Chapter 6 #2
I'm off Wednesday. Morning or afternoon, your call.
I glance at the calendar in my head. I have a lighter day on Wednesday, just a couple of patients for post-op PT and some paperwork I could push if I needed to. I could leave early. I shouldn’t, but I could.
Me:
I have that afternoon off. I can squeeze you in at two. Where?
Unknown Number:
Cafe-a-latte downtown. See you Wednesday.
The hallway swallows me as soon as I turn away. In the bedroom, I step out of the pants and toss them and my scrub top into the hamper. I make my way to the bathroom. I flick the lights on and turn the shower handle. The shower head wobbles a little.
“Please don’t break yet. Not before I convince Ben to fix you,” I mutter to it.
Just then warm water sputters out, and steam starts to curl around the edges of the glass door. The hot water hits my skin, running down my neck and shoulders, and I close my eyes. The heat is a small relief, but it can’t wash away the heaviness in my chest.
Questions keep circling my thoughts, relentlessly.
What does Rhett even want to say? Why reach out now, after all this time?
The past four years can be reduced to a handful of scattered texts.
I’m not sure if he remember it the same way I do, or if he has he rewritten it into something easier to live with.
I let the water pound against my shoulders, waiting for the tension to give.
I can handle coffee. I’m a big girl. There is no reason why Rhett should have any effect on me anymore.
I’ll walk in, sit, sip, nod. Let him talk himself into feeling better if that’s what this is.
Half an hour, maybe less. No questions I don’t want answered.
No digging up things I already buried. I’ll leave, and that will be that.
He probably wants closure. Or absolution. I can be reasonable. I can give him what he wants if it means he leaves.
Because if he’s not just visiting—if he is staying—then this isn’t just coffee.
It’s running into him at the grocery store.
It’s his truck parked somewhere familiar.
It’s the constant awareness of him existing too close to the life I rebuilt without him.
And I know myself well enough to know what happens when gravity comes back into play.
Old habits don’t fade.
I reach for the shampoo bottle, but my hands tremble just slightly as I squeeze it out.
I force my focus smaller. Right now, I’m standing in a shower that feels almost perfect.
The steady rhythm of water. The clean bite of soap.
Heat soaking into my skin. Later, there will be pad thai or pizza.
Maybe I’ll pull up the application for the new position and work on it, remind myself I’m moving forward.
These are the things I can hold onto.
After the shower, I pull on soft pajamas and pad into the living room. Ben’s kneeling by the coffee table, arranging takeout containers. I open the one with my name on it.
Salad.
I pause, a flicker of disappointment lighting up in my chest. I close the lid again and smooth my expression into place. It’s fine. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t make a thing out of it. This is what I deserve for not choosing.
I grab a fork and sit anyway, telling myself the same thing I’ve been telling myself all night.
I can handle this.
“Long day today?” he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“Yeah.” My fingers fidget as I speak. “The patients were extra grouchy today. But I did get some surprising news.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Oh yeah? What kind of news?”
“Dr. Faier told me there’s an opening for Director in the new neuro unit. He said I should think about taking the job.”
Ben freezes mid-bite. “Director?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a big deal. I didn’t even know he noticed my work like that.”
He takes a slow sip of beer, eyes fixed on the TV even though it’s muted. “Huh. That’s… interesting.”
I wait for him to say something more, some kind of ‘That’s great, Rach,’ or ‘I’m proud of you.’ But he doesn’t.
So I fill the silence before I can overthink and ruin the moment. “It would be more responsibility, sure, but it could be a good experience. And I’d get to work more directly with the neuro patients and their recovery. That’s my favorite part of the job, you know?”
“Mm.” He sets his beer down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “That sounds like a lot of stress, though. You already come home exhausted most nights.”
“It’d be an adjustment,” I admit, feeling the edges of my smile start to slip. “But maybe it’s time I push myself a little.”
Ben lets out a small laugh, edged with something I can’t quite name. “Rach, you say that every time you take on something extra. And then you burn yourself out and get anxious. Remember last spring? You barely slept for a week.”
I look down at my plate, the fork still in my hand. “That was different.”
“Was it?” He leans back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch.
His tone stays light, almost teasing. “You just—you get so emotionally invested. Don’t get me wrong, that’s what makes you good at what you do, but it’s also what drains you.
Leadership isn’t really your thing, babe. You’re more of a one-on-one person.”
I swallow hard, the salad suddenly dry in my throat. “Dr. Faier seemed to think otherwise.”
“He’s probably just being nice. You’ve been through a lot. People want to encourage you.”
The flicker of pride that had warmed in my chest cools fast, replaced by something heavy and familiar. I push my plate away, my appetite suddenly gone.
“Yeah,” I say finally, forcing a small laugh. “You’re probably right. It was just nice to hear, I guess.”
Ben smiles clearly satisfied with himself, and reaches for another slice. “See? No need to overthink it. You’re good where you are.”
I nod, staring at the TV screen without registering it. The muted light flashes across the room, casting shifting shadows over his face.
Ben is right. I shouldn’t even be thinking about applying for that promotion.
I don’t have the patience, the stamina, or whatever it takes to keep people in line without snapping or shutting down.
I’d probably overthink every little decision until I collapse from exhaustion.
Or worse, I’d make the wrong call and everyone would notice, and everyone would blame me.
I’m too soft, too easily flustered. I don’t have the kind of confidence that comes naturally to people like him, people who can command a room without even trying. I can try to be strong, to be capable, but maybe I’ll always come up short.
And he is right, last spring I tried to step up. I filled in for Dr. Faier while he was on paternity leave for a month. The first two weeks were fine. But in the third week, a new patient arrived, and I’ll never forget him.
Chris was a twenty-eight year old, survivor of a head-on car accident. He was learning to walk again after his accident. He had sandy blond hair and a round face, but when I looked at him, all I could see was Josh. And it was too much for me to handle.
“What do you wanna do after this? We could start that documentary unless you’re too tired.”
I hesitate to respond, suddenly desperate for some alone time.
“I’m kind of wiped,” I say, offering a small smile. “Maybe just a quiet night? I’ve been meaning to catch up on my reading.”
“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”
“I actually found this new study,” I start, perking up a little.
“It was on regenerative hip replacements and the effectiveness of water aerobics in recovery. The results were kind of incredible. Patients regained mobility weeks earlier than projected, especially the ones who started low-impact movement within the first seventy-two hours post-op.”
I glance at him, hoping for a spark of interest. Ben nods slowly, then takes another bite of pizza.
“That’s nice, babe,” he says, eyes still on his plate.
I let out a soft breath and fold my hands in my lap.
“Anyway,” I murmur, trying to tuck the enthusiasm back down. I wipe my hands on a dish towel, grab my book from the shelf and turn toward the hallway. “I think I’m going to read for a bit,” I say softly.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be in later,” he replies, already halfway tuned out.
I linger a moment longer, watching him from the edge of the kitchen, but his eyes never leave the TV. I turn off the light and walk down the hall toward my room.
“Oh, Rach?” His voice catches me just before I disappear down the hall. I turn back, stepping into the doorway so he can see my face, my hands still wrapped around my book. For a split second, I let myself hope this is where he says he is proud of me. Or says anything meaningful at all.
“Hmm?”
“I forgot to mention, I’ve got guys’ night tomorrow.” He scratches his jaw, already halfway past the conversation. “Probably won’t be home till late. Probably won’t be sober.”
He says it like he’s reminding me to take the trash out.
Guys’ night. Again. I press my tongue to the back of my teeth and nod once, the way I always do. The way I’ve practiced.
“Okay.”
“That’s cool with you, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, because that’s the answer he is waiting for. Then, because something in my chest stretches too much to ignore, I add, “I just—sometimes I wish we spent more time together. Just us.”
He exhales through his nose. “We were just hanging out, babe.” The word babe lands flat. “I asked if you wanted to watch something, but you wanted to read.”
I let out a small laugh, soft enough to smooth things over. Of course, how stupid am I? I should have known he wouldn’t understand. I back out of the room before the laugh can turn into anything else.
“I’m going to bed.”
He doesn’t answer.
I stay on my side of the bed, facing the wall. The faint hum of traffic drifts through the window, never quite loud enough to drown out my thoughts.
I stare at the cracks in the ceiling. The thin, branching lines I know by heart. I trace them with my eyes, the same way I do on nights like this. Nights where I can’t tell if I’m being dramatic. When my thoughts swirl in my head, and I wonder if wanting more means I’m asking for too much.
Or if I’ve just gotten very good at wanting less.
I pick up my phone and read the message from Rhett one more time. Wanna meet up for coffee sometime this week?
I know saying yes to him is the biggest mistake I’m going to make. He is going to ruin the quiet I’ve been hiding in. He is going to alter my life the same way he did when I met him twelve years ago. And somehow, not a single part of me cares.