Page 73 of Clinically Awkward

“I was busy.”

Julien’s eyes narrowed further. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing! I just—” I scrambled for something, anything, that would sound believable. “I just thought it would be nice to do something special for them. You know, since they’ve been married for thirty-five years and we’re both terrible children who never call.”

“I call.”

“Once a month. On schedule. Like a robot.”

“That’s more than you.”

“Which is why I’m trying to make up for it!” I said, irritation creeping into my tone. “By planning this dinner! Which you are actively sabotaging by refusing to help!”

Julien stared at me for a long moment, and then he sighed. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, I have a meeting.”

“But—”

“Later, Vivian.”

He turned and walked toward the clinic entrance as I stood there, watching him go, my heart pounding. How long was that? Five minutes? Six?

Not long enough. I needed to stall him longer. I needed to— “Vivian?”

I froze.

That voice. I knew that voice.

I turned slowly to find Quinton standing at the edge of the parking lot, his bag slung over one shoulder, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked.

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Then opened it again. “I—uh⁠—”

Julien’s voice cut through the air. “Quinton! Good. You’re here. I need to talk to you.”

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Quinton’s face went pale.

He looked at Julien.

Then at me.

Then back at Julien. “Now?” he asked weakly.

“Yes, now,” Julien said, already heading toward the clinic entrance. “My office. Five minutes.”

Quinton didn’t move.

I didn’t move. We just stood there, staring at each other in the middle of the parking lot like two people watching a train wreck in slow motion. “Vivian,” Quinton said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

I swallowed hard. “Trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“I have to tell him.”

“You really don’t.”