The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (12 page)

I can feel my face getting a little red hot and I begin to glare at Eric. "Why in the world would you tell my parents about this?!” I exclaim as I grab Eric by the top of his shirt, almost choking him.

“Don’t hurt me!” he yells. “It was Karen who called them!” I let go of my death grip and stare at Karen in anger.

"I'm sorry, Les! I didn't know what else to do! I was worried too!" she says trying to act like she's all innocent ... key word:
act
.

"This is what you do, Karen,” I start calmly. “YOU DON'T TELL THEM…
ANYTHING
!" I shriek. Karen's bottom lip starts to quiver like she's about to cry. I don't mean to hurt her feelings in any way, but it's my parents: my crazy, psychotic parents! There are reasons
why
I distance myself from them. One reason being that they drive me absolutely insane!

"I was afraid that something horrible had happened to you with that
oddly shaped tumor
on your head
," Karen says and I turn
away from her. "Anyway, they're on their way up here. I didn't know this would make you so upset. I'm sorry." 

I sigh in frustration. "Give me my clothes. I'
m getting out of this hospital H
ell." I begin to sit up and attempt to get out of the bed. Thank the Lord they left my underwear on or it'd be a full moon.

"You can't go, Les," Mike says. "Not until they release you. You have a head injury."

I look Mike up and down then look directly into his eyes, fuming. "If you don't let me go, I will shove those hospital
latex gloves up your ass
, now
move
." Mike moves to the side and I push myself onto the floor. "I have to go," I keep saying as I look for my clothes. "I have to get out of here before—"

"LESLEE!"
Fuck!
I think to myself. It's the little Korean woman ready to ruin my life. I try to hide behind
Karen and it doesn't work. My M
om walks into the room and spots me right away. Maybe if I jump out the window ... "Leslee, what
did you do to yourself?” she asks.
“What is
this
bump on your head?" I surrender. I move from behind Karen and let my mother see all my glory and embarrassment.

"I just had a little accident, that's all," I respond leaving out as many details as possible. I don't even know how much Karen told her. Hopefully not too much.

"Honey, if you want to dance on table
s
, that
’s
fine if you
’re
getting paid," m
y mother says and Mike begins to laugh.

I groan in frustration. “Mom,” I start, “I was not dancing on any tables. And can you please not say those type of things here? This is a hospital, not a strip club.
Where are my clothes?!" I yell in frustration.
Get me out of here!

"You cannot leave, Leslee!" Mom says and I igno
re her. "The d
octor says no, not yet."

I pick up my clothes from the chair and get a large whiff of marijuana.
Ugh!
I begin to cough as I make my way into the bathroom and close the door. I instantly look in the mirror and my eyes widen. I can not believe how horrible this thing
looks on my head! It looks worse
than a mini disco ball. It looks like if I put a sharp pin to it, it would completely explode.
Double ugh!

I hear a knock at the door. "Leslee?" I hear a stern and manly voice say. It’s my Dad. This situation cannot get any worse. I continue to get dressed and he continues to knock. "Leslee, it's your father. Open the door!" What am I, 12 years old? Who does he think he is?  I'm a grown woman
trying
to get dressed here! I swing open the bathroom door with my hand on my hip.

"Dad, a little privacy maybe?" I snidely say as I push past him and sit on the hospital bed. I look around t
he room for my shoes. “My shoes,
” I say. “Where the hell are my shoes?” I think for a second and my memory floods back into my brain. “Oh,” I say. Now I remember. I threw my shoes at the disco ball at XO Lounge therefore my shoes are probably still there.
Shit.

"Nice to see you, too, Leslee,
" Dad replies and I just roll my eyes.

"I really do
n't want to hear a lecture, Dad,
" I say as I plop onto the hospital bed. “I just want to leave.”

"What do I want to say, Lesle
e, since you know me so well?" my D
ad asks me and now I officially feel like I'm twelve. "You smell like a goddamn Cheech and Chong movie!"

"Dad, you really don't have to embarrass me," I say as the doctor walks into the room. He's an average height, thirty something Indian male with perfect hair and a perfect complexion. This is the only time in my life that I've ever had an attractive doctor who wasn’t elderly and balding, and also the only time in my life where I've regretted going to a party. Never again I say. Never again.

As the doctor moves closer to me, he beg
ins to turn up his nose. "Woo!" h
e says absorbing the smell of the Mary Jane that has attached itself to my clothing. "That must've been some party."

"Yeah, it really was," I reply. "At least what I remember of it which is funny becaus
e I don’t remember smoking weed.
" I look at Russ and he turns away.
Guilty as charged.

The doctor starts flipping through the chart in his hand and I glance at his name tag: Dr. Vishal Patel. "Um, Dr. Patel,” I start, “When can I go home? I really would feel more comfortable in a home setting rather than in a hospital setting. I don't want to catch anyone else's diseases while I’m here." The doctor laughs at me.

"In a little bit," Dr. Patel responds. "We'll do a g
eneral checkup, go over your CAT scan
results and then send you on your way if everything looks OK. Since it's a head injury, we want to be extra cautious.” He winks at me. I blush. I might actually be in love with my doctor … OK maybe a little hospital crush at most.

"OK, Dr. Patel," I manage to say without drooling. He smiles at me and it's the most gorgeous smile I've ever seen. His teeth are movie star white and he has this ridiculously sexy dimple under his right cheek. My opinion of hospitals is suddenly changing.

"Well, OK then,
" Vishal says (yes, we are on a first name basis now). "I'll be back in a little bit." 

"OK," Karen and I say at the same time as he walks out the door. No wonder she's my best friend. We are always on the same page about thin
gs, and Vishal, it’s unanimous!
He is a certified hottie.

"My God!" Karen says, her eyes following Vishal's sexy butt. "He's like the Indian Dr. McDreamy. He’s welcome to examine me anytime." She bites her lip and stares at the door. Russ taps her as if to say “Hello?! Your fiancé is standing right next to you!” She looks at Russ defensively. “Oh, I am allowed to look. I just can’t touch,” she replies.

I lay back down on the hospital bed. I begin
to feel the energy drain again.
"You guys can go. I'll be OK," I say to my friends. “I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Eric asks.

"Yeah,
" Karen chimes in. "We'll stay if you need us for moral support, company ... Indian McDreamy support ..." She goes into a complete daze. My friends are so weird.

"No, it's OK. I need to talk to my parents anyway," I respond. "Thank you, though."

“Well, I’m not leaving this hospital until you leave, so I’ll be checking out the vending machines downstairs and I’
ll be back,
” Karen
says as she
and Eric give me hugs. Mike and his latex gloves keep their distance away from me and he just waves. Russ just taps me on the shoulder and says goodbye. My friends all leave the room and now I'm all alone with the dreaded parents. Sigh.

"So, daughter," my Mom starts and I can feel the yelling coming on any second. "When were you going to tell us th
at you ca
me home?" I squint my eyes and give an honest answer.

"Never," I say. "I didn't want you to find out. Besides, I just assumed that this was a temporary thing. I plan on going back to Manhattan. I just need a little time to think, that's all."

"And what happened to your boyfriend?" Mom asks.

"Mom, I don't want to talk about it!" I whine. "We broke up, OK? It didn't work out.”

"I told you not to move to New York," my Dad chimes in. "That city will chew you up and spit you out.” He told me before I left Philadelphia that Manhattan was a tough place to live, but watching all those
Sex and the City
episodes convinced me that Manhattan looked like so much fun. I couldn't resist moving! Plus, I needed to start my own life without my parents deciding my every move. I surely learned my lesson the hard way. "So, what are you gonna do now?”

"I'm going to look for anoth
er job, Dad. It's not that hard,
" I answer and my mom throws up her hands in the air.

"You lost your man
AND
your job?!" Mom yells. "Leslee, this is unacceptable! How in the world could you lose both at one time?" Funny, I was asking myself the same thing. "Do you have
a
back up plan?" I squirm with uneasiness in the hospital bed.

"Not really," I answer. "You know, in my defense, nothing like this has ever happened to me. This is the only time that I kinda messed up so please, just let it go. I didn't expect to hear any lectures from you. I thought I’d hear more of a 'hey daughter, we missed you' but apparently that's not gonna happen, now is it?" My mother begins to look upset. I don't need my parents pointing out what I did wrong because I already know. I’m already humiliated. I sigh. "As far as the whole New York thing, I know," I admit. "I should've been more prepared and a little more cautious considering I haven't been with the boyfriend that long, but what's done is done. Now as far as last night ..."
I pause. I barely even remember
what happened last night. How can I repent anything when I don’t even remember it all? "I just know that I will never drink that much again, ever." I hate to admit when I wrong. I hate even more that my paren
ts were right about everything.
They told me not to move in with Victor and I did. They told me not to take that job at Thomas' law firm and I did. They told me not to move to Manhatta
n and look at where I ended up.
Back in Philly where I st
arted. God, they were so right.
"So, what advice do you have for me now?" My Mom looks at Dad and just shrugs her shoulders.

"You move back in with us," m
y M
om tells me. "You need to get
your
feet back on
the
ground. How much money do you have saved up?" she asks and I turn the other way. If I tell her the amount she'll scream. Four hundred dollars in Manhattan will get you absolutely nowhere. I have shoes and underwear worth more than what I ha
ve saved. "That much, huh?" my M
om asks as if she's reading my mind. I nod my head. 

"After you check out of here, you're coming home with us," Dad says to me. I can’t move back home with my parents. How pathetic would that look? It’ll be like I am taking a step back.

I shake my head and disagree. “No,” I tell them. “I’ll stay with Karen until I get my feet back on the ground. I’m an adult and I can do this. You trust me, right?” They look at each other not knowing what to think. “I’ll get through this the best that I can,” I tell them. “I promise, and if I run into trou
ble, you’ll be the first I call,
” I assure them.

Mom shrugs her shoulders. “OK,” she says and hugs me.

Dad yawns. “Well, it’s four in the morning so we’re gonna head home.”

“OK, Dad,” I reply. “Thank you for checking up on me.”

“But, once you’re released from the hospital, we’re coming over to see how you’re doing,” Dad tells me.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Go home, go to bed. I’m good,” I tell them, shooing them out of the room. “I love you!” I yell after them as Karen returns from her vending machine journey chomping on a double pack of Twinkies.

“So, how did that conversation go?” she asks through a mouthful of mashed up pastry.

“Better than I expected,” I reply, smelling my clothes. “I still can’t remember why my clothes smell like this. My Dad said I smelled like Cheech and Chong.”

Karen shakes her head. “You don’t smell l
ike Cheech and Chong,
” she reassures me. “It’s more of a gin and tonic/cranberry juice and vodka smell, but I’m sure no one will notice outside a ten mile radius. We’ll just lock you in the shower for twenty-four hours and see how that goes. It’ll be like a special hygiene experiment, friend.” She playfully nudges me and I laugh.

“An experiment?” I ask. “That’s great.”

Knock! Knock!
I turn in my bed and look
at the clock on the nightstand:
10:03 a.m. I cover my head with a pillow and try to fall back asleep.
Knock! Knock!
I hear again at my bedroom door. Who even gets up this early? Don’t they know that the unemployed and brokenhearted have the right to sleep in until at least eleven o’clock? I sigh.