Asher #2
Will probably still need the Tums, though. These aren’t beliefs that reverse overnight, and my job isn’t exactly a vacation. But hey, this is a fantastic start. Thanks, Dr. White, you decrepit bastard. Asher 2.0 will be the best one yet.
Gabriela Acevedo is enchanting. Outside the hospital, dressed in something other than scrubs, she’s so refreshing, she makes
me feel like I can breathe again. We sit at a bistro table on the outdoor patio of a beachside grill, the surface littered
with half-eaten appetizers. Our dinner plates lie before us, untouched since we can’t stop talking.
She works that black dress like she knows how to use it, and her laugh is infectious.
“I’m serious,” she says with a chuckle as I call bullshit on her story of delivering a vaginal breech baby in triage the other
day. “The nurse screamed for help, and I came running, and the butt was crowning—wait, butts can’t crown. Is there a name
for a ring placed around the ass?”
“Uh. Toilet seat?”
She snorts. “Okay. The baby was toilet seating, and I just . . . did it. My attending showed up about three minutes later.”
I high-five her. “Badass.”
The patrons at the table behind her leave, and she scoots her chair closer to me. A half hour past sunset, and the sky still
glows orange. Beside us, the wooden railing gives way to a short drop to the beach. The gulf beyond is calm, the waves lapping
at the shore in a peaceful rhythm.
Love this. The ambiance. The company. I needed this.
Her eyes brighten. “Badass, huh? You really think so?”
“Hell yeah, girl. But I’ll admit I’m still skeptical, since I didn’t hear about it. The nurses tell me everything.”
She picks up a fry from her plate. “That’s because they love you.”
I lean toward her. “You want to know a secret?”
Chewing her fry, she nods.
“I love them, too.”
She chuckles. “I know. It shows.”
“It does?”
Gabriela throws a fry at me. “You’re nice to everyone.”
I glance down at my plate. “There’s a reason for that, you know.”
“Oh, yeah?” She rests her elbows on the table. “Tell me.”
I search her face. “You really want to know?”
Her nod is thoughtful. Slow. Like she knows I’m about to share a part of myself.
I cast my gaze toward the waves. “A few years ago, I was at a party. There was this pretty girl I was interested in, and I’d
recently heard a rumor about her that she was—um, like, easy, or whatever.”
“Oh, no.”
I smile ruefully. “Yeah. Here’s where Asher learns not to listen to rumors. I was saying some . . . not nice things about
her, and she overheard me.”
Dark eyes go wide. “No. What did she say?”
“She totally called me out. Pretty glorious on her part. Then it turned out that none of the rumors were true, and I felt
bad for—I don’t know—a year? The girl was super sweet. It’s one of those scenes my brain still throws at me right when I’m
about to fall asleep, so I can wallow in the embarrassment all over again.”
“I have a few of those myself,” she says with a laugh.
“So, now, I don’t say shit like that. Never know who’s listening. Lesson learned.”
Her pink lips curve in a smile. “That’s sweet.”
“No.” I toss a grin back at her. “It’s just proof that I’m a recovering asshole.”
“You’re nice because you don’t want to hurt people’s feelings. That’s—” She shakes her head and sighs. “Can I ask you a question?”
I finally take a bite of my fish. Pretty decent. A little too lemony. “Sure.”
“Why are you still single?”
Oh. Okay. So we’re just going there, I guess. Cold tendrils creep over my shoulders at once. I slowly finish chewing and sip
my drink.
She straightens. “Sorry. That was forward. You don’t have to answer that. It’s . . . You—you’re so . . .”
An invisible fork has lodged between my ribs. Breathing is not comfortable. “I’m so what?”
“You’re nice. Funny. Successful. Super hot.” She ticks them off on her fingers like a grocery list, and I lose the ability to look her
in the eye. “How has some girl not snatched you up?”
Ignoring the sudden heat in my face, I drop my hands beneath the table, so she doesn’t see them clench. “I don’t really date.”
“Right.” She sips her cocktail. “So, can I ask you another question since you didn’t answer the first?”
“I didn’t answer because I don’t know the answer, but sure.”
The outdoor lighting twinkles in her eyes when she stares directly into mine. “Why’d you change your mind about me?”
I blink twice, then return my attention to the darkening beach, the black waves beyond. “It seemed like the right thing to
do at the time.”
Her voice softens. “But it doesn’t anymore?”
The jittery crushed sensation reappears. I raise my hand to lay it atop hers on the table. “I—um . . . The truth is, I don’t
think I’m ready for this.”
Her smooth forehead creases.
I clear my throat. “You’re funny and smart. So beautiful. You deserve someone who’s fully present. Fully available.”
With a tilt of her head, she pulls her hand back. “Available? Are you seeing someone else?”
“No. But I would be, if she’d say yes.”
She stares at me, silent, brown eyes sparkling. Then she smiles. “No offense, but whoever that girl is sounds like an idiot.”
The statement is so blunt, I can’t help but laugh.
Gabriela snickers. “Wait, seriously. She said no? Did she have a stroke? Was she hit upside the head? Is she secretly a princess from a distant land and isn’t permitted to
fraternize with commoners?”
Still laughing, I shake my head. “Um, no. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Maybe she’s a robot. You can do better than a robot, Asher.” Her teasing wink sparks something deep inside—proof that my
body still knows how to respond to a woman who isn’t Jocelyn. It fizzles quickly, but still. A spark is promising.
I lean closer to her. “Maybe she’s a spy, and being with me would compromise her mission.”
Gabriela eats another fry. “The mission! Of course. It’s life or death.”
This woman truly is enchanting.
She sips her drink and gives me a frank stare. “Or maybe she isn’t good enough for you.”
My chest tightens. “Maybe not.”
“Just something to consider.” She pushes away from the table. “Excuse me. I’m going to use the restroom.”
I can’t help but watch her walk away. Gleaming black hair rests in ringlets down her back, and her hips sway as she makes
her way through the other tables. I’m not the only one staring. The woman draws the eye.
She might be good. Great, even. She might be the one. Perhaps Jocelyn is the hurdle I must leap to reach the ultimate goal, but I doubt it. Even the thought of her—the potential of her—it grates on my conscience. This isn’t fair to her. Or to me.
I pull out my phone while I wait, surprised to find a text from Joss.
How are the ducks today?
Seriously? Classic Jocelyn, ignoring it all.
I didn’t see them today sadly
How did you survive??
There’s always tomorrow.
Titty
Ha. At least that’s still capable of making me smile. But I don’t know what to say, so I set the phone down and stare at the
text stream. The three dots pop up and disappear six times before she says anything else.
Asher. Do you have a sec? Can we talk?
With a twist of my stomach, my appetite disappears. I shove my plate away. Part of me wants to shut her down. The other is
aching to know what she’d say. How does she possibly expect to fix the broken pieces?
Never should have admitted to loving her. Silent suffering would’ve been better than this excruciating awkwardness. I don’t
know how to be around her anymore.
Can’t. I’m not alone.
Oh? Who you with?
My thumb hovers over the screen. Should I admit the truth? She didn’t tell me about her date last night. Clearly didn’t want
me to know about it. Indecision has me swiping out of the messaging app altogether. Instead, I slide down my notifications
and scroll through useless information from Starbucks and and Google, clearing it from my screen. A MyRadar notification
from yesterday pauses me.
Tropical Storm Franklin forms in Caribbean.
I tap on it and read through the article. The storm is east of the Yucatan Peninsula, but we’re at the extreme edge of the
cone of uncertainty.
Meh.
Gabriela returns to her seat, so I pocket the phone. “You want to get out of here?” she asks.
“Absolutely.”
We flag down the server, and when he hands the check to me, Gabriela extends her hand, palm up. “I’m the one who asked you
out. Give me that.”
A laugh bursts from me. “What? No. I’m paying for your dinner, Gabriela.”
“Give it to me! You’re adhering to antiquated gender norms that don’t—”
“You’re a resident. You make like two cents an hour. Let me pay for your damn French fries.”
She tries to subdue that cute smile—pinches her lips, scrunches her nose—but it breaks out anyway. “I ate ramen for dinner
six days in a row.”
“Exactly.” I hand off the check with my credit card and shake my head at her. “Gender norms? Really?”
With a contrite smile, she raises her fists and gives them a weak shake. “Down with the patriarchy.”
I rest my head on my fist and give way to laughter. “I like you.”
“Yeah.” She glances down at the table between us. “As a friend, right?”
I pull in a deep breath and nod. “Yeah. Probably. For now.”
With a click of her tongue, she downs the half-full cocktail sitting on the table.
My eyes widen. “Whoa.”
A quick swipe of her mouth, and she shrugs. “I just went on a date with a man who’s pining after another woman. Give me a
break.”
I’m not pining. Much.
No, the pining comes much later, when I’m in my cold bed alone, dithering over a text I’m not sure I should answer.
I had a date.
There. Now she knows. I’m not hiding.
Oh.
Did you have fun?
I mean . . . you’re already home texting me
So maybe not?
Heat floods my face, my hands.
What the hell? That’s what she leads with?
The impulsive, reckless answer that would hum like magic in the moment but burn with self-loathing for the rest of time jolts
to my fingertips.
Not all of us fuck on the first date.
I suppress that urge, but it takes a minute. In the interim, she continues . . .
That was a joke