Chapter 21
“Feel free to sit, or lie down. Whichever you prefer,” I say, pulling out a suture kit, antiseptic cleansers, a syringe, and some nitrile gloves.
“What’s easiest for you?” Liam asks.
“It doesn’t matter.” I snap on a pair of gloves. “Not to brag, but I can do this with my eyes closed.”
My tone is joking, and I expect some sort of response. But Liam seems lost in thought. His good hand rests in a tight fist on the exam table, his eyes locked on the syringe.
“What if, hypothetically, someone hates needles?” he asks.
“Liam, do you hate needles?” I casually place a gauze pad over the syringe.
“Well, hate is a strong word, but I can think of a thousand things I would rather do,” he replies, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“Why don’t you lie down, okay?” He nods, before lying on the exam table, the paper crinkling under him. “Now, let’s make that arm more comfortable.”
I turn on the lamp and position the light so I have a clear view of the cut.
“So what is your favourite way to spend time?” I ask, holding the syringe with the numbing anesthetic out of view. “Just going to clean the area—it will feel cold for a second.”
He nods, licks his lips, which are dry (definitely nervous—poor guy). “Winter or summer?”
“Let’s do winter.” I use an antiseptic wipe around the cut, then position the needle. “Now a few small pokes. Easy-peasy. Soon it will be gloriously frozen and you won’t feel a thing.”
Liam closes his eyes, lets his head rest back. “I’m a big fan of the snow, generally. Skiing, tobogganing, maple taffy.”
“Maple taffy. I haven’t had that in years.” I remember how we used to make it every March, the water-like sap miraculously transformed first with heat, then by the snow. “Not the easiest to get in downtown Toronto.”
Liam winces almost imperceptibly when I insert the needle. I’m thrust back to the last time I stitched up a hand—in the ER for Christmas-cake-maker Jennifer, who was not looking forward to the holidays. How was that only a couple of days ago? But also… a year from now?
“You okay?” I pause, forcing my shoulders down and telling myself to relax .
“I’m good.” He releases a long breath. “Back to maple taffy—it’s worth the drive, I think. From the city, I mean.”
“Maybe I’ll come back for the maple syrup festival.” March. Three months from now. What timeline will I be in then? I breathe deeply through my nose, clearing the anxiety so I can focus. “So skiing, tobogganing, maple taffy… what else?”
“Snowshoeing. I used to think I hated it. It’s just… walking through deep snow, right? But way more awkward, because you strap paddles to your feet.” He grins, eyes still closed. I look at his face, seeing now under the bright lights a faint smattering of freckles across his nose.
“But turns out I love snowshoeing,” he continues. He’s more relaxed, the muscles and tendons in his outstretched arm releasing. “Pops and I try to go once a week.”
I insert the needle a couple more times, plunging in the anesthetic in little bursts in the areas to be numbed. “I’ve actually never snowshoed, if you can believe it.”
“You should go sometime. There are some great trails around here,” Liam says. “Maybe before you head home?”
Home … a hint of panic fills me, remembering what’s waiting for me in the present timeline. Or more accurately, what’s not waiting: no relationship, no job, no idea what’s next.
“Maybe… but remember the two-left-feet issue.” I push back from the exam table and set the empty syringe down. “All done.”
He lifts his head and opens his eyes. “Seriously?”
“The freezing part, anyway.” I remove the gloves. I’ll use a fresh pair for suturing. “Now we wait. A few minutes to let the anesthetic do its job.”
I shift my rolling stool so when his head is turned it’s easy for him to see me without changing position. “How about family holiday traditions?”
“We travelled around a lot, so we celebrated the traditions of wherever we happened to be during the holidays,” Liam replies. “We spent two years in Venezuela. Did you know in Caracas they roller-skate to church for Mass during the holidays?”
“What do you mean… like, everyone? On actual roller skates?”
He laughs. “Everyone, young and old. With tie-up, retro roller skates. They even close the streets the week or so before Christmas to make it safer. It was a lot of fun, and definitely the most unique holiday tradition I’ve ever experienced.”
“Wow. That’s pretty cool,” I reply. “Makes my family’s traditions of matching Christmas pyjamas and leaving cookies and carrots out for Santa and the reindeer seem downright uninspired.”
I test his hand. “Feel that?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“It’s go time.” I give his shoulder a quick squeeze before pulling on new gloves. “Just take a few deep breaths. Won’t take too long.”
Liam closes his eyes again, and breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth.
“I’m jealous of your travelling. Of seeing so much of the world before you were even a teenager. I’m sure it wasn’t always easy, or comfortable, but still. It’s a fascinating way to grow up.” I focus on tying off the first stitch, preparing for the second.
“It is. It was,” Liam says. “Have you done much travelling?”
“Unfortunately, no. Medical school was all-consuming. Then residency. I’ve barely had time to think beyond my next shift, actually.”
I continue stitching, my eyes trained on my work. “Still feel nothing?”
“Nothing! It’s so strange, because how can I not feel this?”
“The benefits of modern medicine,” I reply.
“It’s not too late, you know,” Liam says.
“Too late for what?” I’m concentrating on the final stitch, making sure the wound is closed and the skin isn’t puckered.
“To travel. To see the world. You’re not exactly ‘over the hill,’ as my pops would say.”
“I’ll be honest—sometimes it feels like I’m almost ‘over the hill,’?” I say, with a mirthless chuckle. “Or at least past the point of being able to make a big change.”
“I don’t believe that,” Liam replies. “It’s never too late to make a change. Look at my granddad. From math teacher to master bread baker and entrepreneur. At seventy-five years young.”
Stitches complete, I turn off the light and set the magnifier glasses atop my head. “I’ve always wanted to volunteer somewhere, as a physician.”
“Aside from the obvious, what’s holding you back?” he asks, as I start to bandage his hand.
I pause, despite it not being a hard question to answer. I know what’s holding me back: fear; discomfort; logistics, if I think practically. Also, before it became a nonissue, my relationship.
“Well, for one thing, my”—I’m about to say “my ex-boyfriend didn’t share my dreams,” before remembering I’m in the past and so do not yet have an ex—“ career makes it hard to take that sort of time off.”
“I’m sure,” Liam says. “It’s tough when things don’t line up. For me, it was my relationship. Jaclyn and I had different goals, different values, even. At some point it was like a square peg and a round hole, you know?”
Nodding, I swallow hard. Austin and I were a square-peg-round-hole situation, too. I wish I could elaborate and commiserate with Liam, but it’s best to keep it to myself.
“You’re all set.” I secure the bandage around Liam’s hand. “Stitches can come out in about two weeks. Keep it dry, and watch for any signs of infection. Redness, swelling, weeping around the site.”
“Will do, Doc. I can’t thank you enough, Libby,” Liam says, hopping down from the exam table. “Why don’t I give you a hand with the lights?”
He smirks then, wriggling the fingers on his good hand. “Literally, a hand.”
“Ha! Well, think you can hold a ladder steady?”
“ Not to brag, but I can do this with my eyes closed ,” Liam says, and I laugh hard, ignoring—yet again—the voice in my head that tells me if I want to make things less complicated, I should spend less time with Liam Young, not more.