“Itwashis day off,” I assure her. “But a couple of people called in sick. He’s covering their shifts.”
Her eyebrows furrow in response. “I suppose that’s possible, but I’m not showing he’s here.” Pointing down the hallway, she adds, “Why don’t you go and check in at the ER? If he’s on duty, they’ll know.”
I follow the signs to the emergency room and then I wait behind a person practically coughing up a lung. Reaching over to the countertop, I grab a mask and put it on to protect myself. When it’s my turn, I tell the man behind the glass, “I’m here to drop something off for Dr. Culpepper.”
He barely looks up from his computer. “Dr. Culpepper isn’t in today. But if you’d like to leave it, I can make sure he gets it tomorrow.”
Hot prickles stab at the top of my head, which is how my nervous system reacts to unexpected news. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“I’m sure,” he says curtly.
Why would Thomas cancel our shootandour date and lie about having to go into work?It doesn’t make any sense. I thought he was really looking forward to seeing me today. At least that’s what he said. A wave of hurt the likes I haven’t felt since high school swamps me.
Turning around, I walk away from the check-in area to find a chair to sit down on. If I don’t, I might collapse onto what I’m assuming is a floor riddled with a wide variety of antibiotic-resistant germs.
I find a small bench far away from other people and remove my mask. Then I open my hot chocolate and take a sip. I barely taste a thing. Picking up my phone, I text Thomas.
Me
I was thinking about stopping by the hospital to bring you a treat. Are you free?
He texts back immediately.
Thomas
You are very sweet, but we’re totally swamped.
Thomas is lying to my face. Or rather, he’s lying through his phone, which is connected to my phone, which is lying to my face.Why is he lying?
So, I type …
Me
You could meet me outside and grab it. That way you can enjoy your goodies when you have a break.
Thomas
I wish I could, but there’s so much going on, I’m probably not even going to get lunch today.
My eyes fill with tears as I look around the room. There can’t be more than a half-dozen people waiting to be seen.Is it possible that I’ve completely misread the signals?Yet, I can’t imagine how that could be. Thomas did kiss me, and it was no peck, either.
Me
Let me know if it lightens up and I’ll stop by then.
I briefly consider throwing the box of treats away, but even in my despair that seems like an awful waste. Especially as I suddenly need some comfort for myself.
Not sure of my destination, I find the nearest exit and walk back out into the rain. Instead of returning to work I decide to go home. By the time I get there, I look like a drowned cat.
Once again I torment myself wondering why Thomas would tell me he can’t wait to see me today only to make up an excuse not to. As if I wasn’t uneasy enough about following my mom’s advice. The advice I’m now going to ignore. Another favorite saying of hers is, “When someone tells you who they are, believe them.” And Thomas just told me loud and clear that he can’t be trusted.
I take off my dripping raincoat and hang it up to dry. Then I take the box from Rosemary’s and go into the bathroom. Before I completely lose it, I fill up my tub with my best bubble bath—the one that’s reserved for mood stabilization.
After setting up the box of pastries on the floor nearby—I’m going to take at least one bite of each—I take off my clothes and step into the rose-scented foam. I need to devise a plan how best to manage this situation. And the way I see it, I only have two options.
The first is to not confront Thomas. This is probably the option I should go with being that we’ve only been out on one date. Maybe he had a good reason to lie to me. Perhaps he’s having a mole removed and doesn’t want me to worry. Or he might be setting up a surprise for me. I suppose it’s even possible he’s as confused as I am about what to do regarding us and he’s taking some “me” time to think things over.
But then righteous indignation floods my brain and leads me to my second option which is confrontation. I’m not usually a person who relishes conflict, and when I’m faced with it, my brain short-circuits. My black and white world does not understand variations of truth. You’re either honest or you’re not. The end.
