Page 55 of Doctor's Bossy Match
“Oh, gross.That’s worse than takeout.”I grimace, remembering my own college days, which included endless amounts of coffee, many visits to the vending machine, or my mini fridge stocked with pre-made meals to keep me going all the way into the early hours.I wasn’t much better, honestly.But at least I had real food sometimes.
“Exactly.But I could knock out assignments fast.What about you?”
“Mainly takeout, but sometimes I’d go out to restaurants with my mom.”
He pauses eating to look at me.“Where’s your mom now?”
“Still in New York.”
“What does she do?”
“Nursing administrator.She’s super busy, but when we do catch up, it’s over dinner.We’re pretty close.”My heart lodges in my ribs at saying it out loud.I miss her.The way she listens without judgment, the way she always knows when I need to talk versus when I just need company.
His expression softens.“So, your parents separated?And she moved?”
“Yeah.That’s part of why things are a bit strained with my dad.I don’t know if she left because they broke up, or they broke up because she left, but...”I shrug, then sigh.I’ve never asked.It felt too painful, like choosing sides, so I convinced myself it was better not to know.“He still seems bitter.About her.About me leaving.I got a job in New York; peds for after my residency.It’s my dream job.But now I’m scared to go back and leave him miserable again.He’s doing better now, I think.But once my residency is done, I’ll leave again…” I’ve said way too much.I read his face for judgment, pity, or anything that will tell me I’ve crossed a line.But all I read is patience, like he’s enjoying listening to me.“Sorry.I’m rambling.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says firmly, shifting a fraction closer.“You’ve got stuff weighing on you, but that’s not your burden to carry.He’s an adult.You don’t have to manage his feelings.What happened between your parents?That’s between them.”
Liz told me something similar, but hearing it from Brant feels different.Maybe it’s because he’s not tangled up in the history of it.Part of me believes him, but the other part, the part that’s been managing dad’s mood for years, cannot quite let go.
“Yeah.”I nod slowly.“It’s just...hard.”
“I can see why,” he says softly, looking at me.“You don’t have to pretend it isn’t.”
I don’t look away as seconds pass, and neither of us say or do anything.
Until he clears his throat and leans back.“We should finish up here.”
“Yeah.I’m full.”I reach to close my takeout lid, but it slips.
We both grab for it at the same time, and suddenly we’re close.My eyes lift, finding his, just inches away.We’re frozen like that, one hand each on the lid, not speaking.My lips tingle and my heart pounds.I wonder if he can feel this pull too.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and slowly stand.My hand brushes his as I let go.
He does the same, putting the lid down and stepping back.“Sorry, I—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, though my pulse is still racing.I force myself to look away, to focus on the papers in front of me, on anything but the way his hand felt against mine.After I’ve just told him about my family, I feel too raw right now.If I let myself fall into this moment, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull myself out.
We try to refocus on the work, but there’s a new awareness in the air.Every time he passes me a piece of paper or reaches across the desk, I’m hyper aware of the space between us.The room feels warmer now.But I urge myself to breathe and act like everything’s normal and do the task.
“Could you hand me that folder?”he asks after a while.
“This one?”I hold it out, careful not to let our fingers touch again.Why?Because if they do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to pretend this is just work anymore.Every touch is hitting me deeper, and if I let myself want this, wanthim, I don’t know what I’ll do when it all falls apart.
“Thanks.”He clears his throat.“We should probably wrap up soon.”
The next hour moves slowly.Every minute is spent overthinking every detail of the day.When we finally pack up, I gather my things into my purse and throw any rubbish into the trash.
“I should get going.”I stand, ready to head into the bathroom to change out of my scrubs into clean clothes, then head home.
He checks his watch and straightens some papers that don’t need straightening.“Right.Of course.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, standing at his office doorway, not wanting to leave and wanting him to ask me to stay, but also afraid of the risks if he does.
He looks up from his desk, gathers his briefcase in one hand, jacket in the other, and heads toward the door.“I’ll walk out with you.”
