"I don'tlikebananas."
"Okay, fine. Let me give you a list of alternatives because coffee isn't breakfast. Get a pencil."
"Oh, don't even start that shit with me," I said. "Any more paternalistic commentary from you, and I'll have to start calling you daddy."
"We do not want that," he murmured.
"No," I replied, laughing. "Not at all."
We'd talked abouteverythingbefore, all the important things that shaded our world views and shaped our identities, but somehow this—nothing—was better. There was a foreign comfort in learning all of Nick's quirks and preferences, and the burgeoning love affair at his hospital, one between a gastro surgeon and her resident. Telling him about Iceland and my lab and the curious research fellows I'd inherited was an odd pleasure. I didn't talk about everyday things with anyone, not with much frequency.
"You're tired. I should let you go," Nick murmured. We'd been talking for more than three hours. "But I just don't want to. It's kind of a problem I'm having, not wanting to let you go."
I pushed my glasses to my head and rubbed my eyes. I was scheduled for a long day at the subzero lab bench in a matter of hours. "When was the last nightyouslept?"
"Remember what I said about power naps in on-call rooms?" he asked. "Yeah. That. Around two o'clock this afternoon."
"What are wedoing?" I asked, and at the same time, Nick asked, "When can you get back here?"
We stared at each other for a moment, and then returned to talking at once.
Nick: We're running a highly scientific experiment that's currently measuring how long I can stare at your mouth before I come in my—
Me: I want to see you, I do, but between the lab and commuting between here and Oxford, I can't—
Nick: I hate asking you to do all the traveling and—
Me: You think you're making it any easier? All scruffy and sleepy and fucking adorable like—
Nick: —I know it isn't easy for you to come here, but my schedule sucks right now and I can't—
Me: I fucking miss you, and I don't even understand that emotion—
Nick: Wait.I'madorable?
Me: —and it isn't entirely welcome! I never wanted to like you or miss you or any of this—
Nick: You think I'm adorable?
Me: —and maybe it was a mistake. Maybe we're inventing problems for ourselves. Maybe we shouldn't—
"Stop right there, darlin'." Nick pointed a finger at me, his serious expression snatching away my words. "We didn't make it easy on ourselves, no," he said. "But I believe you told me there's no time to live with regrets."
I rubbed my eyes, stealing a second away from his watchful gaze.
"There's gotta be a few days, a weekend, something," he continued. "This is good, and I intend to thank the Lord for your tits and stable wi-fi, but I'm greedy. I want more, and I'll sell my soul to anyone who's buying if I can see you again soon."
My fingers slipped away from my eyes, down my cheeks and over my lips. They stayed there, pressed into my skin as if I was barricading my most honest words from this conversation. But words weren't entirely necessary as I was nodding eagerly, agreeing to this plan long before it was fully formed.
"I wantyou," he said. "It's as simple—"
"And really fucking difficult," I added.
"—as that."
Nick smiled and dropped a hand to his belly, as if he could feel my words right there. Buthiswords? I felt them everywhere.
* * *
