Spring Cleaning

By Sheri L. Williams

To promote his office and benefit his community, small-town dentist Dr. Ken Han has signed up to provide no-cost care to low-income families during a local festival. Jasmine Pritka is a dental hygienist from a nearby town who comes to help with the extra patients. When they meet, neither had romance in mind.

In fact, Jasmine and Ken get off to a rough start, and it doesn't get much easier, dealing with crazy exes, overbearing family members, and a matchmaking colleague. They've both been hurt before. But is their romance growing too quickly to keep them from being hurt a second time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Feb 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094416113

Sheri L. Williams

N/A

Book preview

Chapter One

"Ladies, repeat after me; it is not my fault he cheated." The woman who led the session intoned in an expressionless voice. All the women in the small room echoed her words.

"Men; it is not my fault she cheated." Like lemmings, all of the men followed along. I shook my head as I did, though. Of course I knew it wasn’t my fault. I only came to these sessions because my divorce attorney insisted, despite the divorce being uncontested. This was my last one. I was more than glad to be done with this sad room. These sad people. I certainly wasn’t sad about my divorce. In fact I was relieved the farce was over. The elderly woman at the front of the church basement stood; a nervous lady, she continuously wiped her hands on her rumpled linen skirt.

I hope this series of classes helps you through this difficult phase in your life. Please remember that divorce doesn’t have to define you. Many people go on to have long, loving relationships after a divorce. You merely need to open yourself up to the possibility of love.

Ha! Yeah, right. I didn’t see myself opening up to love any time soon. I’d thought myself in love with Jill, but now it was clear I’d been in love with the idea of her. But that’s what I got for buying into my mom’s dreams of an all-American life. She was still upset that Jill and I never popped out 2.5 kids, or bought a Golden Retriever. Oh well, it definitely wasn’t going to happen now. I would just have to be one of those outcast second generation Asian guys. No wife and kids for me. I’d hoped that she would’ve been happy with a successful son— my dental practice was doing really well— but nope, she really wanted grandkids.

I’d have to have a talk with my sister. Maybe she could produce some kids with her husband. That would get Mom off my back. The walk out of the church basement, for the last time, was freeing. I stepped out into the bright light and lifted my face up to the sun; a bit of worship of the world around me to celebrate. That was it. I was done. I was free. The divorce was final. The sessions I hadn’t wanted to do, but grudgingly agreed to, were over. On the walk back to my office, I checked my phone: more emails from my mentor about the Spring Fling next week, and seven texts from Mom asking if I was still sure the divorce was the right thing to do.

I hadn’t told her I’d caught Jill in bed with the college kid from the townhouse next door. I’d wanted to spare her the knowledge. I knew how much she loved Jill’s family. But if she kept nagging me, I would air Jill’s dirty laundry; maybe then she would leave me alone. My phone rang and I checked it: my mom. It was eerie the way she always knew to call when I was thinking about her. I didn’t answer though; I wasn’t feeling up to another chat of her badgering me.

I waved at Barry, sweeping the library steps; his sour expression never left his face. It was a stark contrast to most of my neighbors; Turtle Cove was in general, a very friendly town. My practice was in the strip mall two blocks from the church. The walk should’ve only taken me five minutes, but stopping to chat with patients, friends, and people who know my mom, more than tripled the time. I didn’t hurry, though; my spirit was lighter than it had been a few moments ago, and it felt good to talk to friendly people.

When I finally stepped inside my building, I was sweating, despite it being only May. I was moving slowly, but I was happy. I smiled at the people sitting in the waiting room, and nodded to Stacy, the receptionist; her hands flew across the keyboard while she talked a mile-a-minute into the phone. I was lucky when I hired her; she managed the office like she’d been born to do it.

The anticipation of slipping into my office, with its dark brown walls, Star Wars Funko Pop! figures, and stack of Tom Waits records to kill the stress before my first appointment of the day, was strong. But when I opened the door I found the most reprehensible music playing through a speaker on my desk. An ancient iPod sat mounted in the middle of the speaker, scrolling the name Shawn-something across the display, as he sang about a broken heart needing stitches. This screamed meddlesome friend, and that could only be my business partner James. I shut off the iPod and grabbed the whole set-up before going to look for him.

I found him in the sterilization room. He didn’t hear me enter so I snuck up behind him.

What was this crap playing on my desk?

A partially sealed package of instruments went flying off the counter.

"It’s music, man. Good music. Music from this decade, anyways." He grinned, the same lopsided grin that had gotten him every woman he had ever wanted, but had never worked on me. And in the end it didn’t really work, did it? Since he couldn’t get any second dates.

I shoved the speaker into his hands. That is not music. That was a kid and a backing track with a whole lot of Auto-Tune.

You know what your problem is? He squared up in front of me, all five feet, six inches of him.

"Do tell, ’cause I want to know how this is all about my lack of musical taste when you continue to listen to teeny boppers even though you turned thirty-five the week after me." We’d had this argument many times in our fifteen-year friendship, because music was just the one thing we could not agree on.

"It’s not just the music, Ken. You’re so old-fashioned even your shoes aren’t from this decade. C’mon, man; it’s 2018, for fuck’s sake. Catch up already." He stared at my shoes, and I followed his glare. I like my shoes. They’re comfortable. And they aren’t really old-fashioned, they’re just Chucks, after all.

James, we’re friends. We work together. But man, I can live my own life. I don’t need help. He might be my best friend, sure, but he could be exasperating at times.

"You need so much help, you’re blind to it. I mean; Jill; really?" I glared at him and he moved on. "Okay, fine, I won’t go there. But you’ve been unshackled for six months now; time to get back on the horse."

"I don’t want to get back on the horse. The horse is evil. The horse chose to keep the townhouse because it was next to the kid she was banging, while I got the cottage on the lake." I shuddered, thinking about how she had probably been sleeping with him in our home while I was at work. Kid still lived with his parents, dammit!

"Well, not the marriage horse, obviously. No more harnesses for you."

He waggled his eyebrows and I pinched the bridge of my nose. I could feel a headache coming on and I’d only been in the office a quarter of an hour.

I’m talking ’bout the horse called ‘we go out to the bar and pick up hot chicks.’ James busted out his salsa moves, another reason he’d never had a hard time finding a lady, despite his short stature.

I took a big step back as James almost beaned me with a flying arm. "Do I really have to remind you again, that we are thirty-five now. We don’t go out looking for hot chicks. We go out and try to meet ladies." Not that I wanted to go out and meet ladies, either. I was perfectly fine with spending my nights at home alone. Less chance of meeting another lady like Jill. All women weren’t inherently evil; I did know that, but I’d always had shit luck in romantic relationships.

"And that, my friend, is why you have not gotten laid since the divorce was final; well, since before the divorce was final, if we’re being honest. Come on, come out with me tonight. Next week will be crazy-busy with the Spring Fling and the extra people from Doc Smitherman’s office here to help."

He slapped my upper arm in what had been a show of solidarity among his frat brothers, a habit I despaired of breaking him of. We’d gone to the same college, but had followed completely different tracks. It was amazing that we’d managed to become and stay friends, really. His frat brothers had never really taken kindly to my nerdy self.

You need a bit of release before all the stress, James concluded.

If it will get you off my case I’ll go out tonight, but not to a dive bar, I said. Someplace that doesn’t play crappy music, and has more on the menu than peanuts. Knowing him, he’d still drag me to a dive bar, but I’d at least have tried.

James jumped, a huge smile on his face. "Yes! I knew it. I know just the place. Meet me

here at seven, okay? Now go; your appointment is probably getting cranky."

Balls! I turned and was halfway out the door when he called out one last time.

And don’t dress like a dork.

That night saw us at the bar, and no matter what James said, I didn’t dress like a dork. During the day I dressed like a dentist, but to go out I threw on a pair of comfy, worn-out jeans and a T-shirt from a band I’d loved as a kid. Not dorky. Geeky, maybe. I’d accept that.

James, on the other hand, was in skinny jeans, and a light blue polo that was entirely too tight. Not exactly my taste at all, but he swore up and down it netted him girls all the time. I, of course, being his best friend, lovingly reminded him that they were women. And maybe the reason he could never get a second date was that he thought of them as ‘girls.’ Like with everything else I tried to teach him, he just nodded and carried on with his own personal brand of obliviousness.

Ken, man. Loosen up. Have a drink. Chat up a girl. He took a pull of his stupid frat boy beer and I really wanted to go home. But I’d promised him, so I stayed. I ordered a vodka soda and looked around the place. It was pretty primitive; being saved from dive-hood by the relative