She doesn’t argue again.
I move between my patients without thinking. Checking temperatures. Swapping towels. Keeping water nearby. Staying close without crowding.
I’m good in a crisis. I know what needs to be done and can act without thinking.
By the time things settle, and they’re all resting, fitfully, it’s late.
I lean against the kitchen counter. My phone is where I left it.
I stare at it for a second before flipping it over.
One message. From Kathryn.
Hope everything’s okay.
No attitude. Just polite care.
My thumb hovers. I shouldn’t message back now.
It’s late. I don’t want her to think she’s only worth late night texts or calls.
I exhale and type anyway.
It will be. Sorry about tonight.
The reply comes faster than I expect.
You say that like it wasn’t the most dramatic exit I’ve ever seen.
A corner of my mouth lifts.
I try to make an impression.
Oh, you definitely did.
I lean back against the counter, some of the tension easing out of my shoulders.
I owe you dinner.
There’s a pause.
Then—
You owe me at least one complete date.
No joke.
That too.
I study the screen for a second.
I’ll call you tomorrow.
Three dots.
Gone.
Then—
