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‘Maybe not yet, but you can never say never.’
‘No, Sage. I think I can definitely say I’ll never do that.’
‘Ah, now the doctor is a prophet, too.’
‘The doctor is very sorry to be here surrounded by theater kids while you’re there, hungry enough to eat the cardboard covers off novels.’
‘Haha. Don’t worry about me. Emergency granola bar stash to the rescue.’
So she’s probably fine. And that might be even worse. I’m not good at being dependable, and she’s already preparing for the possibility that I’ll flake out on her.
‘But what about you? Are you starving as you heal the sick and the sprained?’
‘There’s a pizza in my office that smelled very good when I picked it up half an hour ago. It will probably survive the microwave.’
She sends me a thumbs-down emoji.‘Microwaves will give you radiation poisoning.’
I am definitely not going to argue with her about this.‘Possibly. No scientific consensus. I’ll take my chances.’
She sends me a skull and crossbones.
‘I’m really sorry about tonight.’I want to say more. I want to tell her how much I hoped we could see each other, even if only for half an hour. How much I like being where she is. But over text, it seems both too much and not enough.
‘No worries. Back to work. See you Sunday!’Her text has a smiling sunshine on it.
‘Really looking forward to it.’
I pocket my phone and check Franny’s ankle. The ice is helping. The swelling is already going down. She gives me permission to prod at it a bit, and I’m confident it’s not broken. I help her fit first one brace and then the other, and tell her she can take them both and see which one she likes best.
“Can I still do the show?”
I look at the calendar on the exam room wall. “I think you’ll have plenty of time to heal before the winter show.”
“But maybe I need a few days off?” I wonder if she wants me to tell her she’s allowed to quit.
“For sure you better stay off it for at least a week. If it still hurts next weekend, come back.”
“Thanks a lot for your help,” she tells me.
“You bet.”
“Sorry about ruining your weekend plans,” she says. Can this kid read minds?
“There’s nothing I’d rather do than be campus doctor at Chamberlain,” I say. I’m pretty sure it’s still true.
15
GRAYSON
It’s not like I never leave campus. Obviously. I left yesterday to pick up a pizza. See how well that turned out?
I have to stay close enough that I’m considered “on call,” which almost means I can’t leave campus. If someone pushes the buzzer on the clinic door, I need to be able to get to them within fifteen minutes. It does put my social life in some kind of jeopardy, but I’ve never cared about that before now.
Maybe because I’ve never had a Sage Whitney in my life before now.
And I want our Sunday date to be perfect, especially after the epic failure of last night’s dinner. Since I can’t take her anywhere, I want to make my apartment as welcoming as possible.
I promised movie and popcorn. That’s handled. I have three different kinds of popcorn, just to cover the bases. But we need sweet snacks, too, and so I’m picking up a small variety box of Val’s cookies. I’m not a huge junk food eater, but Val Thurston’s cookies can make a person rethink the work “junk.” She’s not just a very capable cafeteria manager, she’s an artist. She makes this lavender shortbread that tastes like butter and flowers, which maybe isn’t selling it, but you can trust me. It’s amazing.
