“Messy?”
“Yeah, but not even for good reasons. They both strayed to some degree, but there was no epic betrayal or anything high-stakes like that. And we know that because they never stopped rehashing their versions of the events to us. They just realized they didn’t care about each other enough to stay together and spent years tearing the shit out of each other, using me and Hail as mediators and pawns.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her voice was quiet as she shifted toward the stove. She stayed there, stirring and testing and seasoning.
“My sister spends all her time reading,” I said after a few minutes. “She sees books as the solution to all of her problems.”
Her back to me, she said, “I’ve heard of worse coping mechanisms.”
“Yeah, I probably blew through all of them until I ended up in therapy after my ex told me I had major attachment issues and needed to sort out my shit.”
She laughed, returning the lid to the pot, but she didn’t turn around. “How’d that work out for you?”
“According to Miah, I’m not a complete jackass anymore, so that’s something.” I waited for some agreement on those grounds, but it never came. “And I learned how to experience emotions like I hadn’t grown up in the middle of a cliché.”
“Surgeons don’t know how to deal with their feelings,” she said. “That’s why they’re surgeons and not physicians.” She surveyed my progress and gave it a tolerant smile likegood job, little buddy. I had a lot of work to do if I was going to meet her standards. “Wait. Your ex isMiah,as in Miah the maid of honor? Is that how Mason met Florrie? Or is that how you met her?”
I blew out a breath as I organized the instruments. “I take the blame for Mason and Florrie, but I’m not going to say anotherword on that topic because you’re a friend of the family and I don’t have anything nice to say.”
Whit opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself, tapping a finger to her lips as she studied me.
“But speaking of therapy,” I went on, “it wouldn’t hurt them to go. Chances are good they’ll get there one way or another.”
She leaned back against the countertops, crossing her arms. “Does that mean your issue is with the couple and not marriage in general? You weren’t just being an ass at their wedding?”
I couldn’t help but smile. It was good to talk to her. Even about my less than impressive moments. “I’ve been told by many, many people that I was an ass. No need to debate it.”
She peered at me like she’d never seen me before. “Okay.”
I pulled off my gloves. I wanted to know whatokaymeant and why it looked like there was a whole world spinning out in her head. I wanted to hear everything she was thinking, even if it was that there was no way we could pull this off. I wanted to touch her and I wanted her to touch me without the pretense of surgical skills. I wanted to put my hands in her hair and I wanted her to know that I couldn’t get her out of my head and I’dtried. I’d really fucking tried.
Instead of saying any of that, I asked, “Which direction is post-op?”
She opened a cabinet to reveal the trash bin. Once I’d sent my patient on its way and I’d washed my hands, she pointed to the round dining table near the windows and told me to sit down. She filled two bowls with stew and set them down alongside warm flour tortillas and two bottles of beer.
We were quiet while we ate, forever eyeing each other and pretending there weren’t a million questions pressing in around us. We stayed at the table long after second helpings, after another round of beers. We leaned toward each other as we talked about our sisters and the city and every other little thingthat came up. At first it was just our elbows bumping each other, but it didn’t take long for it to be arms, fingers, knees.
“I’m going to send you some readings,” she said, watching as I traced the veins on the inside of her wrist. “I know you don’t have loads of time for more readings but?—”
“You’d be surprised,” I said, staring at her pale skin and debating whether we could have this conversation with her in my lap. “Salas’s bathroom and snack breaks really add up. I find if I keep the texts open on my phone, I can get through a lot of reading.”
“Then you’ve realized reporting to her isn’t the worst thing in the world?”
Our eyes met as I lifted her wrist to my lips. “If I say yes, will you let me come back from exile?”
She snapped her hand back and started to gather the dishes. “Can’t you see that it’s better for everyone if you stay where you are?”
“Sit down. I’ve got this.” I stood, scooping the bowls out of her hands and heading toward the sink.
Predictably, she didn’t sit down. She followed right behind me, making it all the harder to think past the desire I felt for her. It wasn’t even sexual. I mean, there wasplentyof sex happening in my head, but more than that, I wanted us to hide out in that space where it was just us and none of the dead ends and roadblocks.
Whit emptied the remaining stew into a glass container while I washed the dishes. When that was finished, I dried while she collected the forgotten beer bottles. We didn’t say a word to each other.
Without looking at me, she said, “I’m going to send you some notes on your instrument handling too, but the best way to improve is to practice.”
I watched her straighten a few items on the island. She gave the cupcake box a glance filled with longing. I thought about asking her opinion on the flavors I’d chosen, but I wasn’t sure I could take it if she didn’t want to go another round with me. I’d walked in here with hope, with so much goddamn optimism, and I wanted to leave with just as much. But I was teetering on the edge.
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” I motioned to the table. “And thank you for dinner. It was great. It was really good to talk to you. Like always.”
