Page 105 of The Love Operation

Halfway through, I lean back against the headrest, mouth full, and moan. “This is so good,” I say as a piece of lettuce flies from my mouth and hits the steering wheel. “Do you think they have a secret night-chef competition at this place? Burger ninja competing against another burger ninja? Oh, like Chopped! That’s the only way this burger is this good. Two people fighting for the prize.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Benedict says, eating his burger like a normal person but also not as alarmed as I thought he’d be. “What’s the prize? Title of sole survivor?”

“Oh my goodness! That means it’s a fight to the death. These are death burgers.”

He nods solemnly. “Two guys, sweating it out in an underground kitchen, cooking burgers to the death. And we are the beneficiaries.”

I reach over and grab his wrist, smearing mustard on his skin. “But how do they know who wins? Should we go back? We have to tell Gristle-y Pete how much we love his burgers.”

He grimaces. “Too risky. If we go back, we could get pulled into the Grease Games. I’m sure Gristle-y Pete would be super enthusiastic about you, considering how similar your careers are. And could you resist the gleam of that deep fryer?” He shakes his head sadly. “Your patients need you, Spinal Cord.”

“Damn. You’re right.”

He tilts his fry container toward me. “Last few?”

No shame. I take them.

“So, you obviously don’t think Gristle-y would want you as his burger protégé. What do you do that makes you such a turnoff? Did you pivot from a medical career?”

I’ve wondered about this for years. After Benedict broke up with me, he vanished from campus. No more shared classes, no more library run-ins. He didn’t just break up with me; he disappeared from the whole premed world. We’d started this together. Then suddenly, he was gone. Or he was really good at avoiding me.

He nods. “I ended up getting a business degree and worked in corporate for a while.”

“You don’t anymore?” I unwrap the Snickers, but since I’m no longer ravenous, I take a bite like a civilized being.

He crumples the wrappers and puts them in the greasy paper sack, then I hand him the second Snickers from the plastic bag.

“Nope,” he says. “I renovate houses and build furniture.”

I study him as the night air drifts in through the cracked windows. I’m suddenly very aware of how intimate this is. Dark and enclosed. I think of Isaac. Should I tell him? He’s probably asleep. And I was supposed to meet Benedict anyway. This is just a delayed dinner. Different setting. Same company.

Despite what I said earlier, nothing will happen between us. But if I’m being honest, this doesn’t feel like a rescheduled dinner. It feels like something else. Though I don’t know what. Because Benedict being back in my life doesn’t make sense to me.

I put myself in Isaac’s position. Would I be upset if the tables were turned? Not if his heart was where mine is. I told him I loved him today, and I meant it. I don’t want to mess that up.

Right now, this feels okay because of the circumstances. I operated late. I’m starving. Benedict was already at the hospital, and we had existing plans. So what does it matter that it’s a few hours later and in a car instead of a restaurant?

“Say something,” Benedict says. “I know my work’s not as important as what you do.”

I blink at him. “It’s not that. I’d been wondering how you were able to attend all your dad’s appointments and be so attentive. Now I know. Your job must come with flexibility.”

He nods. “It does. But honestly, even if it didn’t, I’d make time. Family comes first.”

Love makes room.

I smile. “That’s nice.”

“Other people don’t always think it’s nice.”

“Who do you mean?”

“Clients. They don’t want to know why I didn’t show up. They just want the work done.”

“Damn our instant-gratification society. So how did you go from corporate to working with your hands?” I ask.

He shifts slightly and stares out the windshield. The hospital glows in front of us, lit like a ship in the dark. Beyond it, faint stars poke through the city’s light pollution. The night feels quiet, like it’s listening.

“My dad’s a craftsman. I grew up doing projects with him.”