by Iris Trovao
Sorry, I just assumed you texted because you wanted to talk about it, he sent back. He tapped over to add her to his contacts, so he could put some kind of name in. The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to ask her what her name was, but he wasn’t sure that a strange middle-aged man should be asking a young woman for her name. At least he assumed she was young, considering her vernacular.
Unsure of how to proceed, he simply typed in Jane. As if on cue, she replied.
Jane: I do and I don’t. I don’t know why I texted you.
Jane: Actually, I do.
Jane: My husband stood me up, and my only friend is his sister, so I can’t really bitch to her about it.
The texts came rapidly, and he ate his soup as he digested the information.
Jane: But like you don’t need to listen to a stranger fucking complaining right?
Jane: You should probs just block my number.
Jane: I’m unstable and clingy and annoying.
Carson tore off a piece of his bun and dunked it in the broth. He ignored her self-depreciating texts and typed back, Ah. That is a tough situation. What was his excuse?
Jane: No excuse, he’s just not answering his phone.
Jane: At least he made the reservation on his credit card so I can rack up a giant alcohol bill.
He barked a laugh, blushing a little when one of the cafeteria workers glanced at him, her eyebrow raised. He smiled and pointed to the soup bowl, giving a thumbs up, and she nodded, turning back to her work.
You should eat something, too, he sent back.
Jane: Are you my fuckin mother?
Carson blinked at his phone. Sass, indeed.
I’m a doctor, he typed back. Don’t drink on an empty stomach.
He mopped up the rest of the broth with the last of his bun while he waited for a reply.
Jane: Sure, doc. What’s better, shrimp alfredo or chicken parmesan?
He chewed thoughtfully. At least she’d gotten stood up at a nice restaurant, if those options were any indication.
Pasta will soak up the alcohol better. Wasn’t this common knowledge? He wondered just how inexperienced she was. If she was married, she was most likely at least in her twenties. He couldn’t help but worry a little about this woman, drinking alone somewhere, when just the night before she’d almost been overrun by a drunk man. Although, it was possible that hadn’t been the truth, but something to spur on her friend Alicia to go and get her.
Still, Carson knew the dangers of being a young woman alone in the city. He’d never been a young woman himself, of course, but he’d seen many horrors over his time as a doctor, especially working in the ER. Where was her husband? Especially on Valentine’s Day.
Jane: Lol
Jane: I’m just gonna get dessert. Chocolate will help me.
He picked up his egg salad sandwich as he typed back, Scientifically, chocolate stimulates the part of the brain that reacts to love, so it probably will help you emotionally at least.
He took a bite, and wished he had some chocolate. It was Valentine’s Day, after all. Maybe he’d treat himself to a candy bar from the vending machine on the way back to work.
Jane: Haha, it’s sad that this cake can make me feel more in love than my husband does.
Jane: OMG I’m such a depressing loser. Please block my number.
Jane: You don’t need my shit, esp when you probably have vday plans.
Carson shook his head. Depressing loser? He couldn’t help but feel a pang in his own chest. He wondered if his wife had even looked at the roses he’d sent her.
He pictured what it would be like, sitting in a nice restaurant with this mystery girl, exchanging banter over a delicious dinner, focusing on one another instead of literally anything else that could distract people.
I’m actually working tonight, he sent back. Despite her wearing her heart on her sleeve, he didn’t think he needed to be getting into his own bag of worms right now.
Jane: Lol all work and no play for the doctor. You standing up your wife right now?
Without thinking, he typed out She won’t mind. She’s probably screwing her boyfriend right now. As soon as his thumb hit send, his eyes widened and he gaped at the phone. Hadn’t he just decided not to get into his own drama? He immediately wished he could delete it, take it back, but her three little dots already hovered. She’d seen it.
Chapter Three
Jolie blinked down at her phone, her fork halfway to her mouth, covered in chocolate cake. She set it down and typed back, Jesus, your life is just as depressing as mine.
As she finally took her bite, two texts buzzed in quick succession.
Tweedledick: I don’t know why I told you that.
Tweedledick: Sorry.
Jolie shrugged as she chewed the dark chocolatey goodness, rolling it around in her mouth. It’s easy telling a stranger all of your problems, she sent back. And it was. She didn’t know this guy—this doctor—and he didn’t know her. She had nobody to talk to about her marital woes in real life, her only real friend being her husband’s sister. It’s not like this stranger could bring the information back to anyone she knew. He didn’t even know her name.
Tweedledick: Do you have kids?
She barked a laugh through a mouthful of cake, spitting dark crumbs all over the white tablecloth. A woman at a table nearby wrinkled her nose, and Jolie stuck her tongue out, still covered in chocolate. The woman visibly gagged and turned back to her date, and Jolie couldn’t help the thrill that went up her spine at having disgusted her.
Fuck you and your date, staring at my pathetic ass all by myself on Valentine’s Day, she thought, and wiped her lips with her napkin before switching her phone to her right hand. God no, she texted back, I’d be a terrible mom!
Tweedledick: You can’t know that.
Jolie rolled her eyes and ran a finger through the thick icing on her plate and popped it in her mouth. I can’t take care of my husband, how could I take care of a fucking kid?
She chugged the rest of her white wine and caught the waiter’s eye before raising and wiggling her now-empty glass.
Tweedledick: I’ve heard that kids are easier than husbands.
Jolie grinned stupidly at her phone, the alcohol finally doing its job of dulling the ever-present ache in her chest. The waiter appeared with a fresh bottle and began to pour. When he stopped at halfway, she shook her head.
“Fill that sucker up,” she instructed. “Save yourself the extra trips.”
He stared down his nose at her, but responded in a polite customer service tone. “Very good, ma’am.”
She scoffed under her breath at the title, but he had already disappeared. LOL you’re probably right, she sent back to the doctor. You got kids? While she waited for his response, she changed the name on his contact.
Dr. Tweedledick: Yeah
Of course he had kids. He was a doctor. He probably had a big, beautiful mansion, with a gorgeous wife and three straight-A student kids and a Golden Retriever. Maybe they even had a nanny or a maid or whatever that helped the kids with their homework while daddy worked his fancy-pants hospital job and mommy was out fucking her mistress.
Instead of being an outward bitch, she sent, Do you like it? and finished off her cake while she waited. The woman she’d distracted at the table nearby leapt up from her seat with an excited squeal.
“Ugh, perfect,” Jolie muttered, taking another deep gulp of wine as the woman extended her hand to her date, now on one knee before her. He slid a ring on her finger with a rock so huge that Jolie had to squint against the blinding sparkle.
There was a smattering of applause as the young couple embraced and kissed. He dipped her back over his arm with a flourish, and it was Jolie’s turn to wrinkle her nose with disgust. She couldn’t pinpoint when in her life other people’s happiness began to make her stomach sour, but it was for sure a thing now.
Dr. Tweedledick: I like being a father better than being a doctor.
Jolie snicker
ed, eyeing the now-weeping woman flashing her hand around to show off her ring. She quickly typed, And husband? and stared at her own rings in distaste. She knew she shouldn’t judge someone else for their choice of gaudy jewellery, considering the amount of intricate diamonds on both her engagement ring and wedding band.
John had designed them himself. The damn romantic he’d been, back then.
Dr. Tweedledick: I’ve heard being a doctor is easier than being a husband.
She snorted. Lol heard huh? No personal experience there? She drowned the pang of guilt from the jab in another few gulps of wine, and scraped the last of the chocolate icing remnants from her plate.
Dr. Tweedledick: You sure laugh a lot for somebody so depressed.
Ouch, Jolie thought, but she couldn’t deny he was right. Plus, she deserved a comment like that after her own stab at his weakness. It almost felt good to be mean, and have somebody be mean back. She never got to see John enough to bitch at him for not seeing him enough, and she doubted he’d even put up a fight. He probably didn’t care enough.
You sure don’t laugh enough for a doctor who’s married with kids, she sent back, giving up on her scraping with the fork and resorting to using her finger to clean the plate of chocolate instead.
Dr. Tweedledick: Lol
She rolled her eyes and sent back a tongue-face emoji. I’m not actually laughing when I say that, it’s just an expression. She hit send, then quickly added, Anyway, shouldn’t you be like doctoring people?
She licked her finger, the plate finally cleaned completely of cake, and immediately wished she had another piece. She took another gulp of wine instead.
Dr. Tweedledick: I’m on dinner break. It’s slow right now anyway, but it’ll pick up this evening once everyone’s Valentine’s Day gifts go haywire.
Jolie raised an eyebrow, and sent back Vday is a busy night for doctors?
Dr. Tweedledick: I’m sure I’ll be pulling more than one foreign object out of an ass tonight.
She choked on her mouthful of wine, somehow managing to bark a laugh and snort the cold liquid through her nose at the same time.
Dr. Tweedledick: That was inappropriate. Sorry.
Dr. Tweedledick: Really, sorry.
Jolie wiped her face with her napkin, giggling like a little kid. As she wiped her phone screen free of droplets, she noticed the newly-engaged woman glaring at her again.
“What?” Jolie drawled, rolling her eyes again. “If you’re going to have a happy marriage, learn how to laugh, for fuck sakes.” I’m one to talk, she thought, and ignored the woman’s huff of indignation to pick up her phone again.
LMFAO, no apologies, Dr. Foreign Object, she sent back. PS I actually did laugh that time. Spit wine everywhere. Offended some people.
Dr. Tweedledick: Well, there’s that at least.
Jolie chugged down the rest of her glass and sent, I’m not your patient, you can talk about asses with me. She got up from her seat and slipped her coat back on, wavering slightly from all the alcohol.
“Anything else for you, ma’am?” the waiter asked, appearing out of nowhere.
She startled, whipping around to face him and nearly falling ass over teakettle. “Jesus, no.” She calmed her racing heart and fumbled with the buttons on her coat.
“No coffee?” he offered, and she glared at him.
“No, thank you,” she said through gritted teeth, offering him more of a sneer than a smile. “Thank you for the exemplary service. Add a hundred bucks on top of whatever your tip is on the bill.” She waved a hand at him, and he blinked, his face a mask of shock as he bowed slightly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and backed away.
Jolie’s phone buzzed and she looked down at it on the table as she slipped her purse over her arm.
Dr. Tweedledick: I don’t even know your name or your age. I should most certainly NOT be talking about asses with you.
She picked up her phone and quickly shot back, So it’s okay to talk about your cheating wife but not asses?
Dr. Tweedledick: I shouldn’t have been talking about that, either.
Dr. Tweedledick: My break is up.
Jolie sighed as she headed for the door, and before calling a cab, sent back, Thanks for keeping me company for dinner, doc.
Chapter Four
Carson sighed as he approached the vending machine down the hall from his office, still feeling a little shellshocked from everything he’d said to Jane earlier in the evening. He didn’t talk about his wife with anyone, only in passing to his coworkers if they ever mentioned his family. And when it happened, he always steered the conversation to his daughters. Lily and Rose were the most important things in the world to him.
But his relationship with Gina…maybe he needed to look into how to scrub these messages from his phone somehow. He couldn’t help but admit to himself that he liked talking to this girl, whoever she was, but it was dangerous how easy it was to tell her things.
Realistically, it wasn’t as if she knew who he was. Even if she were to tell someone, or leak screenshots or something, there were probably tons of other doctors out there with two kids and wifely issues. It’s not like it would be immediately traced back to him.
He scratched the back of his head and pumped some coins into the machine, punching a few buttons. A gold-wrapped candy bar thunked down into the front of the machine and he bent to liberate it.
He couldn’t believe he’d talked to Jane about asses. He hadn’t made a joke that gross since med school. Their banter had been so natural that he’d felt younger, more carefree again, and it just came out. He didn’t really have an excuse for why he’d hit send—it was much easier to think before texting than it was before talking.
He tore open the wrapper and bit into the candy bar, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head at the sweetness on his tongue. He knew he shouldn’t eat stuff like this. It was total garbage for his body, but damn if he couldn’t indulge in a little pleasure now and then. He’d tried to resist the craving from the talk of chocolate cake earlier, but it was a losing battle.
He folded over the wrapper and shoved the rest of the candy bar into his pocket so he could enjoy it in the privacy of his office. His phone buzzed as he opened the door.
Jane: I can’t sleep. I need to know if you pulled something out of an ass.
Carson flattened his palm against his forehead with a deep sigh as he closed the door behind him. He collapsed into his chair and typed back, I should have blocked your number when you told me to. He hovered over the send button, then decided that she probably would think it was funny and not offensive, and pushed it.
As he unwrapped the rest of his treat, he leaned over his phone on his desk to read her reply.
Jane: You totally still should. AFTER you tell me about your night.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a bite. No foreign objects tonight, thankfully. After sending that, he quickly added, And I’m not supposed to discuss my patients.
Jane: Oh come on, you don’t have to tell me who it is, goody two shoes!
Jane: Just tellll me! If you don’t I won’t sleep!
He checked the time. 1:33 am. He was amazed that she was still awake, considering she’d talked about drinking so much at dinner. How hadn’t she passed out by now?
Jane: I’ll be imagining you elbow deep in someone’s ass! Do you want that on your conscience?!?!
He gaped at the phone, shaking his head back and forth slowly. You’re a very strange girl, he finally sent back, rubbing his chin in exasperation.
Jane: I’ve been told that. Don’t change the subject.
Carson sighed. There weren’t any asses, he sent, wincing at the use of his words. Hadn’t he just been thinking about how he should figure out how to scrub their phones of this conversation? Here he was, perpetuating it. But there was a woman who fainted when her boyfriend proposed to her, and accidentally stabbed herself with a fork on the way down, he sent, hoping that would entertain her enough.
/>
It had been a grisly scene, but he couldn’t help but find it kind of ridiculous. What a story to tell their future grandchildren.
Jane: OMFG! How does that even happen?!?!
He chuckled, shaking his head as he took another bite of his candy bar. I have no idea, he sent back, but there was a fork wound in her cheek.
Jane: I wish I’d have been at that restaurant instead!!!
“Good lord,” he muttered through a mouthful of chocolate, shaking his head, but couldn’t get rid of the smile on his face at her excitement—and the fact that he’d caused it. You’re morbid, he sent back.
Jane: You’re the one telling me about it.
He pursed his lips. You’re the one obsessed with asses, he replied.
Jane: Asses are great.
Jane: Prude.
Carson drew his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned back in his chair, staring at his phone. He shook his head and shot back, I think I might be older than you. He popped the last of the candy bar in his mouth, leaving the wrapper sitting on a stack of paperwork that he likely wasn’t going to get to tonight.
Jane: Never too old to enjoy asses. You’re just a fucking prude.
“Language, Miss Jane,” he muttered, raising his gaze to the ceiling as he chewed over the fact that this woman could be closer in age to his daughters than to him. And this conversation wasn’t getting any more appropriate than when it had started.
How drunk are you? He hit send and sighed. He was glad that at least she was at home in bed, safe—or at least he assumed so, since it was so late and she’d talked about not being able to sleep.
Jane: Drunk enough to be fantasizing about sexy doctors.
His heart skipped a beat.
“Ooooh, bad Doctor Wessex!” Patricia hissed from the doorway.
Carson dropped his phone with a clatter, guilty eyes flying to the nurse. His heart leapt into his throat. Inappropriate conversations with a woman that wasn’t his wife, and now—
“Eating sugar!” Patricia wagged a finger at him, and relief suddenly flooded his veins when his brain finally caught up with the logic of the situation. Of course she didn’t know what he’d been doing.
