With the ER dead since yesterday, I had time to snag one of the cots in the on-call rooms to pass out on for an hour or so, but given how wired I still felt, even after surgery, there was no doubt my ceiling fan debacle would turn into a fun game of counting footsteps passing by the doorway.
The pager on my hip buzzed, forcing me to shoulder the door to the scrub room open while slipping it off the waistband of my scrubs. The display read a 45 code, detouring me to the nurse’s station to pick up the call directed for me.
As soon as I reached the desk, Beth flashed me a smile. “Morning, Doctor.”
Behind her, Violet made a show of turning her back toward me, half bent over the tablet in front of her as she filled out what looked like the discharge papers for Bishop. Her being angry at me wasn’t new, nor was the silent treatment I’d inevitably receive as a result. All natural consequences I’d be forced to face due to my piss poor mood and taking it out on her.
Apologizing wasn’t exactly my strong suit. Not as an excuse to remain arrogant in my opinions but more so in how difficult I found it to approach people in general. Vulnerability was a foreign language I’d neglected to learn as a child, carrying the dysfunction with me well into my adulthood and never bothering to correct it in all that time.
Usually, running into problems was far and few. And if they did happen, I seldom cared.
Dealing with this at work, however… made things unnecessarily difficult.
But in order to properly apologize, one needed to be vulnerable to do so—opening up to the possibility of expressing emotions and deep, personal thoughts that led to the reason behind the quarrel in the first place.
Something I would absolutely, under no circumstances, do.
Least of all with a coworker.
So, at an impasse we stood.
One thing at a time, though.
I shot Beth a nod before reaching over the lip of the desk to lift the phone up onto the higher counter. The light on the second line flashed green, and I pressed it with my thumb the second I had the receiver cradled to my ear. “This is Dr. Montgomery.”
“Silas!” Marlow. “I called and texted you a few times but you didn’t pick up.”
“I was in surgery. Something wrong?”
Out of the five people in this world that I genuinely cared about, Marlow was infectiously my favorite. We’d been friends for so long I hardly remembered a time when weweren’t. Going from small boys, to growing teenagers, and into fully ambitious adults. A lifetime together spent evolving into the people we were today.
Sometimes, I found it strange to have someone like Marlow attached to me. On the rare occasions I did actually look deeper into my own self, I found it odd he’d choose to be friends with someone like me—a total and complete opposite personality from his boisterous and friendly one, exhibiting all of the traits I lacked, and at one point envied, before buryingthatemotion deep down into the abyss to never been seen or examined again.
I appreciated the dedication to dragging me along to whatever adventure he seemed eager to chase. Even if I made it difficult by digging my heels into the proverbial dirt.
Giving Marlow too much leeway led for a boring life. He needed some kind of adverse attention to make the carrot at the end of the stick far more desirable.
“Nah. Just wanted to invite you to dinner with Blake and me.”
Except when it came to his new relationship.
ThatI was still salty over.
“Dinner, huh,” I drawled.
“Come on. Even robots have to eat.”
“Technically, they would need an oil change.”
“What the fuck—shut up, you ass. Just come out to dinner with us.”
“Can’t. I’m on rotation still.”
“Okay,” he spoke slowly. “When does it end?”
“Wednesday.”
He swore softly. “You’re going to actually keel over and die from a heart attack.”
