Chapter Two
“Where do you want this tray, Dr. Davis?” the nurse asks me.
“Right there, to the right of the table. Thanks,” I answer, a little taken aback by her question, considering that’s where the tray always goes…
She smiles and stares at me as if she’s going to say something else but doesn’t.
“Is there … something else you wanted to ask me?”
She keeps staring at my face. “No, nothing.” She smiles again.
“Alright. Then please take these charts back to the main desk, thanks.”
“Right away, Dr. Davis. Anything else?”
“No. Thank you.”
She stays cemented in place for a few more seconds, still staring at me, before finally turning around and leaving.
I finish up and then head down the hallway. The fluorescent lights are bright as always, and the smell of disinfectant and chlorine is strong but reassuring.
I’ve been at the hospital for almost twenty hours now, and my head is starting to buzz a little. I pull out my phone as I walk and text Emmy.
Me: Try to guess how many cups of coffee I’ve had since I’ve been on my shift…
I wait for her answer. She’s already at home and most likely in bed, but I know that she’ll answer, nonetheless. Emmy always answers me. It’s one of the things I love most about her, and one of the many reasons I know I can always count on her.
Only a few moments later, my phone vibrates, and I swipe it open, eager to read her reply.
Emmy: I’m gonna guess you haven’t had any coffee. You’re a superhero. And superheroes don’t need coffee!
Her texts make me smile, as always. I read and reread them a million times, as if the words alone will give me strength to finish my shift.
Me: You’re the only one who calls me that, Dolly.A superhero, I mean. Everyone else just calls me Dr. Davis.
The hallway is now crowded as a group of nurses try to move three patients in wheelchairs from one floor to another. I struggle between my desire to help and just how tired I feel.
“Hello, Dr. Davis!” The three nurses greet me at once as if they’re part of a choir, scanning me from head to toe.
“Where are you headed? Our floor, I hope…” One of them flirts openly with me.
“Not exactly. But if you need my help with the patients, I’ll be glad to assist you,” I reply.
“Maybe we could use some help … later? In the nurse’s office?” she says brazenly.
I raise my eyebrow as the other two nurses burst out laughing.
I feel like I’m back in high school, even though—I must admit—back then, I didn’t get much attention from women. It was only after I grew up and matured that the women started gravitating toward me.
Every woman except Emmy.
She’s the only one who never stopped seeing me as a friend.
“Alright, that’s enough, ladies.” I interrupt their banter, not interested in the slightest. “Please take the patients to the upper floor.”
Once they’re gone, I take my phone out and check to see if Emmy’s answered me.
Emmy: How long have you got left of your shift? Are you super tired?
I head toward my office as I text her back.
Me: A few more hours to go.Then I’m gonna head home, take a shower, and sleep as long as I can.Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?
Emmy: Sure. I can’t wait!My place or yours?
Me: Why don’t you come over to my place?I’ll order some food, and we can catch up. Or watch a movie or something…
Emmy: That sounds great!Can you order that cake I like with the chocolate on the inside?
I smile and answer her immediately.
Me: Whatever you want, Dolly.Anything else?
I reach my office and, just as I’m about to go in, I’m called to the emergency room again. It seems that this day, and this extremely long shift simply refuse to end.
I check my phone for another message from Emmy to lift my spirits. Just the idea of seeing her tomorrow night is enough to keep me going.
Emmy: Yes. Stop calling me Dolly!
She sends me a few laughing emojis as well so I know that she’s joking.
Me: You know I can’t do that, Dolly! Now go to sleep. I have to be in the emergency room in a minute or so, but I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!
With a heavy heart, I turn off my phone and leave it in my office.
Goodbye, Dolly.
For now.
I open the door and there she is, radiant as ever, smelling of summer and sun. She’s wearing a yellow sundress that accentuates her tanned skin; not to mention the darkness of her silky hair and the icy blue of her eyes. And, perhaps, one of my favorite things about her—red lipstick. She’s been wearing it for the longest time, and I hope she never stops.
“Ta-daaa!” she calls out, smiling widely, her hair messy, and her blue eyes just shards of icy water.
“Ta? Daaa?” I start to laugh and invite her into my apartment.
“Yes. I brought the wine you like. Two bottles!” She smiles.
“Emmy, you shouldn’t have done that. Really. I mean, I appreciate it a lot—you getting me my favorite wine and all, but I could’ve gotten it.”
“I know, I know”—she waves me off—“you don’t like me buying you things because I get paid peanuts at that beauty shop. It’s not … fair or whatever—”
“Or gentlemanly,” I interject. “I invited you over here. I should be buying you wine, not the other way around.”
“Well, I wanted to do something nice for you for once. You pulled a twenty-four-hour shift and saved those kids!”
I wish I could wrap my arms around her and hold her so tightly that nothing could ever break us apart. “Emmy, why are you so wonderful?”
“I’m not. Come on. You’re my best friend…” she says before sitting down on the couch. “Is the food here yet?”
“Yes. I ordered a bunch of stuff, so we could pig out.” I grin and Emmy starts laughing. “I have Pad Thai, lobster ravioli, shrimp scampi, oysters in champagne sauce, butter rolls—our favorite—and, of course, Black Forest Cake. Your favorite!”
“Goodness, you spoil me!” she exclaims and inhales the air, attempting to smell the food all the way from the living room.
“Me? Spoil you? Hardly. What about you with these bottles of wine?” I laugh, taking the bottles.
She follows me into the kitchen and dives straight into the cake, much like she always does. Her small and delicate fingers dip into the whipped cream, straight down to the chocolate ganache. I watch as she thrusts her fingers into her mouth, licking off the sweet icing.
I’m mesmerized by the movements of her face, the shape of her lips, the red lipstick perfectly capturing that moment. Something inside me stirs, like an animal that’s been lying dormant for the longest time.
“… staring at?”
I snap out of my trance as I realize that she’s asking me a question while I have been busy staring at her licking the cake frosting off her fingers. “Hmm? What? What were you saying?”
“Why are you staring at me like that? Oh, is it because I put my fingers in the cake? Okay, fine, I’ll use a fork, doctor.” She rolls her eyes, acknowledging my disdain for germs.
“Yes … I was. Yes. Why don’t you cut me a piece as well, while you’re at it, and I’ll get these bottles of wine open to let them breathe.”
“When did we start drinking wine? And when did we start letting it breathe?” she asks me while she cuts the cake.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know… we used to drink cheap beer straight out of the can, and shove hands full of popcorn in our mouths at the movie theater. When did we become so fancy?”
I try to collect my thoughts long enough to answer her. “Well, back then we were a little younger, and we didn’t have as much money as we do today.”
“I’m assuming by ‘we’ you mean you.” She laughs. “You’re the fancy doctor, after all.”
“You know that everything I have is yours, Emmy.”
She doesn’t answer.
Instead, she cuts two slices of cake and hands me one of the plates.
We go back to the living room and sit comfortably on the couch, looking out of the ceiling-to-floor windows of my penthouse. The Boston skyline is growing dimmer by the minute, but the June heat is relentless.
She takes off her shoes and curls up on the leather couch. I watch as her sundress travels up her thigh but try to focus on our conversation. “So, what movie should we watch tonight?”
“How about we watch that romantic comedy you love making fun of?” she suggests playfully, taking a sip of wine.
I chuckle, knowing exactly which movie she’s referring to. “Oh, you mean the one with the cheesy lines and predictable plot? Sure, why not? It’s always good for a laugh.”
We settle on the couch, enjoying our food and wine as the movie plays on the screen.
After we clear our plates, Emmy snuggles closer, resting her head on my shoulder. I feel a rush of warmth in my chest at her proximity, and the easy way we fit together.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as the movie unfolds before us. Her hair tickles my chin, and the soft scent of her eucalyptus shampoo lingers in the air. I try to focus on the screen, on the exaggerated gestures of the actors and the melodramatic music, but it’s impossible with Emmy so close to me.
I can’t help but steal glances at her, admiring the way the soft light from the screen dances on her features, highlighting the contours of her cheekbones, illuminating every freckle on her nose. I love the way her eyelashes flutter against her cheek when she laughs at a particularly cheesy line.
There’s a moment when our eyes meet, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us before she looks away, a faint blush tinting her face.
I clear my throat, trying to dispel the sudden tension that crackles in the air. “This movie gets more ridiculous every time I watch it.”
“I know, right? But it’s so bad, it’s good!” she teases, nudging me playfully with her elbow.
“I mean, would you actually want a guy like this?” I ask.
“A guy like what?”
“You know, the charming, cheesy romantic lead who always says the right thing at the right time…” I smirk, gesturing toward the television screen.
Emmy sits up and considers my question for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. “I used to think I did,” she begins, her voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness. “But now … I don’t know. Maybe all those perfect lines and grand gestures are just fantasy. Maybe what I really want is someone a little more … flawed. More real. Someone who can make me laugh on my worst days and hold me close on my best days. Someone who doesn’t need cheesy lines because their actions speak volumes. Someone who knows me inside and out, flaws and all.”
I turn to look at her, really look at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Emmy,” I begin, my voice barely a whisper. “I—”
Before I can finish my sentence, the doorbell rings. Emmy glances at me, her eyes searching mine for any sign of what I was about to say.
“I’ll get it,” she announces with a forced casualness, untangling herself from me and heading toward the door.
Alone on the couch, I take a deep breath to steady myself as Emmy’s muffled voice greets the delivery person and exchanges pleasantries. I can’t shake off the weight of the unspoken words hanging between us, the confession that almost slipped from my lips.
“Sorry about that,” she says, placing the bags on the coffee table. “I got too excited and ordered some ice cream, too.”
I watch as Emmy unpacks the bags, revealing a variety of flavors of ice cream in colorful tubs. The sight of her digging into the bag, searching for spoons, is both endearing and maddening. Endearing because of how effortless it is for her to make herself at home in my space, and maddening because I feel like every passing moment spent with her tugs at something deep within me.
Something I’ve kept locked away for far too long.