Page 75 of Fake It Till You Make It

Amarie’s voice hitched. She’d zoned out on her career. On her future. “I-I’m…”

Scared. After walking out of the testing center, Eli hadkept her beneath him, on top him, beside him. Testing results had fallen off her anxiety list until today. Because the stress of the exam had ended with the final question. And once her man—she’d come to think of Eli as hers—had successfully distracted her in the most pleasurable ways.

“Don’t fret. You’re experiencing the six symptoms of an ‘O’ positive man encounter. Sore cheeks. Scratchy throat. Loss of speech. Profuse sweating. Spillage of time. Booty bruises.”

Amarie felt her butt cheeks clench. How did Vali come up with this mess?

“Not to worry, my worn-out friend. When a woman encounters good D, a temporarydisruption of synaptic activityoccurs at random intervals.”

“In Eli’s case, that’s great D,” Amarie interrupted.

“I stand corrected and pleased.” Vali laughed. “Getting butt naked with a sexy kitty vet isn’t in my archives. The annals will be updated before the end of the day.”

“Vali,” Amarie rasped, nervous for the first time in days. “The results. I need to get to my computer.”

Amarie grabbed a gingham throw, covered her breasts, unnecessary since she remained secluded on Eli’s property, and rose to her knees, careful not to spill her mug.

“Relax, I got your back, girlfriend. I have the site pulled up. What’s your password?” Amarie quickly rattled off the secure details. She had always been a nervous test taker. Not this time. The nightly study sessions with Eli quizzing her had helped her to build a system to de-escalate her stress levels during the two-day testing sessions. As the seconds ticked by, though, panic set in. The birds she heard chirping were replaced with the pounding of her own heart.

“Oh my God, Vali. What’s taking so long?”

“The website needs a saline enema,” Vali chided. “The spinning wheel of death has me in its grips.”

At times like this, she cursed technology. What if she hadn’t passed? She couldn’t go on as an assistant to her boyfriend, dependent on his income, his housing, his—everything.

“Not again,” she whispered, the cup shaking in her grasp. “Vali, did I get close this time?”

“Wait—wait. Something’s happening on the page.” She paused, mid-sentence. “Oh my god,” she gasped. What did that mean? Vali didn’t gasp. She didn’t flinch in the face of disappointment.

“It’s worse than last time, isn’t it?” She’d arrived in Service with goals, dreams. Her plans hinged on passing the exam. Her new friends would learn she failed at everything.

“Honey.” Vali’s voice cracked.

Amarie rose to her feet, stiffening her spine. She would meet her fate head-on, standing proud. She’d done her best. Truly in her heart she’d studied, sacrificed, and learned to embrace her process. She believed herself capable of building the life she wanted.

“Say it, Vali.”

“Welcome to the achy-feet club, Mari.” Had she heard that right? Vali’s screamed. “You not only passed, my sister, but you aced the darn thing.”

“Flying colors, Amarie. You can write your own job description,” Sunday screamed, reaching an operatic pitch.

Amarie jerked the phone away from her ear. Her feet left the ground. Not quite a Simone Biles leap, but enough to splash her coffee, now warm, over the rim. The blanket she held to her breast slipped from her grasp.

All the dance moves Eli had taught her—Watermelon Crawl, Cotton-Eyed Joe, Old Town Road, The Git Up—she did them, butt naked. Screaming, her voice bounced between the trees traveling across the water, up the mountain. Inside,she felt the growing wave of love, self-love. She’d succeeded in not failing herself.

“Mari. Mari. Where are you, lady?”

Amarie eased the phone back to her ear, panting from exertion. “I’m doing my dance. I’m a registered nurse. I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it. I never doubted you.” Yes. They had done it. She and Eli, together. “Have you thought about your specialty?”

Huh, she’d spent months focused on the exam. Amarie thought about Eli’s words, the shield-maiden of women and children.

“Labor and delivery. Maybe pediatrics,” she finally replied.

“Whew, you had me worried you’d choose animals instead of patients for a second. Don’t let go of your dreams, girl. I know you’re living the best days of your life in Service, but is there a general hospital on Main Street?”

“I wish. The closest hospital is ninety miles away in Hopes Summit,” Amarie replied, but her heart skipped a beat. Maybe she could help to remedy the health professional shortage in rural communities and improve patient outcomes. She’d earned her credentials. The perky late bloomer had blossomed into a nightingale. “I’ve got to text my mom. And Eli. He helped me study every night for weeks. I can’t wait to tell him.”