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They were a sight. They burst into the ER and instantly all eyes were on them. The African-American one was dressed to the nines, sporting a classy evening dress with her raven hair styled in a loose bun, bearing a rattan baby basket in her arm. The Caucasian one was obviously underdressed in her sweat pants and Princeton University sweater, holding tightly in her arm a baby boy with blond locks.

“We’re sorry. We did everything we could to save Ms. Ramirez’s life, but the bullet hit directly to the heart, which ruptured and she died on the spot.”

Jordan and Diana were speechless, aghast. Diana automatically leaned her back against the blue wall, staring off into space. Jordan was still obediently clutching the child, who was being a sweetheart and never shed a single tear despite being dragged from one place to another.

Which part of doing everything they could when she died on the spot? Jordan thought bitterly. Doctors always had a way of trying to sound so noble and liable. And she hated that part of her profession.

Dylan stifled a yawn. The simple act of yawning suddenly snapped Jordan into reality, which hit her hard in the head. Her eyes locked with Diana’s, which had the same helpless aura shining from them. She understood. Dylan, how could I possibly explain to you that you’re an orphan while barely hitting a year?

“I believe she didn’t suffer…”

“I’d like to see the body, please. And I’d like to arrange that she’d be sent for post-mortem to New York General’s morgue,” Jordan butted in firmly. She didn’t feel like listening to the doctor’s lame attempt of pep talk.

The young doctor was speechless. He recovered and looked at the chart in his hand. “Well, m’am, the only way it’s possible if we get a faxed document from the morgue with a written appeal from the next-of-kin,” he explained. “I’m sure the process won’t…”

“Will the pathologist’s signature do?”

***

The burial service took place 3 days ago. It was attended by Tina’s co-workers at Wal Mart and neighbors in the same apartment block. The whole week passed by in a blur. Starting off with arrival of Tina’s body in her morgue two days prior the funeral. She grieved and tears rolled down her cheek before lifting off the white linen masking Tina’s body. Mike, David, and a few others working in the morgue seemed to understand and left the cold operation room alone for her to reflect and work with Tina.

Diana on the other hand took a break off her photographing schedules to take care of Dylan, who didn’t seem affected by the loss. Of course, a ten-month-old child wouldn’t distinguish from the death that occurred. Everything went by smoothly; from the funeral house preparation down to the last detail of choosing the proper casket. Somehow both girls felt obliged to shower Tina with final luxury as the late Puerto Rican had never known anything of it while she was alive.

Diana smiled as Dylan gurgled with laughter as his Pooh teddy rolled on the floor. She marveled at how beautiful the baby was; according to Tina the father was half Swiss and Spanish, and that was how Dylan inherited his blond locks from. Unfortunately, the man didn’t live to witness his son’s birth as he was killed during drug trafficking.

Jordan seemed contented with Dylan settled on her abdomen. She exchanged glances with Diana. It had been a hectic week. Come Monday, both of them had to enter work again. And Dylan? Dylan was never part of their plan to begin with.

“You have that shift with Josie Maran in the afternoon, don’t you?” Jordan inquired lightly. Diana looked up from the shots she had taken the previous week and nodded slightly.

“Right. I’m doing a little grocery tonight, perhaps a stop at Kinderland after,” Jordan explained, gently massaging Dylan’s back as the toddler drifted off to sleep.

Diana diverted her attention towards Jordan. She studied her long-time housemate’s face for a while. “I’ll come,” came her short reply. Her gaze settled on the small figure resting on Jordan’s body. “You know, the boy does only have us,” she spoke softly.

“Yeah, in order for this to work, we should at least have some basic supplies, right?” Jordan replied casually.

“I’ll contact some peeps and see on the paperwork, then,” Diana said, decisively.

Jordan chuckled softly as a thought crossed her mind. “I just pray that we won’t be tagged as lesbo partners with a child in between.”

Diana laughed. “How could they when you’re practically Nick Carter’s latest pimp?” she joked.

“Ha ha,” Jordan replied dryly. She paused for a while to take a good look at the sleeping figure on her. Instantly she was granted all the reassurance that she needed to take the big step. Dylan belonged to them. The kid doesn’t deserve social service. “Oh yea, ma?”

“What’s up?”

“I’ll do the pee and you do the poop. Deal?”

***

Nick walked through the hallway of the hospital basement towards the morgue. He felt a tiny shiver running up his spine. For the 26 years of his well-lived life, that was the first time he had to take a path down the morgue. The atmosphere was chilly, contributed by the cold Manhattan weather and damp bricks surrounding him.

Two weeks had passed since his last conversation with the lady pathologist. And there’s a week away before they had to part for Cannes. For the last two weeks, he knew he had unconsciously waited for any return call after they ended their conversation hastily that New Year’s Eve.

He came to the door marked ‘NYC Morgue’, as a guy with a camera slung around his neck, bustled out. Nick stepped back, as he realized the guy could collide into him. The guy muttered a silent ‘sorry’ and sped off, leaving Nick watching his back. Eventually, the guy halted in his jog, turned around and gave a nod towards Nick. “You’re a next-of-kin?”

Nick was taken aback with the question. Then he seemed the irony of such question with the place he was currently at. He snapped out of his reverie and answered. “I’m looking for Dr. Leila Wakefield?”

The camera guy jogged back towards him, gave the door a soft kick and howled. “LJ, you’ve got a visitor!” He took a look at Nick, and nodded for him to go inside. “My best bet she’s in Room 2.” With that, he was gone again.

Nick stepped inside and was greeted with an array of metal boxed freezers which lined the grey-painted wall. On his left stood a small office, and through the glass window, he could see two guys in lab coats pacing about. No sign of the particular brunette, but he raised his hand to knock on the door anyway.

“Yeah?”

Nick paused and turned on his feet.

“Nick! What are you doing here?”

Nick felt his lips curling into a smile. Standing in front of him was the said brunette, looking at ease in a purple sweater, layered by a labcoat, with the sleeves folded up midway. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail with a pair of glasses perched on the brim of her nose.

Hardly the glamorous look, but to him, she looked real.

***

“What brought you in town, Mr. Carter?” Jordan inquired nonchalantly as she popped a salad leaf into her mouth. Both of them had retreated for lunch at one of Jordan’s regulars. The diner was bustling with energy, packed with normal 8-5 white collared of different ages and genders.

Nick looked across the table towards his lunch companion. A fresh change from the regular bistros and chic cafes he usually frequented in LA. “Had to settle something regarding the solo project. Flew in yesterday, probably leaving tomorrow night,” he explained and took a sip of his thick espresso. “Sorry to barge in like that. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d give the hospital a try before I give up and buzz you up,” he continued, grinning sheepishly.

“Aah…” Jordan nodded. “So, have you been stalking doctors long, Mr. Carter?” she prodded, grinning.

Nick chuckled. “Eh, not really. I found out this interest to be quite fresh, actually,” he replied, smiling.

“Imagine if you entered the wrong hospital, wouldn’t it be straight out funny to be asking for a non-existent doctor? I could envision the newsflash: Backstreet Carter gone and lost it at a local hospital,” she joked.

Nick laughed out loud. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, LJ. I thought I was about to freak out walking down the cold hallway. How could you walk it every single day of your life?” he asked, smiling reverently at the lady.

“The same thing you feel every time you go up on that stage. I suck in public speaking, but excel with blood and goos. I’d say we’re even,” Jordan remarked.

Nick raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe that? Look at you, I have to actually sweat my brain cells to match my wits with you,” Nick replied good-naturedly. Jordan laughed. They paused as the waitress approached them with their orders; salmon steak for Nick and zucchini for Jordan.

“I’d talk your ears off once I’m acquainted with you but you should have seen one of my onstage moments in high school. My knees buckled so weakly I thought I might faint or something. Stick to sports if the only thing you could muster on stage is a grin,” Jordan concluded. She took a spoonful of zucchini into her mouth.

“No way. I thought you’re more of the cheerleader kinda girl,” Nick kidded.

Jordan’s hand flew up to cover her mouth in mock shock. “Oh, did my pompoms peek out of my ass again?”

Nick laughed. His salmon was not bad at all. After all, Jordan did mention that it was the in-house delicacy. His mind reverted to the night of their phone conversation. “Oh yeah, what happened the other night? Did you have a New Year countdown at all? I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me, so you made up something about an incoming call,” he joked lightly.

Jordan’s expression softened at the mention of that night. She flashed a tight smile. “Which part of ‘I’d talk your ears off’ did you miss?” she replied, chuckling softly. “There was no countdown. I had to rush off to the hospital actually. A neighbor passed away,” she continued softly. Her gaze was lowered to the zucchini on her plate, afraid that her eyes would betray any emotions that were breaking through.

Nick fell silent. He gently dropped his cutleries on the plate and reached across the table to pat Jordan lightly on the arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” Jordan replied gently with a small smile. She appreciated the simple gesture from Nick, a sign that he was acutely sensitive to others too. “Which reminds me of something that I have to tell you about.”

Nick nodded solemnly. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

Jordan sighed. For the past two weeks she has completely forgotten about the little promise she made with Roger, and technically with Nick. With an extra responsibility in hand, and a changed social status, she felt obliged to alert Nick about the forthcoming consequences if she were to agree to tag along to Cannes. She drew a deep breath and started speaking. “Tina, my late neighbor, was a widow with no immediate family. She left a child, a toddler.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, I remember you babysitting that night? Was it her child?” Nick inquired. He shook his head lightly. “What a pity to grow up as an orphan.”

“I agree,” Jordan continued. “Listen, Nick. The kid now is in our custody, Diana, my roommate and I. We appealed as the legal guardians as we couldn’t let Dylan to be taken into foster home,” she explained as Nick was listening intently. “I’m practically a mother now. I ain’t complaining, but I doubt it will go well with… well, you know,” Jordan finished, unable to find the suitable noun. She sat straighter in her seat, trying to find the confidence. “I would definitely understand if you feel like ditching the plan. You’ve got a week, plenty of time if you want to start yellow-paging for somebody else. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it totally slipped off my mind, til you came to visit today.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Nick said, holding up a hand to stop Jordan’s ongoing babbles. “Slow down, LJ.” His lips curled into a smile at the sight of Jordan’s apologetical face. How could he ditch a date with a brain and a Good Samaritan combined into one? “Where did you get all the bizarre ideas? I’m not bothered by it, LJ. Even more, I hope I could meet this Dylan.”

Jordan sat back, stunned. That was honestly not the answer she was expecting. Tight smile and polite thank you is alright, mere silence she could handle, but downright supportive? She felt like pinching herself.

***

Jordan is a normal girl. She loves dressing up on special occasions. She did own a few dresses in the wardrobe, but that was as far as dresses go. Her line of work doesn’t require for her to be dressed up fancily, plus it’d be depressing to wear a Donna Karan tulip skirt to the morgue.

Recall the mention of ‘special occasions’ above. A new dress for each occasion. The problem was, the last big occasion she attended when she splurged suicidally on a dress was 3 years ago, for her Princeton graduation.

It was getting nowhere. Jordan’s eyes darted back and forth between the empty suitcase and her equally almost-non-existent wardrobe. Her flight was less than 72 hours away, and she hadn’t even packed her underwear. Jordan felt a surge of panic. The memory of pulling out hair off the scalp during one of Neurology killer exams resurfaced. She felt that she needed help, fast.

“D!” she hollered. She knew the girl would probably be developing photos in the other room. Dylan, who was working with his first ‘match-the-shape’ game peacefully, looked up at his mama’s sudden outburst.

Diana poked her head into the room. “Down, girl. What crawled up your ass?”

Jordan plopped down on her plush bed, flustered. “I absolutely got nothing to wear,” she whined, very LJ-unlike.

“Is that really you, ma?” Diana questioned, incredulous.

“D, look at my closet. It’s as empty and bland as your chicken casseroles,” Jordan spoke, this time around with more control in her voice.

“Insulting my culinary skills ain’t gonna cut it, girl,” Diana replied. She took a seat on Jordan’s bed, with the direct view of the girl’s closet’s content. Diana shook her head and clicked her tongue. “It’s sadly true, J. Did you wardrobe catch fire or something?”

Jordan rolled her eyes and smacked Diana’s shoulder for good measures. The lady yelped. “You could at least say something constructive,” she retorted. She heaved herself off the bed and started pacing about. “I know this is far from being a world issue, but I don’t-have-a-dress-to-go-to-Cannes,” she stated, word by word. Closing her eyes momentarily, she let out an inward groan.

Diana nodded, her face grim. “Yes, earth-shattering indeed.”

“D!”

Diana flashed a sheepish grin. She stood up and walked towards the spacious yet barely-filled wardrobe. Pausing for awhile in front of the array of clothes, she tucked a hand at her waist and shook her head in disdain, to further annoy Jordan. “This is sad, ma. I’m the photographer of national’s best-selling fashion magazine, and yet my housemate is the reason Dolce & Gabbana cry bloody tears.” She tsk-tsked for good measure.

“How tactful of you,” Jordan replied sarcastically. She folded her arms in front of her chest, feeling defensive.

“However, I take it as my personal obligation to bring you into the light,” Diana announced decisively.

“What are you, Dalai Lama?”

Diana raised an eyebrow at the attitude. “Or you could always wear your prom dress,” she prompted, sort of giving an ultimatum.

“You suck.”

Diana burst out laughing. She slung an arm around her roommate’s shoulder. “Listen. Josie was wearing this royal green one-shoulder thing from Emma Somerset, I thought it’d look swanky on my brunette roommate,” she explained.

Jordan wrinkled her nose. “How sure are you I won’t look like a recycle bin with legs and arms?”

Rolling her eyes, Diana smacked her forehead, weary. “And risk my career once the media finds out we happen to live under the same roof? No, thanks.”

Jordan fell silent. She gave a sideway glance to Diana, who was anxiously waiting for her decision. “How destitute will that thing leave me?” she asked cautiously. “I mean, something your stick-thin models wear on the photoshoot must at least cost a kidney or a pancreas, right?”

Diana gagged. “Gross.” Then her lips curled into a smile. “Ya know, that early birthday gift you’ve been bugging me about?”

Jordan narrowed her eyes curiously. “Yeah?”

“Yup, so don’t forget to mention my name when those people lining the red carpet shove a mic into your face.”

Jordan gave a squeal. She freaking squealed, but she hardly cared on how that would totally bash the ‘laidback’ image she took so long to build. She threw her arms around Diana and hugged her friend in a tight embrace. “Oh, thank you! I so heart you right now! I’d do Dylan’s poop for a month, I swear!” she gushed.

Diana laughed. “Fair enough with the dent I’m going to have in my bank account,” she commented. “Ya know, I always thought you’d end up with one of the mortuary geeks you deal with every day. But Blondie pop star? You’d betta recognize!”

“It’s one, purely-professional date, D. Very righteously innocent. There’s no way he’s jumping me, and I’ll try my best not to jump him,” Jordan replied, grinning impishly. “C’mon, I’ll assure you I won’t be needing any reality-check vaccination soon.”

Diana smiled. “You know how many women would kill to be in your flip-flops right now?”

Jordan flashed another grin. “You tell me.”

Diana shook her head, grinning at her friend’s cheesy statement of staying real. She then pulled the other girl’s hand towards the door, pausing to retrieve Jordan’s purse on the bedside table. “Let’s go. You need pimpin, woman.”