Or, she’d been in New York City sometime after midnight. God only knew where she was now.
Immediately, I dropped everything to search for a note, a train receipt, even a riddle written in sequins. Any sign that my sister had made an attempt to notify me of these plans. That, if not for that photo, I still would’ve had some idea where my only sibling and temporary roommate had run off to now.
I found nothing.
For a minute, I debated leaving a comment on her post or sending her a direct message saying something mild like “Looks fun!” and hoping she took that opportunity to fill me in on the details.
Maybe it was that every inch of my skin was oversensitized or that my brain couldn’t see past the pulsing need for release, but I closed the app and shoved my phone into my back pocket. I didn’t have the energy for this today.
I sloggedmy way through several hours of transplant team meetings, constantly crossing and uncrossing my legs in a futile attempt to feel a little less like a faulty grenade. At one point, the nurse coordinator sitting to my left gave me a curious glance that seemed to sayyou good?
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and shrugged. She seemed to accept that.
Once those meetings wrapped, I left the hospital to meet Meri for lunch. We couldn’t always make it work, but mostWednesdays we met at a café on Charles Street that had some of the most incredible patisserie I’d ever seen. Aside from the day and location, the only requirement was that we didn’t talk about work. No medicine, no surgery, no colleagues. We pretended we were normal people who didn’t use extremely dark humor to cope and wouldn’t have to sprint back to work if a baby was born with half their intestines outside their body.
Since we weren’t actually normal people and our schedules had a lot in common with cats who’d stare you in the eye while knocking things over, I didn’t think much of it when I didn’t find Meri waiting for me. I ordered, sat outside to soak up the late summer sun, and absently scrolled through my phone. She’d get here eventually, and when she did I’d find a way to skirt the craggy borderlands ofno work talkandhaving sex dreams about my resident-slash-one-night-stand.
It wasn’t until I’d finished eating that I realized she still hadn’t arrived—and I didn’t have a message telling me she’d been called away. I wasn’t concerned because things always came up, but as I walked back to the hospital, I knew I wouldn’t survive much more of this frustration. It didn’t matter the source. I was irritable and overtired, and worst of all, I’d forgotten to grab dessert on the way out.
As I stabbed the elevator call button several times, I heard the squeak of running shoes coming around the corner.
“There you are,” Meri cried, her scrub cap clutched in one hand as she held her lanyard to her chest. “I’m so sorry. I totally spaced on the day, and when I realized, it was already too late.” I turned away from the elevator doors as she looked me over. “Did you bring me anything?”
“Yeah, I brought you my best wishes and warmest regards,” I replied. “Why didn’t you have your circulator text me?”
She pushed some auburn strands of hair over her ear and paused before saying, “I left my phone in my office.”
“What? Why?”
Meri yanked the drawstring on her scrubs and busied herself with retying it. “Just a mistake. I really am spacey today. I’m sorry. Lunch is sacred to me, as you know, and I’d never intentionally blow you off. Which you also know.”
I peered at her. She looked tired, although she’d been on call earlier this week and she had a spotless record of having to come in for cases every time. “Are you okay?”
She laughed, but it was hollow. Fake. “What? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Super cute way to deflect.
Obviously, there was something going on with Meri. There’d been too many little moments like this one over the past month or two. I didn’t know what it was or where it was coming from, but it was clear she wasn’t ready to talk about it. More than that, I wasn’t in the most helpful or receptive mood right now.
“It happens. I get it,” I said. “I could’ve used your advice though. I’m having some issues with my ongoing situation and”—I zigzagged my hands over my torso as if that was the universal sign for failure to reach orgasm—“related things.”
She arched a brow as the elevator dinged. “What doesthatmean? Has something changed with the situation? Do you need me to swab you or something?” She arrowed her hands toward her crotch. “Is it like that? In the lady business? Is it an itch or a burn? Or are we speaking about your metaphorical lady business?”
“We’re not speaking at all,” I said with a laugh. “Not here.”
“I’ll take you to lunch tomorrow or Friday,” she said. “Somewhere nice where they don’t scream at you from a counter when your order is ready. Will that make up for me ghosting you today?”
“You don’t have to make up for ghosting me,” I said, walking backward toward the elevator, “although I am blaming you for the fact I left the café without any fancy pastry treats.”
“Fair,” she called as I stepped onto the elevator. “We’ll talk later.”
“You better believe it.” She didn’t know it but I was getting to the bottom of her weirdness. I didn’t care if I had to dig it out of her.
The doors closed and I found myself staring at Henry. How much of that conversation had he heard?
He leaned back against the wall, those impossibly beefy arms folded over his chest and his ankles crossed in front of him. A small smile warmed the corners of his mouth as he watched me. I blinked several times to clear away any doubt as to whether he was real and not just a product of my horny imagination.
“What’s the situation?” he asked.
