Nick grabbed a container and stuck his fork inside. “Technically, I’m on call,” he said. “Until midnight. Then, you know, it’s time to rage. Or whatever people who have lives do these days.”
“And byrage,you mean you’ll be hanging out at the hospital?” Sam said. Nick laughed and grunted in agreement. Sam returned with a glass of water, and settled beside me with his hand on my thigh. “Is this tapas?”
“Yes,” Matt said, nodding resolutely. “With the Black Widow in New Mexico, no one reminded Tom to pick up the turkey. So, we called Toro last night.”
“Who’s Tom?” I asked. I knew all about the nicknames—Shannon as the Black Widow, Patrick as Optimus Prime, Matt as Juggernaut, Lauren as Miss Honey, Riley as RISD, and Andy as Princess Jasmine—but hadn’t wormed Sam’s out of him yet. I was hoping it wasn’t Tom.
“Shannon’s assistant,” he said. “Has anyone determined whether she’s actually in New Mexico?”
“We are not talking about this. She’s entitled to a little space,” Lauren said. “Instead of dragging all that drama out like a prize pig at the county fair, why don’t you two tell us how you met?”
“It certainly wasn’t the way Sam usually meets women,” I said, andshit,I sounded so antagonistic. He turned to me, his eyes searching my face for some explanation. Everyone else laughed and it was obvious they were comfortable busting each other’s balls, but I saw how much my comment hurt him.
“We met over Labor Day weekend,” Sam said, his gaze focused on me. “Tiel introduced me to bluegrass, and a few other things.”
“Andy said you’re a professor,” Lauren prompted.
They were harmless, well-intentioned questions, but I hated them. I didn’t want to be fodder for their rumor mill. I’d seen enough of it with my mother and aunts. They criticized everything about the women my uncles and male cousins brought to family dinners. Either they didn’t help in the kitchen enough or they had too many new ideas about roasting lamb, or they were too nice, and that was clearly an indication they were fake bitches. It was always something.
“Adjunct,” I said. “I teach music therapy classes at Berklee.”
Don’t be a bitch. Say more than the utter minimum.
“That sounds fascinating,” she said. “I’d love to pick your brain some day. I run an independent school, and getting a music program going is one of my priorities for next year.”
“Like, your own little Barbie dream school?”
For real: stop being a bitch.
To her credit, Lauren laughed off my comment as if it was the best thing she’d heard all night, but Sam continued staring me, his eyes narrowed as he tried to understand my freakish behavior.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“Nothing.” I shook my head, and his expression turned doubtful.
“Is this area home for you? Do you have any pets? What’s your last name? Have you ever seenDexter?What’s your position on the Celtics’ best year, and full disclosure, Pierce, Allen, and Garnett outshine Bird, Parish, and McHale any day of the week,” Riley asked. “Come on, we need details. This boy’s turned into a steel trap.”
Nick snapped his fingers and pumped his fist in the air. “You did the seminar on the comparison of music therapy and pharmacological sedation using chloral hydrate in pediatric EEG captures.”
“What were you doing there?”
Just don’t be bitchy. These are nice people. Don’t be bitchy.
I thought back to that presentation at the children’s hospital. I’d only stumbled into that research because one of my buddies couldn’t stomach the drugs used to put him under for certain tests, and I was convinced he didn’t need them in the first place.
“I cut brains,” he said. “You know, for medical purposes. I had eight first-year pediatric neuro-surgical interns with me.” He shrugged and looked at his palm, tapping his finger there as if he was counting something. “I don’t let them sedate toddlers anymore unless they’ve already tried and failed non-pharma measures, and I can only think of a few cases.”
“I’m glad it’s working,” I said.
I dedicated two years of my life to that project. I should be able to punch up the enthusiasm for real-world application.
Nick asked, “You’re at Berklee?” I nodded. Nodding prevented more douchery from spilling out of my mouth. “What else are you working on? I have plenty of residents who need to publish, and enslaving them brings a lot of joy to my life.”
“Well,” I murmured.
Don’t. Be. Bitchy.
My current research could be summarized on a small sticky note, and there was no way in hell I was getting in front of the dissertation defense committee this year.
