F I V E
“I am starving,” Hattie groans as she slams her body down into the chair behind the reception desk. The very desk I am leaning against while charting. Her fiery red hair is twisted up in a claw clip, that is the same salmon color as her scrubs. Hattie is a few years older than I am and one of the only nurses who doesn't wear a constant scowl or walk around treating people like bedpans.
I look up at the clock, noting that is it lunchtime.
“Me too,” I say. “I need to finish these though.”
“You want me to wait?”
I shake my head. “Go ahead, I'll catch up.”
Hattie grabs her clipboard and stands. “Better hurry,” she snickers. “I bet all that's left is tuna.”
I gag. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Hattie giggles as she goes.
I did need to finish one more chart, but I also wondered if Dr. Stevens—Ryan—would keep to his word about lunch. I should have told him no flat out for two very important reasons. The first is that he is my co-worker and the second is it will only take him ten minutes to realize I’m only good enough to be friend material. And how unfortunate it will be for the both of us when he comes to his senses, and we still have to see each other’s faces every day.
I can’t say for sure what possessed me to take the risk in the first place, but as I walk to the lunchroom, I remind myself that Ryan has always been kind. He’s never given me the vibe that he wasn't good to women or anyone else for that matter. It’s unfair of me to expect every man to be like the ones I've encountered but when you start picking up a pattern, it can be hard to break.
These thoughts made me think of Charlie, the real-life made-up man who stumbled back into my life when he had no business doing so. How he has managed to crawl under my skin and occupy far too much of my brain? It’s asinine at how much it bugs me that Charlie won’t talk to me about anything truly real. Anything about him .
“Banks?”
My body jolts in surprise.
He chuckles, reaching out to steady me. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”
Dressed in his white coat and all, is Dr. Stevens putting a pen in his pocket with a few patient files in his palm.
“This is a hospital, Dr. Stevens. You sneak up on the wrong person and it could mean death.”
His cheeks warm with a smile. “I apologize, Nurse Matsumara. Do you think you'll make it?”
I feel my pulse. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“Would you accept lunch as a formal apology and a remedy to your ailment?”
“Anything but tuna.”
“No tuna,” he nods. “Got it. Shall we?”
I drop the charade, letting him lead the way to the food line.
“Do you have a complete aversion to fish or just the tuna?”
“Will you think less of me if I say fish?”
“No,” he laughs. “Why would I? ”
I knew the answer, but I felt like not being that girl today.
“It’s healthy and I hate it.”
“I'm impartial myself,” he says. “I could do without it but don't necessarily hate it.”
“Even the smell makes my stomach turn. My dad makes this spicy tilapia that haunts my dreams.”
“Is he a cook?”
I shake my head. “He just loves to stink up the house with fishy things.”
“How does your mom feel about that?”
“She loves fish. It's not stinky to them.”
“Good point.”
Being a doctor, Ryan gets a little better menu choice. It's unofficial, but we all know they hold the good food for the doctors and let the nurses fight for scraps. He grabbed two sandwiches and a bag of potato chips before we went and snagged one of the lonely tables near the windows as the snow fell outside. Most people eat in random places in the hospital, and not many stay in the cafeteria for fear of seeing patients loved ones and being bombarded.
“What do you like to do when you aren't working?” Ryan unwraps his ham sandwich.
“I read a lot,” I admit. “You?”
“Study,” he grins. “I want to be offered the attending position here, so most of my free time is taken up by studying as of late.”
“You're a shoo-in,” I say. “No one wants to work with Dr. Kelper.”
Ryan softly snickers. “Thank you for saying that.”
“What else?” I probe .
“I like to ski.” He shrugs. “I used to go to Aspen with friends before life got so busy.”
“Is it as beautiful as people say?”
“It's definitely something you should see before you die.”
“If I were to ever have the free time,” I tease.
He playfully leers in return. “Of course.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, chewing contently, suddenly catching a glimpse of Stacey out of the corner of my eye. She's a thin, blonde pediatrics nurse who has had her eye on Ryan since he stepped foot in the door. She has a brow cocked and arms crossed with her salad container hanging from her manicured nails.
“Can I ask you a question?” I clear my throat, attempting to ignore Stacey’s eyes burning a hole in my forehead.
“Of course,” he says again.
“Without sounding very insecure and equally pathetic— why out of everyone —are you interested in me?”
Ryan stares for a moment.
“It’s just—I'm not exactly… your type, am I?”
“What would lead you to believe that?” He rests his elbow on the table, wiping some crumbs from his lips with a napkin.
My eyes narrow. “I'm really not looking for you to flatter me, I am...” I murmur. “I'm just… surprised and trying to understand what it is you’re looking for.”
“You keep saying that,” he comments. “But I don't see how it's surprising. You are gorgeous, Banks. And from what I've observed, a wonderful nurse. You’re kind to your co-workers, you treat your paitents with dignity and you’re pretty hilarious even if you aren't trying to be,” he says. “Has someone told you otherwise? Because you are very much someone I would like to get to know.”
My jaw unhinges, and he presses another elbow to the table, leaning toward me.
“You've only dated boys, haven't you?” His tone darkens with the bold assumption.
I swallow, feeling a gnawing at the back of my throat. “I haven't had the best luck,” I divulge, barely finding words.
“I'm sorry,” he breathes. “Hopefully, you'll let me change that.” His eyes fall heavy like he actually means it. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow.”
I inhale deeply, processing.
“You mean like wear something other than scrubs?”
Ryan laughs. “If you wish. I don't care either way.”
“Alright,” I sigh. “That settles it. Scrubs it is.”
He smirks. “Then we have a date?”
“Okay, Dr. Stevens,” I nod. “It's a date.”
A throat clears causing the two of us to look to our right. Chewing on his cheek with wet hair pressed against his forehead and still wearing his stocking apron, is Charlie.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Charlie mutters with his hands tucked behind his back.
“Charlie... What are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to talk.” His voice is muffled and uneven.
I notice Ryan shift across from me. “This is Dr. Stevens. Ryan, this is my friend Charlie.”
Ryan stands, offering Charlie a handshake, in which I see the brown bag he holds. He brought me a cupcake.
“Nice to meet you,” Ryan says. “You must have been the friend at Ikea doing the heavy lifting.”
Charlie lifts a brow .
“I ran into Ryan while getting us slushies,” I too stand, explaining.
“Too bad you couldn't have been the one to put her loveseat together,” Charlie says, the words comical, but the manner isn't. Ryan chuckles anyway, not knowing Charlie well enough to know the difference.
“Next time,” he utters. “I'll excuse myself.” Ryan then adds, “I'll find you later with details, Banks.”
“Sure,” I nod. “Thank you for lunch.”
“You're welcome.” Ryan smiles, picking up his trash and leaving us.
Charlie reluctantly replaces Ryan in the seat across from me as we both sit. “A date?”
“You're the one who said I needed a ‘real’ man,” I remind him.
Charlie rolls his neck, setting the bag on the table. “I came with a peace offering.”
“I see that.”
“I don't want to fight.”
“I know.”
“When is your date?”
“Tomorrow.”
Charlie glances over his shoulder like Ryan is still standing there. “With him though?”
“What's wrong with a doctor?” I scoff. “Most parents would be thrilled with their daughter dating a doctor, so would most friends.”
He hums, still unconvinced, but I know he won't press it further. His eyes fall on the bag I've yet to touch.
“It's dreamsicle.”
“I know,” I say again .
Normally, I would have launched for the bag, but I can't bring myself to do it. I don't even know why I am truly upset with Charlie; in reality, he's done nothing wrong. It's me expecting more than I should. I am desiring more of him than I have earned the right to.
“Are we okay?” He lowers his voice.
His eyes are heavy as we stare at one another.
Were we?
Yes… no.
Am I being completely ridiculous?
Also yes…
I exhale, finally reaching for the bag. “We’re fine.”
And we would be when I figured out how to stop blaming other people for my own problems.