We cross the quad toward the cafeteria. The sky is a beautiful blue, the exact hue of Henry’s eyes. Sprinklers start up on the lawn, hissing and throwing rainbows across sun-soaked grass.
The line in the cafeteria is short. I order a turkey sandwich, and Eli grabs two coffees and hands me one.
We sit by the window. He talks about suture materials and the difference between a surgeon’s knot and an instrument tie and how he’s going to shadow a cardiothoracic fellow next week if he can swing it. I listen. I don’t ask how he’s going to shadow a surgeon when we’ll be in class and labs all day. Not because I don’t care, but because I can’t find the energy to say the words.
Halfway through the sandwich, my phone buzzes on the tray.
A number I don’t know.
For a beat, my heart hammers. Please be him and please don’t crash into each other in my chest.
I let it go to voicemail and take another bite.
“Want me to quiz you later?” Eli asks. “On instruments?”
“Please.” I force a smile. “I need to redeem myself after the polypropylene debacle today.”
“You nailed it,” he says. “And you were late by like sixty seconds. Blake’s a tool.”
“He’s the TA,” I say. “Besides, tools can be useful.”
Eli barks out a laugh and almost spills his coffee. “I’ve missed you.”
I’m about to say same when my phone buzzes again.
New voicemail.
I can’t not know. I wipe my hands on a napkin and stand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” Eli says.
In the hallway off the dining room, I press play.
“Tabitha, it’s Marjorie again.” A breath. I picture her in a hospital hallway, her hands clasped together, worry etched over her gorgeous features. “I told Henry you sent your love. He smiled. He’s resting. If you change your mind later tonight or tomorrow, we’ll be here. No pressure. Just… Thank you for calling back.”
He smiled.
I lean my head against the cinderblock wall and close my eyes. The image is too vivid.
He smiled.
I don’t believe it. Henry doesn’t smile a lot.
For a hot second, I imagine racing to my car, ignoring every red light between Boulder and the hospital in Grand Junction, bursting into his room, and… What? We weren’t anything. We were almost. We were maybe. We were a kiss that tasted like a future he said he couldn’t hold.
My pulse steadies as the decision settles into me like a stone.
I open a new text thread to Marjorie. I don’t have Henry’s number. It’s ridiculous that we never exchanged them, but we didn’t. That feels like its own kind of omen.
I type to Marjorie instead.
Thank you for letting me know. I’m thinking of Henry. Please tell him I’m so happy he’s okay. I’m cheering for him.
A moment later, the little Delivered status pops up.
When I return to the table, Eli has already spread out a set of instrument cards and laid his phone between us as a timer. He pushes a card toward me. “Name it.”
“Scalpel,” I say. “No. Blade handle.”
