Geoff chuckles. “True.” He looks at Asher. “You know how I know I’m old? The thought of a datestartingafter nine makes me want to curl into a ball and go to sleep.”
All the blood drains from my head.
No.
What is he saying? Andwhy? It wasn’t a date...
Damn it, Yayoi.
“You know how I know you’re old?” Asher glances up at Geoff, only his eyes visible through the mask and scrub cap. “Even your nose hairs are gray.”
The scrub tech titters.
Geoff shakes his head. “We’re the same age, bro.”
“Yeah, but I do it better,” Asher says, eyes crinkling with the smile I can’t see.
I stare hard at the unconcealed portion of Asher’s face, searching for his reaction. I didn’t want him to know about last night, and besides, nothing happened. But I can’t blurt outI didn’t have sex last nightto the whole OR.
Or can I?
How long would it take to live that down?
Asher doesn’t look at me. He says nothing at all. Not even at the end when he scrubs out, and I try to catch his eye. He pops the paper ties of his scrub gown with a smooth yank, ignoring me entirely. Geoff offers me a quick wave and a smile, then abandons me to my fate. After a chat with the circulator nurse, Asher moves to do the same.
“Doctor Foley,” I say in a panic as his hand flattens on the push plate of the door.
His head turns. His expression is vacant. Lifeless. “Yeah?”
“Do, um... I didn’t. That—wasn’t—”
His forehead creases.
I swallow. “You okay with Toradol?”
“Yeah. Toradol’s fine.” He pushes open the door.
“Wait!”
He pauses again, and both the circulator and scrub tech turn to look at me, clearly suspicious.
“I—”
He waits for six seconds while I vacillate, then shakes his head. “Goodbye, Doctor Mattox.”
Goodbye?
Goodbye?
What does he mean,goodbye?
I can’t argue because I can’t breathe—goodbyejust crushed my lungs into some sort of torturous lemon press—but even if I could breathe, what would I say? How do I fix it? He has a date tonight, but maybe I can catch him before it. Maybe he’ll listen. Maybe he’ll understand.
I wait for the text. The call. Anything.
Nothing comes.
I finish my shift and make it to my silent home without so much as a duck pic. The agitation stirs. Ants crawl beneath my skin, and my nerves vibrate like struck piano wires inside my body. Eventually, I can take it no longer, and I pull out my phone to text him.
