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From PlainJane2 to GothamGuardian5:
The day did get better, surprisingly. Thanks for asking.
Where are you getting these questions? I’m irrationally scared of sharks. I say irrationally because I’ve never been around one. I blame Shark Week. Having said that, I also hate ghosts. I blame that one on my siblings, who used to make me watch scary movies with them well before I was even close to an appropriate age for that kind of thing. I guess if I had to choose, I’d pick the haunted house.
I don’t know you, but I’m going to guess and say that you’d pick sharks. Tell me I’m right.
TODAY’S CHALLENGE FROM MORGAN IS to have a conversation with a stranger. She specified it had to be a real chat, and I couldn’t count all the strangers that come through the ER. Apparently when did your symptoms first start does not a conversation make.
Joke’s on her, though, because I’m off today. So I don’t even have that option. Actually, the joke’s really on me because I’m home in my adorable condo, lying on my cute pink couch, it’s snowing, and I don’t want to go anywhere.
Does talking to GothamGuardian5 count? Because he’s basically a stranger. Our conversations haven’t moved on from the questions we pose to one another. Which is fine by me. I’m not interested in actually meeting him in real life, and I get the idea he’s not interested in being too personal. Especially since we both marked looking for friendship on our profiles. Maybe he’s a hermit who never leaves the house. Maybe he lives in his parents’ basement and plays video games. It doesn’t matter, really. Our daily back-and-forth, though it’s only been going on for a little over a week, has become something I look forward to.
I also find I’m looking forward to spending time with Graham. Which is just a simple, friendly thing. But yesterday was great. The fact that he was willing to let the trying-to-kiss-him-in-the-supply-closet faux pas go meant a lot to me.
I wonder if I’ll ever be able to think about that without feeling like I swallowed a roller coaster. Probably not.
I didn’t tell Morgan about Graham wanting to do the challenges with me. First of all, I know she’d read into it. She’d get stars in her eyes and tell me that this is all meant to be or some nonsense like that. She’d make this burgeoning thing between Graham and me into a huge over-the-top thing. Then she’d start making the challenges more romantic. Texting me to make out in the hospital elevator or on a patient bed. All inspired by Grey’s Anatomy, of course. I’ve already told her Aspen Lake General is a small hospital, which means no doctors’ lounges with bunk beds. She was very disappointed.
It’s clear Graham doesn’t have any interest in me. The guy won’t even so much as flirt with me. He hasn’t even made a suggestive comment once, and I gave him plenty of opportunity yesterday, especially after watching him struggle when I asked him if he was going to whip up something in the kitchen. I thought I had him when I said there’s such an explosion of flavor. I literally led the horse to water and he did not partake. Which is interesting. A true player, if the rumors I’ve heard about Graham are correct, wouldn’t let those opportunities pass by.
Graham wanting to do the challenges with me was ... strange. But in a good way. It’s made it that much more enticing, adding some competition to it. I do love a competition. And he jumped right in, catching up with the first two challenges last night.
For something out of character, he broke out into a dance in front of the nurses’ station with no music. It surprised both Pam and me, and annoyingly, the guy can dance. He still looked like an idiot dancing like that out of nowhere, and Pam was very confused by the whole thing. The best part was when one of the techs came in and saw him and then just turned and walked back the other way.
“He does this sometimes to let off steam,” I said to Pam, making an excuse for him once he was finished with his challenge.
“Dancing is my passion,” Graham added, a serious look on his face before he walked into a patient room.
The food challenge was more difficult, since all we had was leftover Peruvian food and the vending machine in the break room. So I made him a concoction that, if I think about it right now, makes my stomach churn. It was a Dorito, topped with gummy worms, and then smothered with the leftover creamy chicken dish. And just for fun, we crushed an Oreo and sprinkled it on top. He nearly gagged, and my own gag reflexes were activated just watching him eat it.
My phone rings, and I roll to the side to grab it off the oval coffee table my mom gave me after I moved in. It’s an older one that she’d had in the basement for a while, and there’s a cup stain she claims was me, but I maintain was Ryan. He never followed the coaster rule.
I pick it up to see the name Dr. Graham Shackwell on my screen. That’s how I put his name in my phone when we exchanged numbers last night.
“Hello,” I say after I hit the answer button.
“What are you up to?” he asks, jumping right in, no greeting whatsoever.
“Oh, just online looking for the scrubs you’ll be wearing when I win. I just found some fantastic pink ones with unicorns, and they come in your size.” I’m embracing my competitive nature and letting my flag fly freely.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Price. I’ve already done today’s challenge,” he says. His voice is quiet, like he’s purposefully keeping it down. I can hear chatter and laughter in the background. He’s at the clinic today.
“Already?” I’d sent him the challenge only an hour ago. How did he do it so fast? “You moldy sandwich.”
“Yep, a very nice older woman and I had a lovely conversation at a coffee shop next door to the clinic.”
“Oh, really?”
“Her name is Barbara and she told me all about how she met her husband, Dennis. They met at a music festival in the late fifties. She said they were hippies and did a lot of drugs.”
“Well, that’s ... interesting.” And feels a little like an overshare, which means Graham must have given off a very approachable vibe. That doesn’t seem like him. Or, she’s just one of those people who talk.
“They have three children and four grandchildren,” he continues. “She’s a retired boudoir photographer.”
“You’re making this up.”
He chuckles. “I’m not, I swear. She offered to come out of retirement for me.”
