5. Friday
Chapter 5
Friday
I wake up early the next morning to take Murphy for a run before work. I feel the same restless energy from last night and want to burn some of it off. I hit the street as the sun starts rising in the summer sky. As I run, I can’t stop imagining the feeling of Matt's lips on mine. I pick up the pace.
Two miles in, my mind is clear, and I have not a single thought besides the welcome ache in my muscles from exertion. By the time I get back to my apartment, my favorite doorman, Neil, is on duty. He kneels to rub behind Murphy's ears, offering him one of the treats he keeps in a jar behind the desk. Neil has been working here for as long as I've lived in the building.
“How was your run, Ms. Julia?”
“Good, good. We are both a little out of shape,” I say, wiping sweat from my brow.
Once I'm back upstairs, I head into my tiny white galley kitchen and toss my keys, headphones, phone, and Murphy’s leash onto the counter. I fire up my Nespresso and wipe down Murphy’s paws, then rummage through the fridge for his breakfast and fill his water bowl. I walk into my bathroom and strip down before stepping into the shower.
My bathroom, and specifically my shower, is the only home improvement project I did before I moved into my apartment. Now my shower is massive—at least by Manhattan standards. I cut into the precious square footage of my tiny walk-in closet to accommodate both the shower and a soaking tub. It’s probably my favorite room in the entire apartment. I let the water hit my shoulders, breathing in the steam.
I roll my neck and think more about the interactions I've had with Matt. Do I legitimately have feelings for him after only a few days? Of course it's possible, it's just never been something I've believed to be real. I am a little too pragmatic when it comes to love and can count on one hand the times I've felt infatuated with someone.
Could this be the result of watching my parents' failed marriage, or maybe a consequence of my profession and hearing all the dirty ins and outs of relationships? Lust at first sight seems reasonable enough, but real love? I'm not convinced. And yet all that feels like it's been turned on its head the past few days, since the moment Matt walked into room 416.
After I lather and rinse, I dry off and stand in front my closet. I've spent more time thinking about what I will wear to work this week than I have maybe ever in my life. The anticipation of seeing Matt makes me feel like I'm back in high school, waiting to see my crush in the hallways. I pick a cream Ralph Lauren knit skirt and matching short sleeve sweater. I put on a pair of black pumps and my diamond stud earrings—a gift from Nick for our two-year wedding anniversary after he received his first bonus. I go back into the bathroom to dry my hair, noticing a rogue gray hair amid the thick dark brown strands. I recently added some caramel pieces for summer, but somehow this gray survived. I pluck it out and toss it in the trash, making a note to schedule a color touch-up today. I lightly apply makeup, skipping the concealer on my nose, deciding to let my few freckles shine through today. I swipe on my favorite mauvy pink lip balm and give Murphy a quick kiss before heading out the door.
* * *
The first thing I do when I get to work is swing by room 416 and check on Sid. He appears to be sleeping as I peek in the door. Matt is nowhere to be seen. I check in at the nurse's station, and Beth tells me everything with Sid has been smooth sailing since the code yesterday. We both knock on the wood under the desk.
My morning moves quickly, full of meetings and emails. I eat an early lunch at my desk with Christine so we can go over scheduling for the next few weeks.
"We need more staff," she tells me for the hundredth time.
"I know, I know, we have ads posted everywhere. The career fair is in a few weeks, maybe we'll get some leads. And it's not just us, Chris, it's everyone."
"I know it's everyone, but it doesn't change the fact my staff is burnt the hell out."
I know it's true. They have worked around the clock for years at this point. The trauma of the pandemic on our staff has had a ripple effect that seems to have no end in sight. No one has had any substantial time off, and salaries remain stagnant as the hospital hemorrhages money. So many nurses took early retirement or straight-up quit amid the chaos of early in 2020, and we are seriously struggling. Not to mention, despite the pandemic being over, we are busier than ever with a backlog of very sick patients who neglected all medical care during that time. It is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
"What if we do a stress management group or something for staff?"
"I think they'd rather just be paid more. Or have more time off," Christine says. As always, I appreciate her candor.
"What about a masseuse coming in once a week or something? Or we get lunch catered in?" I spitball ideas.
"I think that would be nice to boost morale, but I think we'll stay stressed until we have more bodies in here. Competent bodies, I should add."
"Speaking of competent bodies, did you apply for the director of nursing position yet?" I've been on her for weeks to throw her hat in the ring for a serious promotion.
"I'm thinking about it still."
"If you think about it any longer, it's going to get filled. You're perfect for the job, Chris. No one would do it better. It'd be a huge raise, too."
"I don't know if I want to deal with any more administrative bullshit," she says bluntly.
"Fair enough."
* * *
I don't see Matt or Sid until late that afternoon after my two outpatient groups. When I peek through the window into room 416, Sid is up and out of the bed, looking much like his normal self, and Matt is on the bed, his long legs crossed lazily at the ankle. They're playing along with Jeopardy! on the TV, Matt keeping score in the notebook on his lap. I knock twice before letting myself in.
“How is everyone doing in here?”
"Hi there, Julia. We're doing much better than yesterday's little kerfuffle, and I'm kicking Matt's ass in Jeopardy! Care to join us?"
"Sure." I pull over the swivel stool to sit at the end of the bed between them.
I steal a glance at Matt, who gives me a tired smile. Upon closer examination, he looks exhausted. His face is pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is sticking up in twelve different directions. I doubt he got any sleep last night, and I feel more than a little guilty about not checking on him until now.
Even depleted, he is stunning. He again seems to be studying me in a way that makes me hyperaware of my every movement. I turn toward the TV.
We listen to the clues.
This number, one of the first twenty, uses only one vowel—four times.
"What is seventeen?" says Sid. Matt puts a tally on the paper.
Who succeeded James Madison?
"Who is James Monroe?" says Matt.
In 1690 this English philosopher wrote, “Wherever law ends, tyranny begins.”
"Who is John Locke?" says Sid.
There’s no oxygen below 510 feet in the center of this sea the Russians call Chernoye More .
They both pause, and Matt taps his chin with the pen.
"What is the Black Sea?" Matt says.
I watch them go back and forth for several more questions—like a tennis match.
"You two are like human Google processors. How do you know all of this?"
Matt smiles. "We've been playing together for a long time."
I hear the next question.
According to C.S. Lewis, it was bordered on the east by the Eastern Ocean and on the north by the River Shribble.
"What is Narnia?" I say quickly. It’s the only answer I've known so far. They both look at me and smile. Matt logs my one point in his notebook.
We play several more minutes, me getting zero more questions and Matt and Sid answering every one correctly.
"What do you want to do for dinner?" Matt asks Sid.
"I'm in the mood for a chicken salad sandwich. On a croissant, with lettuce, tomato, salt and pepper. A side of salt and vinegar chips."
"Very specific," I say.
"He doesn't mess around when it comes to food." Matt pulls out his phone.
"You expect me to eat the food here? The breakfast they brought this morning was like slop!"
"You're not a fan of powdered eggs?" I tease.
Sid gags.
"There's a deli around the corner that has chicken salad sandwiches," I tell Matt.
"Great. I'll run out and grab it." Matt looks up from his phone. "Want to join me?"
"I should probably get home."
"Oh, would ya just join him? He's been moping around this room all day, watching me like a hawk. It's getting on my damn nerves," grumbles Sid.
"Murphy needs his walk," I protest. Sid looks at me pointedly. Matt is quiet.
"What if I buy you a sandwich?" Sid asks.
"A real big spender, this guy." Matt laughs.
"Okay," I acquiesce, realizing how much I want to spend more time with him.
Matt's face lights up. "Great, let's go."
"Get me an Arnold Palmer if they have it!" yells Sid as we walk out of the room.
We head toward the elevators, and I find myself standing dangerously close to Matt as people pile in on each stop on the way down. The tops of our arms touch, and I feel a tingling sensation go all the way down to my toes.
As we start walking down the block to the deli, Matt finally speaks.
"I'm glad I got a chance to talk to you alone after yesterday. I'm grateful you were there. To help me, mostly, and tell me what was happening. I know it's your job, but it felt like you went above and beyond, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. I think I'm okay now, especially because Dad seems back to his usual self, but that was probably one of the scariest moments of my life. So, thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I also wanted to clear the air. I'm sorry about the kiss. Not the intent behind it, because it was genuine, but the timing ... I don't know what I was thinking, and I've been stewing about it all day. I think it was probably inappropriate of me, and I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable...."
I grab his forearm, stopping us in the middle of the sidewalk. His eyes lock on where my hand is connected to his skin. "Matt. You did not make me uncomfortable. I want to be very clear about that. I was flattered. It was nice. My only concern was that emotions were running high, and I wasn't sure if the kiss was maybe a byproduct of that. I've seen stranger things happen in a crisis."
"It wasn't a byproduct," he says quickly. "I wanted to kiss you after dinner at The Waverly Inn, but it felt insane. Too soon. I think yesterday, after all the chaos, my guard was down. And so, I just did something I wanted to do without overthinking it."
"Okay. Well, consider the air cleared."
We resume our walk.
A few moments later he asks softly, "Was it really just 'nice'?"
I laugh.
"Yes, it was nice."
"Not like mind-blowing? Like the greatest kiss you've ever had in your life?"
"It was sweet."
"Sweet?" He cringes. "Not sure that's much better."
"Are you self-conscious about your kissing abilities?"
"Apparently. I never was before, but now? Yes, maybe."
I laugh. "How about this—it was surprising. Pleasantly surprising. Given the circumstances surrounding it, it ranks as one of the most memorable first kisses I've ever had. How's that?"
"I'll take it."
* * *
After we pick up dinner, the sandwich for Sid, two Chinese chicken salads for Matt and me, and three Arnold Palmers, and walk back to the hospital, Matt's color has returned, and he seems less tense.
He asks me to stay and eat dinner with the two of them in Sid's room, and I can find no good reason not to. I can't help but notice how comfortable it is to be doing this seemingly mundane task with Matt.
We walk back to room 416 to find Sid holding court with three of the nurses. He has them all hysterically laughing—about God knows what. Eventually everyone gets back to work, and Matt, Sid, and I spend the next hour together laughing, talking, and eating our dinners on our laps.
Sid tells me stories about Matt as a kid, how he'd disappear for hours at a time, creating imaginary worlds that were so elaborate and detailed that Sid feared "something might be wrong with him."
He talked about how Matt somehow convinced Eric to do all the dirty work for him, coming up with ideas he knew would get them in trouble and having Eric execute them. And how Eric never once sold his brother out.
"It was always part of the plan," Matt explains. "He was the baby and you guys never laid into him like you did with me. Ever. He was willing to take the risk. We were a good team that way."
Eventually, I get up and excuse myself. "I should be heading home. It was a pleasure dining with you two gentlemen tonight."
"The pleasure was ours, sweetheart," Sid says.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Sid. Get some sleep."
Matt stands. "I'll walk you to your office."
I nod.
We head down the hall, the familiar path to my office. Once inside the door, I kick my heels off with a sigh. "It's about two hours past my daily time allotment in these." I slip on my comfortable clogs.
I pad around and sit down at my desk while Matt walks toward the windows, his hands in his pockets. He does not seem to be in a rush to leave.
"I think my dad has a crush on you."
"Ah, well, I think I have a crush on him, too."
"Man, so now I have to compete with him? This is new territory for me.”
I look at him and my stomach flip flops.
"Can I sit?" He points to the loveseat.
I nod.
He stares at my painting, and I stare at him as I shut down my laptop.
"Any more thoughts about the art?" I ask.
"I'm not sure yet."
"I've heard the entire spectrum of interpretations of that painting. Ranging from paint splatters a three-year-old could do, to oysters at the bottom of the sea, to one of my most long-standing patients who insists it looks like several pairs of women's breasts."
He laughs. "Very Freudian."
"Exactly."
"I wouldn't consider myself an art aficionado, but the more I look at this, the more I see. It's like the artist wanted to make it look complicated. Confusing. Maybe even chaotic. But if you keep looking, it's simple. The brush strokes—the colors are all cohesive. Bright, exciting even. I think that's why I felt hopeful. It's like a metaphor for life. We make everything so complicated. But underneath it all, if you can just take a minute to look at something, to find the heart of it, it's pretty simple."
"I like that," I say from across my office.
I am fascinated by his depth, by his observations, his mind. I wouldn't have expected it, which isn't fair. It's easy to get absorbed in his physical appearance—he is undeniably and objectively very attractive. But I am beginning to think that might be the least interesting thing about him.
I go and sit down across from him in my chair, leaning back, uncrossing my arms and gently folding my hands on my lap—"the therapist stance," my friends have joked.
"Tell me about your childhood, Mr. Johnson," I say in my most clinical voice.
Matt laughs. "I think I already have. Come sit next to me." He pats the couch beside him.
I do, and I instantly realize it is a mistake. We are touching, the left side of my body to his right side. His face is so close to mine. The chemistry is undeniable. It feels like a force, like gravity or something else I have no control over.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks me, his hand brushing against mine.
"Strangely, absolutely nothing. What about you?"
"I was just thinking about how badly I want to redo that first kiss. You know, the one you described as 'nice.'"
My breathing goes shallow, my heartbeat quickens. The air around us grows charged.
"Okay," I manage to say, barely a whisper.
He turns to me and takes my chin ever so gently in his substantial, soft hands and tips my face up toward him. He takes a moment to look at me before he leans forward and plants the sweetest, softest kiss on my lips. It is agonizingly chaste.
Not enough. I react on impulse.
I surge forward, capturing his mouth again. I can't help myself. I feel a deep want—no, a need. More .
I kiss him harder than he kissed me, and passionately, possessively even, his tongue slides between my parted lips. My proximity to him enhances that delicious woody smell I've come to associate with him. The combination of it and the kiss is dizzying. I bite down on his pouty bottom lip. I let go, heart racing, and open my eyes to find him staring at me, a hunger in his.
He rushes forward this time to close the gap between us, his hands in my hair, lips on mine, tongue in my mouth—he explores me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, leaning into him, heat prickling my skin, heart hammering in my chest, an ache between my legs.
We keep kissing so deeply, I lose myself, and all I can focus on is his mouth and his hands that start to wander my body, drifting down my hips, along the hem of my skirt, back up my bare arms. Every place where our bodies connect feels like fire sparking.
I could easily slip off my skirt and slide him inside of me, right here, right now. It has been so long for me. So long since I've been touched like this, since I've felt so wanted, desired. The intensity is enthralling.
But then I think about this couch we’re on, where all my patients sit. A place of respite. Of healing.
I'm at work .
The thought brings me back to reality. I pull away from him, both of us breathless, his pupils dilated—almost black.
"We should probably stop." I try to catch my breath.
"Okay. But ... I don't want to stop."
"It's just that this is my office ... where I work ... where my patients sit. This would be ... This is inappropriate..." I stammer.
"No, totally, you're right. I'm sorry. I just—wow. Yeah. Okay." I'm relieved to see him just as flustered as I am.
"I'm going home. I have to get back to Murphy. Thank you for dinner. And the kiss. It was ... lovely. I'll see you tomorrow." I stand and straighten my skirt, trying to get hold of myself.
"Lovely?" he shoots me his half smirk as he regains his composure.
"There's probably a better word for it, but I'm at a bit of a loss right now."
"Sure. Get back to me on that." Matt stands up and heads for the door. I walk over to him, and he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close and giving me one last kiss—brief yet so unmistakably affectionate, I have a horrifying feeling that I might cry.
"Good night," I say quickly.
"Good night, Jules.”
* * *
Once the door closes and I am alone, I stumble to my chair and plop down.
The only thing I can think is holy shit.
I walk home in a daze. " Good night, Jules " echoes in my head.
Jules. Jules. Jules . Hearing my nickname come out of his mouth felt intimate. Too intimate? Too soon? Not really, given the context of that earth-tilting kiss .
As I am trying to process everything that transpired in my office, I realize I will not see Matt tomorrow, as I suggested. Because tomorrow is a Saturday, and I do not work on Saturdays.
What is happening?