Asher #3
We don’t text.
We don’t talk at all.
It’s what I wanted, so why do I feel ghosted?
How the hell did I end up here? My life is so pretty on the outside. On paper, I’m killing it. In truth, it’s like someone
threw a grenade, and I’m bleeding in the fragmented remains, ribbons of red marring my stellar résumé.
Broken hearts are asinine. What good can come from pain like this? It’s useless. Meaningless.
At least Talia’s returned from maternity leave. She steps into our shared office for afternoon clinic with a shriek that could
rival a banshee. “Doctor F!”
“Oh, my god.” I rise from my chair and engulf her in a bear hug tight enough to heave her feet from the floor. “My angel’s
back.”
She hoots out a laugh. “I love that baby, but man, am I ready to talk to an adult. Got a quota of curse words I have to meet today.”
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” I set her down and add in a whisper, “Your replacement was kind of dull.”
“Ha! I’m irreplaceable. Give me a raise.”
She deserves it.
“I’d give you all the things if I had that power,” I say.
Her things topple into a pile on the desk before she settles in her chair. “Phew!”
I eye the mountain between us. “What is all this?”
“Purse. Breast pump. Cooler for breast milk. Lunch box.”
“You need a lunch box? We’re only here for two hours.”
She sends me a flat, sassy stare. “Watch who you’re talking to.”
Chuckling, I raise my hands in surrender, then glance at my schedule to check my first patient.
Rosenberg, Heather. 47F. New patient problem: hormone imbalance.
Sighhhhhhhh.
If anyone has a hormone imbalance, it’s me. I’m miserably in love with a girl who told me she doesn’t want me, and the testosterone
poisoning my head convinces me I still want to fuck her. Bad.
That’s an imbalance.
FML.
Definitely don’t have the patience today. Will manage, of course. I always do. But I refuse to be happy about it. Refuse to
be happy about anything right now.
I grab my phone to text my brothers.
What’s up assholes?
Kyle: Having an existential crisis.
Kyle: What if when we die the light at the end of the tunnel is just us coming out of another vagina?
Ha. What an idiot. Love him.
By that logic the human population would never increase.
Kyle: Oh.
Kyle: Right
Kyle: CRISIS AVERTED
Brandon: Ash has that doctor smarts.
I have average smarts and understand the concept of recycling
Brandon: What’s doing, little bro?
I see a few patients before I answer. What should I even say? A lie feels slimy, and the truth will make them bash Joss. Don’t really want to weather insults against her, despite it all.
Milksop. Isn’t that what they used to say instead of pussy? I should bring that back.
Told a girl I loved her and she turned me down.
Kyle: F
Kyle: And you let me go on about vagina reincarnation?
Brandon: Sorry bro
Brandon: Don’t believe what they say about getting under someone else
Brandon: Work through your shit first.
Brandon: Learned that the hard way.
Kyle: Fun while it’s happening though.
Suspect sex with someone else won’t really help. What could even compare to that night with Joss? The only balm for this is
time.
Or maybe ketamine.
What truthful obscenities would I yell under the influence of ketamine?
I’m not a fucking Lamborghini!
Thanks guys.
Kyle: Is the girl deaf dumb and blind?
Kyle: I can’t think of another reason she’d turn you down.
Lol. Sure.
Kyle: She’s definitely not of average smarts like you.
Kyle: Not even good enough to smell your farts
Kyle: Also mom said you need to vacuum the whole house so you better come home before she grounds you
Sounds like a dream, heading home. Abandoning everything. I’ll work in Brandon’s construction company and build houses all
day.
Fuck vaginas.
Well. Not literally.
. . . Sometimes literally, though.
Back home, I wouldn’t be inadequate. I wouldn’t worry whether everyone thought I was incompetent. I’d relinquish the anxiety
of call, of OB emergencies, of being in charge of people’s lives. I’d escape the politics of the hospital. No Dragon training.
No Dr. White. No Cassie Hersl.
No Joss.
My heart does some weird charley horse thing in mutiny.
Um. Ouch. Okay, I get it.
I can’t leave. Need to face my demons like a . . . non-milksop.
You guys are all right, you know?
Brandon: Just a phone call away. You know that.
Kyle: You’re the pink Starburst.
Kyle: Don’t let anyone tell you different.
Kyle: Also NASCAR rulez
Lol.
I am the pink Starburst. Lead with that confidence, and I can do anything.
Decide to pull up Gabriela’s contact info before I second-guess myself. My last text from her was that day she sprayed a grandma
with cord blood. She apologized via text approximately seven thousand times. I crack up all over again at the memory.
This is Chanel, child. I assure you, I am hurt.
Classic.
You still interested in that dinner?
I set my phone down, but it dings before I return to my computer.
Absolutely.
Friday?
Sounds good
Send me your address. I’ll pick you up at 7