Thursday morning, I woke up to a text fromhim.
Nate sends a mirror photo: post-run, shirt off, shorts low on his hips, sweat-damp hair.No caption.
Me:New phone who dis?
Nate:You know who
Me:You fishing for a compliment, Carson?
Nate:Just giving you an excuse to send a pic back.
I send a photo back:baseball cap backward, braid falling over one shoulder, a coffee mug hiding half my smile that has nothing to do with him, my green scrubs are in full view.
Me:Here.Fully clothed.Calm down, Carson.
Nate:Now I gotta imagine the rest.
I am like an addict with my cell phone.As soon as I have a break, I want to text him.
When did that happen?
Me:Just stitched a calf that tried to escape mid-procedure.My scrubs look like a crime scene.
Nate:You sure you’re not secretly a Marvel Hero origin story?
Me:Please.I’m one bad day away from becoming the villain.
Nate:As long as I get to be the morally conflicted hero who’s obsessed with her.
Me:You already are.You just hide it behind your practiced smile.
Nate:You’ve been watching my interviews?
Me:Only the ones where you look like you need a hug.
Nate:Or a kiss.
Me:You wish.
But an image of Nate kissing me flashes through my mind, and I have to squeeze my thighs together and focus on my day.
An emergency call quickly extinguishes my good mood.A young dog was hit by a truck on a back road.By the time we get there, it’s clear we can’t save him.
The owner, a little boy with a missing front tooth and a broken heart, holds the dog’s paw until the very end.I keep it together until we’re back in the truck.Then I have to roll the window down and breathe, because the ache isn’t just from the ribs anymore.
When I get home that night, I mean to shower and crash, but instead I find myself texting.
Me:You ever have one of those days where you just want to sit on the porch with someone and not talk?
Nate:Yes.
Me:Does it help?
Nate:Sometimes.Depends on who’s sitting next to you.
I stare at that for a long time.
Then my phone buzzes again.
