Calm, Cool, and Adjusted (16 page)

He walks into the backroom of the office and sits on the table. “Have you got time for an adjustment?”

“Simon,” I say, in my deep, mother voice. “You just walk in here any time you like?”

“That’s right. Being first has its privileges.”

“So are you going to answer me about the blonde?”

He shrugs. “I figured that if you erased the thought in your head that I was making another pass at you, you might reconsider Hawaii as the best thing for your career. I wanted to prove to you this wasn’t about my crush on you, but a solid business arrangement.”

I stuff another piece of chocolate in my mouth.

“That’s what I figured, but really, Red, I don’t know what my back will do without you, and I want to play golf year-round. I need the Aloha Spirit in my life. What good is it to retire at thirty-five if you can’t do it in style?”

“Retire. How many companies have you helped start since you retired?”

“I’m only doing what I like, and I need a good back for that. Golf and business when I feel like it, that’s what it’s all about.”

“How spiritual.”

“You know the truth of that, Poppy.”

And I do.

“People who have private chiropractors turn into weirdos, like Michael Jackson. I can’t do that to you. I care too much for your mental health. Besides, I don’t think I could be owned like that. It’s too much like slavery.”

“I’m not moving to Bahrain like Michael. I’m moving to Hawaii. Slavery in Hawaii?”

“I can’t respect a man who retires at thirty-five.”

“Spoken like a true workaholic.” He leans in close to me and he smells heavenly. A touch of outdoors with the indoor clean of expensive aftershave. “I used to be just like you until the fourteenth fairway called my name. You want true natural healing, Poppy? Follow me to Oahu and get in touch with your inner golfer.”

I stare into his eyes. He played me with the fake girlfriend. He doesn’t work for a living—although, granted, he could still buy and sell all of us—and he wants me to leave everything for him. And the really pathetic part is that I’m considering it. I close my eyes and inhale. Somewhere along the line, I stopped being a professional with Simon. My heart is indeed involved here, and that is not good for either of our health.

“You can play year-round in California, and I’m here.” I open my eyes to see if there’s any reaction on his part.

He looks at my green superfood drink and comes towards the counter. He turns the cup over and empties the contents down the sink. “Why do you do that to yourself? That’s why you’re sneaking chocolates. Let’s go to lunch.”

“I don’t go to lunch with patients. It’s not appropriate.”

“That green gunk isn’t appropriate. Poppy, you’re not my math teacher in high school, you’re my chiropractor. Who is going to care if we go to lunch?”

“It’s not right,” I maintain, though inwardly, I want him to fight me. I want him to tell me it’s all right until I can’t help myself.

“Come on, Poppy. You need me. You’re far too serious. I’ll show you how to have balance in life.” He winks and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like an inside joke. It feels like it has meaning.

I raise my eyebrow at him. If there’s one thing I’ll say about Simon, he could truly sell me on most anything. There’s a reason this man is successful in business. He seems to have all the answers. Don’t we all want to believe someone will take care of us? But then I look at Simon’s back, and I see that golf reigns in his life, to the point where he doesn’t think clearly.

“Simon, did you need an adjustment?” I put a fist to my hip, trying to look annoyed.

“Don’t blow me off, Poppy.”

“You’re a good man, but I’m not going to Hawaii for you. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not going back to Santa Cruz. So you’re in good company. I’m refusing my father as well.” I look at the calendar and thumb through it just to keep my eyes busy and free from Simon’s boring gaze.

“What’s wrong with me?” He asks and I look up at his big, brown, puppy-dog eyes. “Besides the obvious. Haven’t I sent all my golf buddies to you? Come away with me, Poppy, and I’ll make you a fisher of bad spines.” He groans. “That was terrible humor, but my heart’s in the right place.”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Simon, but I’m not changing my life for you.”
Not without more than being your chiropractor for life.
But as I look into his tender eyes, I have to admit if one’s going to change her life for someone, it should be a decent man like him. Of course, why I don’t fall is probably buried in my mother’s house somewhere.

Before I asked Jeff to the wedding, Simon was my number one choice, but I worried he’d read something more into it, so I refrained. Now I feel like a complete idiot. I can’t help but wonder, if I did actually risk something, might there be a lifetime to gain?

“Are you really here for an appointment?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. Emma peeks around the door. “Morgan’s on the phone again.”

“I have to go, Simon.” I pick up the phone, pulling my hair behind my back. “Hi, Morgan. Sorry about hanging up on you.” I shove yet another piece of chocolate in my mouth.

“Do you mind if we invite Jacob to meet you at the spa? He’s down there for business. He grew up in Aptos. Isn’t that right next to Santa Cruz? I’m telling you, Poppy, he’s perfect for you.”

I look at Simon and his sorrowful gaze at being ignored, and I vow to stand strong with Morgan. Whether Jacob is perfect for me or not is a moot point. Simon’s expression is my first concern. I can’t stand to see someone hurt, and my most loyal customer is certainly not one I wish to upset. “Yes, I do mind, actually. I found a respectable date. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

“Oh—you were serious about that. All right, I’ll make other arrangements.”

“What would be the point?” I ask her.

“The point is that maybe Jacob is the one for you. He loves to run and scuba dive, and all those adventurous, outdoorsy things you like.”

There’s something about being forced into something that automatically makes you retreat. I mean, if he were so wonderful, he would be taken by now. Of course, he probably could say the same thing about me.

“I’m not feeling him, Morgan.”

“Didn’t you
feel
there was going to be a major earthquake last year on the San Andreas and the Hayward faults too?” Morgan asks with a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “I just got the wrong signal that time. My emotions were off from too much work and not enough running.”

“Jacob really wants to meet you, Poppy. He’s a hippy, Christian, fitness boy. You have to at least meet him. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least introduce you two. What if he’s
the one
?”

“You make him sound so attractive. Will he bring a gift of yogurt when he comes?” I see Simon move towards the door. “Simon, wait!”

“You’re not listening to me,” Morgan pouts. “I want you to have what Lilly and I do, Poppy.”

“I want that too,” I say, gazing at Simon.

He gives me one of his trademark grins. There’s a cloud over his usual demeanor, and I look to the phone wondering if he heard or cared about the wedding. As Simon heads towards the door, I realize all the constants in my life are going away. Simon is only following suit, like Lilly and Morgan.

I grab his arm before he walks out the door. “Wait,” I repeat.

I don’t remember ever standing this close to Simon, and if energy were measurable right now, I think we’d have our own Richter Scale.

“Why?” He strides out of my office, as I listen to Morgan ramble about her impressive guest list and how her father’s sins seem forgotten by her wedding responses.

Why, indeed?

“Morgan, I have to go. I have patients backing up.” I hand the phone back to Emma absently, and just as I’m about to catch Simon, the door closes.

“Poppy, you’ve got patients,” Emma reminds me. I pause at the door, but I turn around like a good girl should. One of my toughest patients awaits me, and right now, I relish the challenge. Need it.

As I was saying about natural medicine, it’s a much slower process, and hence in this corporate, dog-eat-dog world where time is money, the patient loses. The symptoms are easier and far more profitable to treat.

It’s not that natural medicine is more costly, it’s that the time involved will never interest the insurance companies. It’s a much slower process, made for my methodical mind, and it’s like playing my own game of
CSI: Cupertino
with each patient. Discovering is about listening, about hearing what the patient is undergoing, and trying to find out where the symptom starts. With each treatment, each answer, you get closer to the cure. That’s the beauty, and unfortunately what is so difficult for medical doctors. Maybe it was too many
Scooby Doo
mysteries as a child, but I was a meddling kid and I wanted to rip the mask off the symptoms.

Working for a doctor and filing insurance bills didn’t help my disdain. All the free stuff sent to the doctor with the name of a pharmaceutical didn’t help me. I’d seen what the “cure” had done to my mother, and no way was I going to be involved in that kind of business.

“Hey, Doc,” Leslie, one of my first Chinese medicine clients, says as she bounces into my office. “You’re not going to believe this. I’m getting married!”

“Married?” I give her a great big hug, but I’m really thinking,
Oh please don’t invite me, so I have to get a date. I already ran six miles today and I’m so very tired.

“We’re getting married in Mexico this fall.”

“Fabulous!” I squeal. “What’s he like?”

Leslie herself is very masculine in nature. She’s built like a linebacker and has blonde locks that I swear are never without black roots. I don’t know when she actually dyes it, because I’ve never seen it fresh, or all blonde. Which of course makes me wonder why she bothers rather than keep it natural.

“Well,” Leslie says. “He’s a software engineer and really kind and good looking and gentle. We both love bird watching out on the Baylands and communing with nature. We’re going to Mexico to rescue sea turtles, and then we’re getting married afterwards on the beach!” Leslie squeals the last part.

Admittedly, my thoughts are with Simon walking out the door. I would never hurt him on purpose, but I can’t have him be my only patient either. No matter what type of future he promises for my Hawaiian spa. Usually, men just promise marriage. Not Simon; he puts his money where his spine is.

I focus back on Leslie. “Why haven’t you talked about him before?” I ask. Leslie is here every week, and she is the picture of health now that I’ve treated her for a litany of liver-related dysfunction. She’s purified herself of the damage, and she’ll look like the gleaming bride she’s meant to be.

“Well . . .” She looks hurt. “. . . I just met him two weeks ago, Doc. I didn’t know it was going to come to this.”

“Oh,” I say, trying to hide my shock. The way she talked about their love of the Baylands, it sounded like they’d been together for an eternity. “You’re getting married?” I try to feign my joy. But it’s obvious I’ve just nullified a bit of her joy. Two weeks! What is this world coming to?

“I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but both our grandparents were married within a month of meeting ‘the one’ and we just know. So what’s the wait for?”

Security.

The knowledge he’s lacking mental illness.

The time to check his credit report and wedding history.

Peace of mind.

“Well, I wish you every happiness.”

Leslie has the glow of a woman in love. And really, they’ve got bird watching in common. What more is necessary?

“We are already happy. We moved in together last week.”

Lord have mercy. I am living in the wrong era.

“Well, let’s get your spine set up strong for the wedding, shall we? We don’t want you slouching the day of your nuptials.”

Slouching while saving turtles and marrying men you barely know is definitely not a good idea.

chapter 11

S
pa Del Mar sits nestled in Central California, away from the coast but within breathing distance of the moist, salty air off the Pacific. With the stand of eucalyptus that surrounds the spa, one can just imagine the legend of Zorro come to life. It’s California as it should be: pure and untouched by long expanses of concrete. This place is the antonym of Silicon Valley’s hectic pace and forces me to slow down and forget the race I must complete. It reminds me that the tortoise got there eventually.

I suppose these days are coming to a close. With Lilly married and Morgan on her way to the altar, I know my Zen days will be fewer, which will be good for my spiritual life (I’ll be in church more!) but bad for my workaholic side (how much easier to spend a little more time in the office!). Sure, there’s something perilous about being the last one left standing. But while all my best friends have husbands to take care of, and new lives to forge, I am happy with my old one.

I stay the same.

Why can’t everything else?

Morgan and Lilly enter the hotel room first with their myriad of suitcases. Apparently, Lilly is working on the wedding designs over the weekend, and Morgan . . . Well, Morgan is just a clothes horse. I bring my scrappy carpetbag that Lilly always makes fun of and drop it on the floor. Admittedly, I enjoy her reaction each time she sees the bag. It’s sort of a mixture of curiosity and disgust, all rolled into one magic Elvis-lip smirk.

Plunking their things on a shared bed, my Spa Girls clear a path for me to the other one—my own private bed. In their not-so-subtle way, they’re reminding me it’s my turn for it. I’m the pathetic one, so have at it. It used to be a privilege to get your own bed at the Spa. Reserved for the one whose life currently sucked the most. I guess we have our answer.

“What?” Morgan asks in all innocence, noticing that I drop my suitcase with a little too much force.

“I get the bed?” I want them to tell me,
Yes, your life is the most screwed up.
“I thought you’d want it with all the wedding stress, Morgan. Or you, Lilly,” I say, looking directly at her bulbous belly.