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I said nothing.
“So, you are not into him?”
“No! He is my boss.” I was getting tired of having to tell everybody that.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I gave him my number?”
My head snapped to her so quickly, she threw her head back with laughter and walked back to her mom, who was seated alone and happily kept company by a nice cold one.
Dad wentto bed shortly after the last guests left at one in the morning, with promises he would pick up tomorrow. I remained to, at the very least, throw out the leftover food.
Grabbing my last beer of the night, I laid down on the hammock under the tree, looking up at the lights Ramiro had hung. The smell of the citronella candles had diminished now but was still detected by my strong sense of smell.
It had been a good night, as much as I had fought it. I liked seeing my dad so happy; he was in his element cooking for his friends. It still hurt that Sara couldn’t be a part of it, but Dr. Medina showing up when I hadn’t imagined he would made up for any shortfalls of the evening.
It was in this reverie that I found myself when the sound of a chair being dragged across the grass, and landing next to me, distracted me. I turned to meet Ramiro’s handsome face.
He clinked my beer with his.
“Salud,” he said.
“Salud.”
“Was it a good birthday?”
“Yeah. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
I shrugged. “Just some drama with Sara. I’ll talk with her about it tomorrow—err . . . today, I guess.”
“I noticed she wasn’t here. Was surprised.”
Shrugging again, I took another swig of beer and placed my hand behind my head, looking up at the sky. I was definitely downplaying what had happened with Sara, but I wasn’t sure how much she would want Ramiro to know.
“I was also surprised,” Ramiro said, “that you brought someone else from work. That was a first.” I glanced at him. We both knew what he was dancing around.
“You know Sara and her big mouth. She mentioned the party, and he heard. It was rude of her not to invite him, so she did. Trust me, I was just as surprised when he actually showed.”
A small noise that sounded almost like an “uhuh,” escaped him.
“You like him?” he asked.
“No,” I said automatically. This was starting to sound rehearsed, it was asked so often.
“I saw the way you looked at him.”
I sighed. “I looked at him the way you would look at David Beckham. He was my hero when I first started thinking about medicine. Now, I’m over the moon he will be my mentor.” I didn’t even notice when my tone turned. “And, quite frankly, I’m sick and tired of everyone assuming I’m in love with him or something. Maybe I’m in love with his work, but I want mentorship. That’s all. If he were a woman, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”
“Okay, okay. I give,” he said with a gesture of surrender.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ve just been getting a lot of that recently.”
“I bet,” he said.
I sat up on the hammock and dangled my legs off to the side so I could face him. I kicked off my sandals, and he tried to grab my foot and place it on his lap, but I bounced it back toward the ground.
“Ramiro—” I said before he cut me off.
