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Ian opened his mouth, probably to tattle on him for not taking any of his pain or nausea medications, but Alek repeated again, “I’m. Fine.”
“It’s probably safe to assume the scent of wisteria is a one size fits all sort of thing,” Dr. Modorovic said. “Dr. Elias, do you know what it looks like?”
“No, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”
Alek had expected the young doctor’s voice to squeak like a rusty hinge, but he sounded surprisingly poised.
“Perfect. Make a stop by their house, as well. See what you can find.”
“On it.” He flipped his notebook closed and tucked it in the pocket of his white coat.
In Bulgarian, Alek said, “When can I have sex?”
“Vigorous activity is prohibited for the first four weeks after head injury,” she replied, also in Bulgarian. Grave-faced, like she was taking this all very seriously, she asked, “Would you say it’s vigorous?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
“I’m sure they aren’t talking about you,” Ian told the young doctor. “Right, Alek?”
Dr. Modorovic apologized in English. “Alek had a private question.” She nodded at the other doctor. “You can head out and get started, though.”
When the door closed behind him, Dr. Modorovic said in Bulgarian, “Can we speak freely in front of your partner or would you like me to continue like this?”
Before their engagement Alek wouldn’t have hesitated to hide the doctor’s order from Ian, but now when he thought about lying he felt an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. Guilt, perhaps. Thirty-three years without a moral compass, and all it took was a single ring to shackle him with one.
“Anything you need to say can be said in front of Ian,” Alek said in English.
She nodded, turning to Ian. “Alek asked about activity restrictions and I was telling him he’ll have to wait one month before resuming any vigorous activity.”
“Oh, sure. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”
Laughter tumbled out of Alek’s mouth before he could catch it. “I was asking about sex, Ian, not home improvement.”
Ian grunted his understanding, the tops of his ears going crimson.
Dr. Modorovic rose from the chair. “For the sake of clarity, I consider everything leading up to intercourse within the realm of moderate activity, which can be resumed once you’re discharged. The actual sex will have to wait the four weeks, I’m afraid.”
“When can I go home?” Alek asked.
“Friday, if your CT remains reassuring.”
“Fucking Friday?”
“Doctor’s orders. It’s much easier to crack your skull if the bleeding in your brain worsens when you’re already here?—”
“What a ghastly visual image,” Alek interrupted.
All the flush from Ian’s earlier embarrassment had drained from his face.
She followed Alek’s gaze. “I apologize. I only meant that the risk of rebleed is much lower after days three to five.”
“Tomorrow will be three days,” Alek argued.
“I choose five.” She crossed to the door. “I’ve grown very fond of your brain and don’t want to see any harm come to it.”
“I’m liable to remember my music sooner if I’m in familiar surroundings,” Alek called after her.
“Five days,” she repeated over her shoulder.
