He wasn’t wrong. It’d become confirmation bias of this feeling I already have that I’m not cut out for this.
Hugging me under the crook of his shoulder, he kept my crying face out of prying eyes. Right before he closed the door to the Uber, he said, “We’re going to switch shifts, you and I. I’m going to take yours now, and you’ll take my night one. I would take both, but I’d be over the eighty-hour mandate. So you’re going to go home, break plates or eat mounds of ice cream, and you’re going to come back in thirteen hours and kick some neurology ass. Deal?”
I nodded, and he smiled, then closed the door to the car.
Instead of going home, I got off at Dearborn and Ontario and walked the two blocks to Nate’s office. Any minute now, Nate will walk in for his 8:00 a.m. start time.
Except when he does, he isn’t alone. Tessa’s next to him, holding a Reality Bites paper bag—Nate’s favorite cupcake shop, not around the corner from here—and a cupholder with two coffees. His hand is on her shoulder, not quite holding her, but not letting go either. It’s the kind of touch I wouldn’t have cared about before. Now all I can think about is that he doesn’t take his hand off her. They walk up to the elevator, and he holds the door open for her and gazes at her legs. There’s the faintest shake of his head—reflexive, regretful. The elevator doors close with both of them inside.
I guess it’s not just lunch they’re having together.
Well, I would have given him a chance to explain. I guess now I get to save myself from that heartache.
Nate should arrive soon.And I’m ready. Or as ready as I’ll ever be. I actually like that I have to leave in about an hour—better yet, forty minutes—to take over Julian’s night shift.
I have the video locked and loaded. I created a profile because Julian refused to forward it at first, but when I told him it was for Nate’s enjoyment, not my misery, he sent it right away.
The key jangles in the lock the earliest he could’ve commuted to my apartment. As if my text—Come to my apartment after work. It’ll be brief—set him off and he rushed here on edge.Good. I open the door, taking the key off the lock in one swift motion.
Nate stands there, left hand shoved into his jacket pocket, hair damp from the drizzle. He gives me the half smile that used to undo me. Now it hurts.
“Hey,” he says.
The gentleness in his voice pains me. Everything about this hurts.
“Come in,” I say, stepping aside. My voice is professional. I’m going to use my doctor’s voice on this autopsy of a relationship.
I return his keys, but I’ve already separated my building and my apartment ones from his keyring—my back to him while I did it. Thanks to medical training for fast hands.
He steps toward the couch, and I tip my head to the crammed kitchen area. “I have to be at work soon, so this won’t take long.”
He hesitates, his gaze flicking to the chair then to me and finally the couch. On days like this, when my shift starts late at night, we’d have dinner then I’d leave. Not today.
“I want to show you something.” I pluck my phone out of my pants and unlock the screen.
It’s black, but it won’t be when I press play. I set it on the kitchen island, or well, my table with three barstools.
“I don’t know if you know this exists and you think I’m an idiot, or if you don’t know this exists andyou’rethe idiot.” I wave my hand for him to come closer, but step to the side to keep him from brushing against me.
His Adam’s apple bobs, a slow, visible swallow. “Robyn?—”
“Don’t. Watch this. The whole thing.”
I press play. All color leaves his face before it’s even gotten to the good part.
“Look, Nate.” The song blasts high through the space though there isn’t electric love between us now. “There’s over a second where you look into her eyes before her lips touch yours. Were you thinking about how long it’s taken the two of you to get there?” I’m breathing heavily. It’s electric ire between us.
He clenches his fists and looks away. “Rob?—”
“No! You need to see the whole thing, Nate,” I hiss. “It gets so much fucking better.”
The video is set on repeat, so when he drags his eyes back to my screen, looking as sick as he should have been on Monday, it’s playing where he left off.
“There’s your tongue joining the party!” I say, putting my hand on the table to hold myself upright. I’d worry I’m having an episode if I hadn’t been rehearsing to sound this happy. “We can count how many seconds you two make out.” I swallow.
His nostrils flare, the corner of his mouth twitches downward, and his gaze goes glassy. It’s too late for regret, isn’t it?
“Spoiler alert. Nine. Nine seconds.”
