I leaned back in my seat and crossed my legs. “Why would we want to risk that?”
“Because we never celebrate Cocktoberfest,” she replied simply.
“Cock…toberfest?”
“It’s a beloved tradition, Whitney.”
“Is it now?”
“Yes! Wear a sweater, drink some beer, get railed within an inch of your life. Everyone’s doing it.”
I nodded slowly, salad forgotten. “Are you all right?”
She pushed her plate away, keeping her gaze low. “I need to do something fun this weekend and I’d really love it if they could be someone who treats me like an object. I want some good old-fashioned disrespect with that dick.”
“Does this have anything to do with your recent weirdness?”
She pulled a face as she asked, “Can you describe this weirdness? I am unfamiliar.” That lasted all of ten seconds while I stared at her. “Okay, okay, yes, I’ve been weird. I know and I’m sorry.”
I rolled a hand in her direction. “This would be a great time to explain the weirdness.”
She laced her fingers together and pulled them apart again. If I hadn’t known her as well as I did, I wouldn’t think much of the gesture, but Meri didn’t fidget. She was one of those steady, composed people who didn’t need a physical outlet for their stress. She didn’t have to roll a ball of lint around in her pocket as she organized her words or shift from foot to foot to find an equilibrium. Whatever she had to tell me meant something, and it meant something big.
“There’s not a lot to explain,” she said.
“I’m a hundred percent certain that is inaccurate.”
“Not a lot to explain anymore,” she said.
“But there was something to explain at one point.” I reached for my iced tea to smother some of my surprise. All my theories had followed the line of Meri getting recruited to a different hospital in the land of far, far away or her family making her life hectic again. “You know I’ll judge you, but in a loving, supportive way.”
“I do know that and I appreciate it,” she said with a laugh. “And I’ve wanted to tell you. So many times. But there wasn’t anything to actually say, so I didn’t know where to start. It was a thing that wasn’t really a thing.”
“A thing like when you had me lance that ingrown hair on your?—”
“We’ve agreed you wouldn’t bring that up anymore.” She rubbed a hand over her brow, sighing like she really couldn’t believe that she had to put up with me. It was precious. “It wasonetime and ifyouaskedmeto check out your undercarriage, I’d find a way to be discreet about it. Okay?”
“Then what kind of thing was it? If it’s not an ingrown hair, what are we dealing with here? Are you gambling on those F1 races you’re obsessed with? Did you join a cult? Did one of theguys you hooked up with this summer appear in your OR one day?”
She rubbed her eyes. “No, thank god, none of the above. Nothing like that.”
I couldn’t believe I was asking this, but— “Did you meet someone?”
She let out a brittle laugh that sounded like she’d crack if the air around her shifted just a little too quickly. “No, not like that. I didn’t meet anyone of significance. But I’ve remembered why my interest in men expires after one night.”
I sagged as I processed her words. “Who was it? And when? When did it start?”
“I could tell you, but it would make me feel stupid and I’ve already done quite a bit of that to myself. Besides, it’s not like I want to go down that road again or talk to him if he ever—” She glanced over my shoulder and the shadows in her green eyes immediately cleared. “Did you invite the best man to lunch? Toourlunch? My god, Whit, is nothing sacred anymore?”
“Did I what?”
I twisted in my seat to find Henry holding the door open for someone as they juggled four cups of coffee. There was a fraction of a second, not even an eye blink, when the memory of his scruffy chin on my neck flooded my mind and all I could feel was my heart thumping against my ribs.
Henry’s dark gaze landed on mine, smiling at first like he’d expected to find me here and then glancing between me and Meri, slow and just as startled as I was.
“Dr. Hazlette.” Meri waved him over like we weren’t in the middle of a serious conversation, the topic of which I wanted many more details. “What kind of residency are we running here if you have time to go off-campus for lunch?”
“The kind of residency that prioritizes Dr. Salas’s need for eight to ten meals per day,” he replied easily.
