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“I’m Emery, by the way. Kitchen’s closed between breakfast and lunch, but Adrian can definitely whip something up for you.”
“You don’t have to,” I try to argue, but Adrian straightens and waves me off.
“What are you in the mood for?”
I think about it for a minute. Most of my food over the past few days has gone barely eaten, the seasonings and spices being too much. “Could I have a grilled cheese?” I ask. “Like a really plain one. With the fakest cheese you have, toasted in butter.”
“It breaks my heart,” he clasps his hands to his chest, “because I make a killer mango chutney and Havarti grilled cheese, but anything for you. I’m glad you are feeling better. We were worried.”
Geez, does everyone know that I’ve been sick? What exactly do they think happened?
What if Greg told them?
No, he wouldn’t. There are HIPAA laws, right? Though we aren’t in the US, so…do the rules still apply? And he’s not technically my doctor.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Babe, you want anything?” Adrian’s question is directed at Emery.
“No, thanks. I’ve got to get going. I’ve got that call with Miriam, you know, the sport fisher? But I’ll see you for lunch.”
They kiss briefly, and Emery gathers up the paperwork and waves goodbye to me before heading on the covered walkway back to the main building. I have the whole restaurant to myself, and I lean against the railing that overlooks the water. Greg came to check on me this morning, but I told him I was fine and would be leaving my room. He’d said to come find him when I did.
After my grilled cheese sandwich, I explore the nearby area and hear Greg’s group before I see them. There’s laughter and squealing, and it sounds like Spring Breakwhoo-hoo, complete with splashing. I hang behind a tree for a second to watch, and the scene is so bizarre. I knew that Greg was here with his friend, Manny, but there’s a big group of people sitting by the pool. Greg’s sitting on a lounge chair, drink in hand, and chatting with a woman in a bikini who looks to be a few years older than me. He’s shirtless, and who would have thought that Dr. Hasten would be so sexy? He’s not bulky, like the other guy in the group, who’s wearing aviators and neon orange board shorts. Greg’s lean, all white skin and flat stomach and pink nipples that snag my attention.
The whole thing looks loud and cliquey and like a party I wasn’t invited to.
But then Greg glances up, and a smile spills across his face. “Hey Michelle!” He waves at me, then rises to his feet and trots over while I come out of the shadows, pretending I was not being a weirdo.
“How are you feeling?” He slips so easily back into doctor mode, and I feel like a patient again. “Any cramping today? Bleeding still?” He says it quietly enough that the group behind him can’t hear us.
“Just a bit of spotting,” I say, just as quietly, “but no more cramps.”
“Good,” he says, and glances back at his friends. “Come join us.”
“Oh no.” I wave my hands in front of me. “I was just passing through.”
“Hey,” Manny’s voice booms as he comes up beside Greg. “You must be Michelle. You stole my best friend.” His easy grin takes the sting out of the words as he shakes my hand. “I need to buy you a drink as a thank you for leaving me alone with all these lovely ladies.” He raises his voice and gestures to the crowd, and they respond with giggles. Manny’s arm falls around my shoulder as he guides me to their table. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better, thanks.” Manny’s attention is overwhelming after being in my room for two days with Greg. They are polar opposites: Greg has his shy smiles and his doctorly manner, while Manny overflows with activity. “Greg said you were in med school together?”
“Yep.” Manny pulls up another chair and waves for more drinks. “Until the goofball went medical instead of surgery.” Manny chucks Greg affectionately on the shoulder, and Greg blushes.
“Oh, what’s surgery like?” one of the girls leans in to ask.
And Manny’s off telling wild stories about his career. He’s the kind of guy that would be fun to have in my bar; the center of attention, always with a story or twenty to tell.
But my eyes drift over to Greg, and I catch him watching me. As I listen to Manny, I keep glancing at Greg. We’ve been in such a bubble the past two days, and now I miss it.
But not the cramps, blood, and shits.
Okay, I don’t miss it much at all.
A round of drinks comes, and one is set down in front of me. “What is it?” I ask.
“Sky juice,” Manny exclaims. “It’s got gin and…I don’t know. Coconut? Whatever, it’s good.”
I take a sip. It’s thick and heavy, too much for me. I probably shouldn’t be drinking anyway.
