FIVE

The thing about YOLO is that it's relatable and sounds way cooler than, for everyone's benefit, it should actually be.

For me, YOLO would actually be swimming with the turtles in Ari Atoll, experience the highly dignified "small-plate dining" in Madrid and top it off with a hot air balloon ride in Cappadocia without caring about my bank account balance tomorrow. Taking into consideration my job and salary, that would the most extreme thing I would have ever done.

I walk into my office and tug off the surgical gloves tossing them into a bin near the window. It goes without saying that the dog's leg is really bad and could lead to amputation but I'm not about to say that to the owner. I dread dealing with panic attacks which, sadly, happens on a daily basis.

My client sits on the small bed at the corner kicking her good leg while drawing broken hearts on the cast on her arm with my glittery red pen. When she seems me, she loops the sling around her neck and softly lands on her leg pacing towards me.

"How bad is it, doctor?" Kenner, the owner of the dog, asks.

She's a grunge teen girl, probably 17 or 18, pale skinned with small splotches of pink darting her face and an unruly tangle of pale blue hair cascading down her broad shoulders. A tattoo of what seems to be a ribbon peeks out of the sleeve of her shirt. The weight of silver hanging around her neck seems alarmingly heavy, especially that she has a sling that adds to the burden, but she doesn't seem to mind.

According to her story, she got into a zorb ball with her dog in some prohibited area, under the influence of YOLO. The ball veered off it's course into a steep and lumpy slope tossing them around. It ended up with Kenner dislocating an arm and a knee, nothing serious, and her plainly sitting on her dog. Just the mere thought makes me queasy.

While Kenner isn't obese, she isn't also, I think, the lightest person I know which only goes further to convince me of how much pain the dog must be in.

"He's still sedated for now and has a catheter installed. So now we just have to wait for the ultrasound results," I respond starting up a record of Kenner's chihuahua on my computer. I have a feeling I'll be seeing these two more often in the coming weeks.

"Oh shit!" She adjusts the sling that hangs tightly from her neck. "That usually means it's bad."

It doesn't. Or at least, not all the times.

"To ease your worries, it'll live."

She gnaws at her non existent nails and I'm suddenly worried about her becoming fingerless at the end of this appointment. It's something she has been doing quite a lot.

"You know I'm glad he's still alive. He's a strong one," she says.

Opening myself up for small talk, I reply, "The worst that could happen here is amputation," I watch her swallow, "but don't worry. Dogs adapt to three legs quickly."

"Sheesh! You make it sound like it's nothing," she says with a non-committal wave of her hand.

"It's a common case but I'm really hoping we don't get to that. A splint or a cast would be a very hopeful option but will require you to visit here more often. All I can say Kenner is, stay away from zorb balls. Much less with your dog."

Kenner nods her head. "Yeah. I already told myself that. You know zorbing is by far the worst thing I've done in my life. It really shook me."

I stop typing. "Really?"

"Yes. I almost sustained a spinal injury from blobbing once. You know, this thing where you sit on something like a balloon on water and then you are lau...wait a sec, doc. You do know what blobbing is?"

No I don't. I didn't even know it was a sport. What is also disturbing, is the fact that Kenner seems to think that a spine injury is less worrisome than dislocating an arm!

"Of course I do," I say defensively.

Kenner tucks her fist under her chin fully facing me. She doesn't believe it. I know. Lying, unfortunately, has never been my strongest suit. "Have you ever done something so regrettably bad?"

A sudden flashback of yesternight hits me hard and I burn crimson. It's something that I've been trying to keep my mind off by coming work on my day off but I should have known better. I'm currently the face of Twitter and if my sources are to be trusted, I'm ESPN's too. I'm famous for all the wrong reasons with all of them involving Micah Cullen.

I look at the wristwatch wondering what is taking Rosie so long to send in the ultrasound results. The last thing I need is...

"Wait, wait, wait. I've seen you before," she suggests studying my face more intently.

"What?" I pull the surgical mask impossibly high up my nose and perch my nerd glasses gingerly to pass off as a disguise but still...

"I saw you on TV yesterday." Her phone materializes out of the blue and her eyes go wide when she checks what seems to be Instagram. "You are Ryza Arnold! OMG, it's you. You are dating that soccer guy. What's his name? Micah?" She questions.

"Kenner your dog is-"

"No way!" She exclaims, bewilderment taking over her face, "is Micah Cullen your regrettably bad decision?"

Come to think of it, Micah could as well be my YOLO decision. A total of three kisses in one night, especially with me initiating the last one, makes it even more dreadful than zorbing. What was wrong with me yesterday? It's not like I can even stand Micah. He is so not my type.

A myriad of endless statements that I could have told him yesterday race in my head.

"Sheesh doc! You have such high standards. But in your defense he's notorious but hot. Like notoriously hotter than Jaxon Rivers," she rambles and my eyes go dark, "you know I'm getting annoyed with rumors that claim you used to date him because seriously, everyone knows Jax is a man whore."

I decide to ignore her statement because Kenner is definitely Team Micah. I'm sure he was faithful in our relationship. The same can't be said for Micah. He's such a misogynistic asshole.

"And there's also the fact that your boyfriend is a better player. Did you know that he's being sought out by Liverpool?" She asks.

I didn't know. Jaxon never mentioned anything. It's not like anything to do with him mattered to me before last night. At least not everything. I'm suddenly curious as to how much Kenner knows. She's like a walking Micah-pedia.

Not wanting to seem like an uninvolved girlfriend, I answer. "Yes. He told me about it."

There's no going back...

"You must be so proud," she squeals, "can you maybe talk to your boyfriend to connect me with a soccer player. Even one in the academy is fine. So long as he has a promising future."

I'm not sure whether to be amused or keep my face straight. Kenner is one straightforward chatterbox.

She goes on about soccer players, keeping me entertained with what I should tell Micah. I want a tall guy and should at least be buff, she said. She went on describing her type until she settles on, I want someone like Micah Cullen. Not Jaxon Rivers.

I don't know where this hate is coming from. If Jax were to give me a chance, I'd happily take it. But after last night, I'm not really sure.

I'm about to cut the conversation by telling her that she might be having a concussion from her recent accident but she's already taken the glass name plaque on my table angling it on her lap, ready to snap a picture.

This is bad. The next thing I know, I'll be recording a dance for TikTok. Or maybe, going live on Instagram debating on tea or coffee and what salon I get my hair done.

While I've dated a public figure before, it wasn't always like this. I've never been bombarded with fans or been a topic for Google trends. The farthest I've gone in being famous was when my name was published in an article to do with Jaxon. It was really nothing big as it was mostly centered on his career. I had always thought Jax would go to the publishers and ask them not to include me in any of them as I wanted to keep my life private, at least that's what he made me believe. It was mostly true at the time but sometimes I wished it could be public. It got annoying when I had to meet a woman who openly ogled at my man and loudly suggest that he would be nice for a hot and dirty shag.

I need to stop thinking about him. He's in the past and I have a boyfriend now.

Micah, Micah, Micah, I repeat in my head.

I'm drawn out of my reverie when my eyes catch Kenner halfway rounding my table with a phone clamped to a selfie stick.

"What are you doing, Kenner?"

"Quick. Take off your mask so that we can pose for a photo. My friends are going to be so je..."

I panic. My newly-found fame is harder to deal with than I expected.

I must have turned pale because Kenner stops in her tracks, pushing strands of blue hair behind her ear. "What's the problem, doc? Don't tell me you are one of those mean celebrities who never acknowledge their fans?"

"It's not that. Uhn...you see...err..." I stammer trying to figure out what to say to the poor girl. What would Jax always say when he politely refused to take a photo with a fan anytime we were together? What would Micah say?

Mercifully, Rosie comes in with an envelope in her hand and I stand a little desperate to meet her at the doorway.

"Thank you Rosie. Such perfect timing," I murmur to her.

"You're welcome," she turns to go on her way but then again she faces me, "one more thing. There's been a lot of calls made to reception from gossip shows and bloggers asking for you."

I pretend to be clueless and ask, "What do they want?"

She whispers. "An exclusive? Tell me Ryza, what's that about?"

Rosie must have not watched TV or visited social media. But then again knowing her, it's impossible she hasn't. She just wants an explicit narration of yesterday's event, which is something I'm not yet ready for. With ten thousand plus followers on TikTok, Rosie might as well be an internet sensation in the whole of Mt. Sinai hospital.

"I'll tell you later. Just hold them off."

"Right." She sashays away.

"And Rosie?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't connect any calls to my office, I'd really appreciate if you did."

With a knowing smile, she responds. "Of course."

I spend the next ten minutes explaining to Kenner the results of the ultrasound, the medicine to buy and how to care for the Chihuahua at home. When I'm done, I doubt if she heard any of what I said and thankfully, I had the mind to write down the basics while talking.

"So you see you next time, Ken-"

"Doc Ryza, just one photo please?" She begs.

The appointment ends with me promising her a photo in the next appointment, a special mention in one of my Instagram post and Micah's autographed sweatshirt. I doubt Micah will agree to the sweatshirt thing considering that we've just started fake-dating and there's also the fact that I know Micah's type. It's not a big issue anyway. I'll just have to tell him that it's Tammy whose asking for it but even I doubt it'll work.

Deciding to extend my shift, I attend to a few more clients, nothing nearly as serious as Kenner's Chihuahua.

It's only when Rosie enters and informs me of a persistent caller that claims to be urgent, that I know I have to face the world. I've been anticipating my parents' calls since yesterday. Regrettably, I've still not come up with a justified excuse to give them.

I pull out the top chest of my table and let my hand roam purposefully under the few health records before it comes to contact with the hard and flat device. I press the button at the side and the black screen comes to life, a photo of Jax and my parents taunting me. It was a picture taken on my dad's birthday two months ago and I find myself wondering whether he'd been thinking of breaking up with me then.

My dad loves soccer for a sport and the fact that I brought home a player, a captain of the leading team of the western conference in the league, no less, couldn't have gotten any better.

Four missed calls from dad, six and two texts from mum, three from Tammy and a load of spam messages and calls. Surprisingly, there's one from Jax too. Nope, don't want to know what that's about.

With a final sigh, I unlock my phone deciding to look past that wallpaper, the spam messages, the calls and all the articles recommended by my browser, all which I have a feeling have to do with yesterday's happenings.

I'm about to click on my mum's contact but my phone flashes with my dad's photo taking up the whole screen. The red icon on the left wriggles appealingly and I'm so tempted to give it a jab for the first time, considering the caller, but somehow my finger drifts jabbing the green icon instead.

"Hello dad?"

"Where were you? Antarctica?" He says lightly.

I know it's a joke but as usual, it's lame. I just want to play along to avoid the real reason behind this call.

"Why?"

"Because that's the only place where people never pick their phones. You know... network."

I laugh briefly to humor him and at the same time to unknot the ball of nerves in my stomach.

"Dad I know you've seen the news and I also know that's why you are calling," I start.

"Ask her why she dumped Jaxon for Micah," I hear my mum's voice in the background. My mum is and has always been a don't-beat-around-the-bush person unlike dad, who'd rather warm you up to the idea of starting the conversation yourself. He is as patient as they wholesomely come.

"Shhhh! She'll explain soon Paula," he murmurs to her probably forgetting to cover the mouth piece or maybe he just wants me to listen. Mum mutters something about daughters and their fathers before she plods away from where dad is. She's mad.

Dad sighs. "Mum is mad. Mad mad," he stresses.

"That much I get. She'd always loved him."

"Yes. Can you imagine she was thinking about knitting a tandem sweater for the both of you with the name Rivers stretching across the front?"

"No way!" I gasp horrified at the revelation.

"Yes. Dozens of yarn balls were delivered to the house the other day along with knitting equipment. The router is now stocked with what seems to be an endless supply of WiFi and don't even get me started about YouTube," he shares and I can't help get amused. I've always loved when he and I "gossip". It's almost like talking with a fellow woman. Dad never leaves out the details. I guess that's why he and my mum clicked. They're just the same only that mum is specific—and humorless.

"She put in a lot of effort, huh?"

"Yeah. She's not knitted since she heard the news which is somewhat abnormal considering these past weeks."

"Mmm." I hum not knowing to say.

"She considers all her efforts wasted. The passion and drive is gone. You are single again."

My poor mother.

"That's not entirely true. I do have a boyfriend. She could still knit."

I can almost hear my father's face drop at the mention of boyfriend.

"It's not the same...you know. Jax was just—"

"Perfect?" I suggest.

"Perfect. For you," he proclaims.

I thought so too. I still think so.

"Dear, what happened with Jax? You know I don't buy the crap you were selling on ESPN."

I should tell him. He's family but I don't know. I feel like I should consult Micah.

"Dad, things had to end. It was about time."

"And Micah just happened to be a viable option? I don't believe that and I know you don't either."

"I...I...I do believe that. I'm deeply in love with Micah Cullen."

A complete lie.

There's a long pause on the other end of the line. I'm suddenly afraid that he might be throwing darts on Micah's picture hanging on some deity wall in his study.

"Okay how about we have dinner?" He proposes.

"Dinner? Here in LA?"

"Of course. The flight will only take what? A few hours?" Dad says it like it's nothing but we both know better.

"And a couple of hefty dollars," I point out.

*My daughter's welfare comes first," he counters.

After a minute of bickering and me trying to point out reasons why my parents shouldn't fly down here, he convinces me.

"Okay dad. Sunday would be okay." That leaves me with a week to plan.

"And bring Micah too."

What?

"What?"

"For formal introduction. Bring him along Pumpkin. You have to."

Micah Cullen having dinner with my parents at some pompous restaurant in LA, is what I'd classify a bad nightmare. It would be a disaster. The info from tabloids, social media, Jax and even myself too, is more that enough qualification for Micah to be in dad's bad books. Don't even get me started with mum.

"I don't think the boys will be free on Sunday dad. They probably have a game," I insert trying to avoid the head-on collision at the horizon.

Dad chuckles and I know he's caught unto me. "I've already checked their fixtures. They'll have a game at three. Dinner is at seven. So it's settled. The four of us we'll have dinner somewhere in LA on Sunday evening right?"

I want to argue that I don't know if he has plans for Sunday evening but I already know it'd be useless. Dad's persuasion skills are seamless.

Meekly, I answer. "Okay. See you till then."

We get off the phone and I just realize the intensity of the decisions I've made in the last twenty four hours. Life changing decisions all of them.

Micah Cullen. Dinner. Sunday evening. Mum and dad.

I'm already squirming in my shoes just at the thought.

But then again what could go wrong?

Everything, a trusty little voice tells me but nevertheless, I pick up my phone jabbing a contact that I never thought I'd use and shoot a text.

We need to talk, it says.