The shift drags when I want to be somewhere else. Meron keeps his distance for the remainder of the night. Not because he’s satisfied, but because he’s recalibrating. He doesn’t like not getting a reaction. He prefers friction. It allows him to posture as supervisory rather than insecure.
Tonight, I give him nothing.
He rechecks an order in trauma. He questions a discharge timeline in pediatrics. He suggests I consult cardiology on a borderline case I’ve already cleared twice.
I nod. Adjust. Move forward. I don’t take the bait.
It unnerves him, which satisfies my sense of pettiness. I see it in the way he lingers longer than necessary at the nurses’ station. “You’re different tonight,” he says around two a.m.
“I’m rested,” I reply.
“You’re not.”
“No,” I admit.
He waits for elaboration. I don’t give him any.
By four a.m., the ED quiets to a manageable hum. The fluorescent lights feel harsher when the chaos thins. The lull between crises is always when reflection sneaks in.
By seven a.m., I finish my final chart and remove my stethoscope, letting it rest around my neck. The thought that keeps circling back is not Meron. It’s Perry’s hesitation this morning. There was a weight in her posture. A tightening in her jaw. A decision gathering. And then she redirected.
She almost said something. I’m certain of it.
I don’t enjoy unresolved variables.
As I drive home at dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten over Snow Valley, I replay the details. She looked conflicted about something. The twins? The father?
Jason’s timeline checks out medically. But medically is not always emotionally.
I grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. Is it too soon to ask her directly? Possibly. Is it worse to let uncertainty fester? Almost certainly.
The town will speculate. It always does. Snow Valley does not tolerate mysteries well. It resolves them through rumor. That kind of thing could wreck the fragile relationship we’re building.
If everyone says her sons are Jason’s, that’s all anyone will ever talk about, and those are the kinds of rumors that follow kids into kindergarten or threaten to destabilize a person’s life in this silly town.
I turn into my driveway and shut off the engine. I sit there for a moment longer than necessary. Then I reach for my phone. If I’m going to step further into this, I will do it deliberately.
I press her name. The call rings twice before she answers. “Hey,” she says, voice softer than usual. Not sleepy. Not flirty. Just…careful.
“Morning,” I reply. “Did I wake you?”
“No. Everything okay?”
“I was thinking,” I begin, choosing my words deliberately, “that I would like to see you again. Properly.”
There’s a pause long enough that I register it. “You mean the other night wasn’t proper?”
“You know what I mean.”
A faint laugh. But it doesn’t carry the same ease. “I’d like that.”
There’s something under the agreement. A shift in tone I can’t quite decode. “You don’t sound certain.”
“I am.”
“But?”
She exhales softly. “It’s just…complicated.”
