“Okay,” Will repeated, because now it was like he was in it, with this tone. It at least made him feel like he was on the job. “So you’re treating—”Jesus. He cleared his throat. “So you’re dealing with this by asking her on dates.”
“Yes, but this brings us to the second problem, which is that Sally has always felt I am too devoted to routines.”
Will cocked his head, nodding. He guessed that explained the white coat. The constant talk of protocol. The thing was, Gerald Abrahamwasa good doctor. What he lacked in bedside manner he absolutely made up for in precision, in the kind of careful, repetitive follow-through that meant he hardly ever missed a thing.
“Sally, as I am sure you have observed, prefers more spontaneity.” He looked sideways at Will. “And so in asking her to dinner again, what have I done?”
Will blinked. “I mean it’s only the sec—”
“Established a routine!” Abraham said, stopping.
Will stopped too, turning to face his . . . huh. Didn’t feel right to think of him as a boss right at this moment, even though this was basically the time in the debrief when Will was being asked to solve a problem. Abraham had done the diagnosis, and now he wanted Will to develop the treatment.
But with a sinking sense of clarity—and a fair bit of shame—Will realized he was even less qualified to help than he would’ve originally thought, because not only did he not have any meaningful experience dating, he was also currently spending every free moment he had with a woman whom he’d neveractuallytaken out.
Whom he’d confined to a very specific routine.
You’re not dating her, a familiar, focused part of his brain told him, and he supposed it was true. What he and Nora had, it was . . .
Something more.
That was another part of him talking.
He reached up, his palm bumping against the edge of the pocket where his phone weighed down the fabric of his shirt.
“Ideas to show I’mthoughtful,” Abraham said, and clearly he was repeating that last word straight from the mouth of Sally.
Will swallowed, thinking again about Nora behind that tiny desk that she wasn’t ready to change. He’d been thoughtful, hadn’t he? He’d watched Nora all these weeks—even in the weeks before he’d ever been in her bed—and he’d known, even when he was fighting with her, that her vise grip on the building was about something more than her concern for her neighbors. And now that he knew her better, now that he’d been in her space—he’d tried to be thoughtful, to help her in this project she hadn’t even admitted the full extent of to herself. Towel rods, faucets, whatever she wanted. He’d helped.
But he’d also never taken her out. He’d gone over to her place in the dark of night and left before dawn. He’d never lingered, not since that very first time.
He had a feeling Sally would not approve, though he wasn’t sure why that bothered him so much.
“Let me think about it,” he said to Dr. Abraham. “I’ll find you later.”
“Fine.”
Will watched him go, leaning a shoulder against the wall beside him. Taking Nora out, that’d be good. A break from routine. Giving her a little relief from her place, where work and home were the same spot—that was helping, too. It’s not like he was trying to (re)marry her or something, and anyway, Nora was as clear on the boundaries for this as he was. Hell, she might even say no; she might tell him to come over with a can of paint and to quit asking weird questions.
But it couldn’t hurt to ask.
He slid his phone out again, saw her latest message there.Same time?it read.
Before he could reconsider, he typed his reply.
Up for a change of plans?
Nora had her beach face on.
He hadn’t taken her to the beach, not again, because once he had the idea in his head—to take her out, to take her on adate—he definitely didn’t want to Abraham-botch it and make it some kind of routine. And while he hadn’t spent many of his years in Chicago—his residency, first, and then his fellowship, and now his current job—exploring places like this, he’d certainly been around long enough to pick up on what people around here thought was worth doing.
And judging by Nora’s smile, the Garfield Park Conservatory was worth doing.
He’d lucked out, getting this idea on the one night a week it was open late, though if he could’ve helped it he would’ve gotten here earlier, would’ve been able to spend a whole afternoon with her, watching her walk through the curved, fragrant pathways, her phone in her hand, the camera app open. As it stood, they had only about a half hour before things shut down for the evening, the sky above them through the panes of the greenhouse glass purple-gray with clouds and the coming night.
Still, it had the feeling of a date, or at least the feeling he thought might be associated with a date—he and Nora for once not dressed for home improvement, not undressed for what always came after. Instead, he’d gone home after work to change, dressing in a version of what he usually wore to the clinic—dark pants, a collared shirt he’d made sure to iron. Nora, of course, looked beautiful—any way he saw her, she looked beautiful—but tonight she’d worn a summer dress, navy and white, a featherlight gold necklace dipping low into the V of her neckline, her long hair down and lightly curled.
When she’d stepped out of her car, he’d almost forgotten to breathe.
