right," Mad Cow says, her voice saccharine. "We're all good. Just wanted to see my favorite sister." She then reaches forward and gives me a hug as if we really are nothing but two loving sisters who haven't seen each other in months. I return the hug, digging my nails into the soft flesh of her flabby arms. She feels them, I know she does, but her smile only widens and her movements are graceful as she lets me go.

She swivels around, and though I can't see her, I can only imagine that she's smiling wide and fluttering her eyelashes at Doc. "Always lovely to see you, Dr. Moretti," she says.

He returns her smile, but I notice that it doesn't reach his eyes. "Likewise, Kelsey. You have a good day now."

She leaves us, and, within seconds, it's just me and Doc. The glass crunches beneath his Ferragamos as he strides toward me. He takes my wrist and inspects the red imprints that have been left behind from my sister's vise grip. His fingers are cool and gentle. "Erin, are you okay? What's happened?"

He's cradling my sore wrist as if it's a newborn he's just delivered, and I quickly extricate myself from his grasp. "Obviously not," I say, only answering his first question.

His brows furrow deeper. "Right, I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't be. It's not your fault my sister's a psycho."

Doc doesn't know the details about Mad Cow, certainly not the attempted murder, but he's not oblivious to the tension between us. He fixes me with those warm brown eyes that are currently filled with concern. "It's not your fault either," he says.

I pause. I open my mouth. I close it. I cross my arms. "I know that," I say.

"Erin, I don't know what is going on, and I'm not going to press, but, my dear, take the rest of the day off. We'll be okay."

I unwound my arms. "Do you know how to use Zenoti?"

"Zenoti? That's the..." he scrunches his nose.

"Scheduling system we use for your patients."

He snaps his fingers. "Ah, yes. I was going to say that."

"Please," I scoff, "you guys would be a wreck if I weren't here." I'm not letting Mad Cow ruin my day, even if taking up on Doc's offer means I'd get the day to myself. I'll be the one to decide whether to have a bad day, thank you very much.

Doc chuckles. "That is true," he says, but then his voice grows stern. "But if you ever need to talk or need some time, just tell me. My door is always open."

I wave him away. Doc doesn't look convinced. I know he's a doctor, and it's in his nature to care about things he has no business of caring, but he's starting to get on my nerves, and all I want to do is snap at him to fuck off. "How was the delivery?" I say instead.

He watches me for another moment before he adjusts his glasses and says, with a faint smile on his features, "Three pushes," he says. "A beautiful baby boy. Mom is healthy as well, and Dad is over the moon. They're new parents."

"Three pushes?" I feign interest, but I'm bored of this conversation already. "That's a new record."

He nods. "It is. But certainly not uncommon."

"I'm glad it went well."

"Thank you, Erin."

I start to leave but as I near the hallway, I stop and say, "Mrs. Chambers, your two o'clock is here. You've got some forms for FMLA to fill out also. I'll leave them on your desk. If you need anything from me, let me know."

Aside from Mrs. Miner coming in wearing a pink dress and making me hallucinate for half a second, thinking that Mad Cow had returned, the rest of the day goes by rather smoothly. It's only after the final patient goes in for her appointment that I realize that I never cleaned up the mess that Mad Cow had created earlier. I lock my computer and head to the break room, ready to get down on my hands and knees and ruin my beautiful new dress to pick up shards of glass as if I were a lowly maid, but...

...the floor is clean, as if my darling older sister had never stepped foot in here.

Sadie passes by at that moment. "Hey," I say.

"Hey, Erin!"

"Did you clean this up?" I point to the floor.

She looks down at the floor then back up at me. Seriously? Does she really think I think there's a mess on the floor right now? My temples are starting to throb; perhaps I should've taken Doc up on his offer and just gone home for the day. "A glass shattered," I tell her.

"Oh!" She shakes her head. "No, I didn't. Is everything OK?"

Why do people keep asking me that? "Did I say everything was not OK?" I snap at her.

She blinks. "No, you didn't. Sorry."

"Just—." I begin but give up. "It's fine. Whatever. Today's been...weird."

Her expression softens, and I immediately regret telling her that. "If you need to vent, I'm here, you know."

First Doc and now Sadie. I'm losing my poker face, goddammit.

"I know," I say. Unfortunately.

She gives me a playful wink and leaves, her figure receding before she turns the corner.

Meanwhile, I continue staring at the break room's floor. If neither I nor Sadie cleaned it up, then that means Doc did, which means I owe him for something I shouldn't have to if I had just remembered and cleaned it up myself.

I want to scream. I had done well at focusing today, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been on edge this whole time. I have the faintest outline of a bruise on my inner wrist, and it pulses now. I rub over it with my thumb as a horrible, yet familiar, thought slithers its way to the forefront of my mind:

Despite all my efforts, Mad Cow still manages to make me feel like shit.

-

I get a text from Doc as I enter the grocery store. You doing okay, Erin? Thinking of you! I almost decide not to respond at all but seeing that he's my boss, I force myself to type out a response. I'm good, thanks for checking in. Hope you're enjoying your evening, Doc!

He sends me another text, but I don't read it as I've already put my phone away. In reality, I'm not good; I've been in a bad mood all day, thanks to Mad Cow, and now, I just want something sweet — or sour. I've yet to decide which candy I want tonight.

The store is packed, but I weave my way to the candy section of the baking aisle. My eyes dart between my two favorites: Trolli gummy worms and Swedish Fish. Both of them are chock-full of Red40, Blue1, and Yellow5, just the way I like them, and both of them are established brands, so I know I can't go wrong with either. But I can't buy two packs of candy — that's something only fat or depressed people did, and I was neither.

But there is only one Trolli while there are three Swedish Fish...but I am craving more sweet than sour. I snatch the last bag of Trolli like some sort of hobo with a slice of bread. The candy section of the aisle stands next to the condiments, so I pick a random shelf and hide the Trolli behind rows of soy sauce. I'll come back to make my final decision and, at least until then, no one will take my gummy worms.

I leave the aisle and do my rounds, first to the frozen section, then to the fresh produce, and finally to the flowers where I pick out a mixed bouquet for myself. I place it in my cart so as not to disturb the delicate petals. Then, I clack my way back to the baking aisle where I immediately stop short.

There's an Asian guy right where I had been standing just ten minutes ago. Even from the side, I can tell he's handsome, his features somehow being both pretty and rugged at the same time. His hair is black and doing that mussed thing that makes hot guys look even hotter. He's tall, too, and wearing a worn black leather jacket that accentuates the strong line of his broad shoulders.

Yet, that's not why I stare. I stare because he's holding the candy I had hidden. My candy.

He catches me staring at him. He grins, making him even prettier and more rugged-looking, and his teeth are straight and white but not too white. "Hey," he says. "Trying to pass by?" He moves aside to give me room, but I don't move.

"Where'd you get that?" I ask him.

He holds up the Trolli. "This? It was here, all the way in the back. Today's my lucky day." He gives the bag a shake, and he looks like a little kid on Christmas.

"That someone put it there on purpose," I say.

"Does that someone have a name?"

I barely hear his question. "That candy's mine."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Did you pay for it?"

"Well, no, but I was going to."

He shrugs. "Finders keepers."

"Technically, I found it first."

"Yes, and then you left it for me to find."

"I hid it so I can get it later."

"You should've hidden it better."

"You shouldn't have gone looking for it!"

"What can I say?" He shrugs in that way that arrogant men do to not be arrogant but actually ends up making them seem more arrogant instead. "I'm good at finding things I shouldn't."

"That candy is mine," I say again.

"Don't be like Gollum." He waves at the shelves. "There are so many others you can choose from."

My heart plummets, and I get flushed with a cold sweat. "Did you just say I look like a gollum?" I don't know what the hell a "gollum" is, but I just know it's ugly and doesn't ever shower.

"I didn't say you look like Gollum — hell, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he says. "No, I meant, don't be like Gollum with his ring. You know, obsessed."

"I'm not a dork, so those words mean nothing to me," I say.

He laughs. It's a very nice laugh. More importantly, I should've just grabbed the candy when I had the chance. Today has already been a shitty enough day, and now I can't get the candy I deserve? No, this will not do. I reach into my purse and take out my wallet, making sure he sees the wad of cash in it; it's the same wad that Isadora Dearing had given me for her ring, minus a few tens. "How much do you want?"

Immediately, his hand is on mine, trying to cover the open wallet. "What are you doing? You can't be showing your money out in public like this. What if someone steals it?"

"Then I'll kick him in the balls and take it back." I point to my heels. "These can do serious damage."

His gaze follows my finger. He takes a step back. "I believe it," he says.

"Now, tell me: how much?" I try to ignore the way his cologne lingers in the air, fresh and woodsy.

He crosses his arms, and his biceps bulge against his leather jacket. He peers at me from under his lashes. "Ten million dollars," he says.

I nearly choke. "Excuse me?"

"You heard right: ten million dollars."

"For Trolli gummy worms?"

He's grinning again, and I want to slap it off his face. "Yes," he says. "Is that a problem?"

Obviously, he's joking, but it's a terrible joke. I put away my wallet. "You're annoying," I say.

"I've been called worse." Then, he holds out his hand. "I'm James, by the way."

I shake it. His grip is slightly calloused but firm. "I'd say it was a pleasure, but then I'd be lying," I say.

"Bummer," he says. "I'd say it was a pleasure, and I wouldn't be lying."

"Many people say that." I flick a lock of my hair behind my shoulder. "Enjoy your candy." I turn on my heel.

"Wait," he says.

Got him. I school my features into the proper amount of exasperation and turn around. "What?"

"Here." He holds out the Trolli.

Ding, ding, ding! Erin wins again. It takes everything in me to not snatch the bag out of his hands. "I thought you said I shouldn't be like a gollum," I say.

"First of all, it's not 'a gollum,' it's just 'Gollum,' and second, it's fine. I'd just been looking at this when you'd come over. I'm more of a Mike and Ike guy anyway."

I take the candy and place it in my cart. "Lovely doing business with you," I say, making sure the sarcasm is unmistakable.

The motherfucker winks at me. "Likewise," he says. "I hope we can do it again sometime..." he trails off, his forehead lifted in question.

I shake my head. "I don't give out my name to candy thieves."

"Thief? I've never stolen anything in my life!" He sputters, but I'm already walking away.

With my gummy worms and a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand, I head home, the day finally back to being mine.