by Sarah Adams
I’m pelting him with popcorn one by one. They are tiny buttery canons. Drew pulls his hood up to protect his face and scrunches his body into a ball. His laugh is incredible. I’m submerged like I’ve jumped into warm lake water in the summer. I float on my back and smile up at the blue sky.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. It’s just too easy. My female friends are always so weirded out by my profession.”
I force myself to swallow a piece of popcorn and then choke out a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s because it’s sort of weird that you’re a young, h—” The word hot dies on the tip of my tongue. Drew definitely heard where that was going though because his brows rise in conceited question. “Hhhhhappenin’ kind of guy.”
He frowns and meets my gaze, the lightheartedness from a moment ago dimming. “So because I’m young and happenin’ I’m not allowed to care about women’s health? Like I went through all those years of undergrad, medical school, and residency all so I could look at women’s bodies whenever I want?”
Well, I guess when he puts it like that…
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before blowing out a breath and shaking his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to jump down your throat about that. I guess sometimes I just get sick of the stigma, the idea that I’m a creep for going into gynecology—but it’s fair. I get it that it’s uncomfortable to some people.” Why do I get the feeling there’s so much more going on under the surface of this conversation?
I shift in my seat, pulling my legs up under me just to have something to do. “So, why did you choose this career then?”
Drew’s eyes snag on mine, and his brows pull low. Not in an angry way, just skeptical. Like he can’t believe I actually care. “When I was doing my rotations early on in medical school, the labor and delivery unit was where I felt the most joy. Honestly, so much of the medical field is doom and gloom, death and dying, prescribing and fixing. But women’s health deals mostly in preventative measures, and it revolves so much around life and family. From the first birth I attended, I’ve thought it was the most incredible experience to get to be a part of, and for me, it’s the greatest honor to work alongside women to bring their babies into the world.” He pauses and shrugs. “This is the only field of medicine I’ve ever felt so much hope in.”
Hearing the conviction in his voice, the sincerity and gentleness—I completely believe him. More than that, I feel like I know him in a new way. I can see the vulnerability behind his eyes, and it tugs at me.
“Okay,” I say simply with a quiet smile. “You’ve won me over. I mean, you’ll never be my OB-GYN because that would just be a very odd boundary to cross for roommates, but you’ve made me feel more comfortable with your occupation.”
“Really?” It’s cute the way his brow crinkles.
“Yeah.” And I mean it. His reasons hit home with me, and I think it was probably unfair and ignorant of me to assume he had any other motives. “Is that why you’re single? I mean other than your severe and crippling obnoxiousness? Are women not comfortable dating you since you’re an OB?”
I give a taunting grin and he mimics it, shifting so he sinks a little further into the armchair. He looks oddly relaxed. We’ve never let our guards down this much around each other before, and I have to admit, I like seeing him like this. I like knowing he wears this black hoodie any time he can. It’s so worn out the white logo on the front is peeling and cracking.
“It’s definitely been an issue.”
“How much of an issue?”
“Like I rarely get a second date kind of issue.” His finger runs along the seam of the armchair, and his eyes track its journey. “Over my last dinner date, I finally told the woman I was a gynecologist, and she did a spit take with her water. It was dramatic, but I also sort of understand the reaction.”
“I’m sorry. That must really suck to devote your life to women’s healthcare and then not have a relationship because of it.”
He shrugs. “Eh, not a big deal. I’m busy a lot, so I don’t have much time to sit and care about it. I figure my career won’t bother the right woman. She’ll trust me.”
Something pokes me in the chest saying I’m not really bothered by his career, but I choose not to give it attention. Instead I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Wow, would you look at that? We’ve gone ten minutes without fighting. I think that’s a record.” My voice sounds too much like I belong on The Truman Show and am trying to act natural.
“And your flush has finally worn off.” He just had to go and mention that.
I touch my fingers to my cheeks, begging them to behave. “Yep. Told you—nothing to worry about.”
He’s silent a minute. Staring. His eyes softly blink, and his mouth is resting in a neutral line. He looks like he’d be comfortable to stay like this forever. I need him to look away.
“I’m sorry about overreacting earlier,” he tells me. “I—uh—had a tough day at work, so I guess worst-case scenarios were fresh on my mind.”
This moment is so tender, and quiet. I’m scared to speak too loudly. It’ll pop whatever this is, and the vulnerability I see in Drew will be gone.
“It’s okay. I imagine it’s difficult knowing you’re responsible for so many people.”
His eyes are still connected with mine, zeroed in, ignoring any sign of life around us. He nods slowly. “Oddly though, I’ve always felt that way. Even before becoming a doctor, my family, friends, Lucy…they all look to me for assistance, or guidance, or protection. It’s just been my role in life.” He says it and I hear what he’s not saying: Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. I feel for him. I’ve never been the one who seems to have it all together, so I can only imagine how hard it would be to carry the responsibility of being dependable. “Everyone except you, that is.”
“Except me?” My heart rate increases. My palms sweat. I’m afraid he can see right through me.
“From the moment we met, you’ve been adamant that you don’t need me. Not even for friendship. I haven’t decided how I feel about that yet.”
“Well…” Any sort of witty comeback shrivels up in my mind, and I’m left with nothing. A giant blank. His dark eyes pull me in, and I’m terrified I’m going to blurt out the truth I’ve kept gagged and chained in the back dark corner of my heart. Say something! Anything but the truth: I’m scared to need you.
“So you thought I had preeclampsia?”
He looks disappointed by my shift in conversation. “It’s always something to be aware of in your third trimester.” He pauses a second, and I can see the moment he shifts fully into the role of medical provider. “That condition doesn’t run in your family, does it? Like your mom never had it, did she?”
Everything freezes.
No. No, no, no.
This question triggers me every single time I’m asked it, because the truth is, I know very little about my family, let alone their health records. All I have are the small bits my grandaddy can offer me, but that’s it. And just like that, I feel all the walls in my heart begin to shoot back up. Self-preservation is an instinct I can’t shake, and it’s kicking in in the form of fight or flight right now.
“Not sure,” I say, pointing toward the TV and trying to signal Drew to pick something already. “How about that one?”
“You’ve never talked to her about it?”
“Nope. Hey, how about a Seinfeld rerun? That could be fun.”
“It’s important. You should ask her sometime.”
I clench my hands around the popcorn bowl, feeling that familiar anger snap inside me. “Hmm, well, do you have a good way of summoning the dead that I don’t know about?” I let my eyes slide to Drew and see the moment his lips part. He looks floored.
“Damn. I’m sorry, Jessie. I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine.” Aka It’s not fine, now shut up please.
I nod toward the TV again, but he doesn’t choose anything yet.
“How long ago did she—”
“Okay,
listen.” I whip my head in his direction. “We’re not talking about my family. Not now, not ever. Got it?”
Now Drew sits up straighter. Both of our spines are slowly growing stiff as boards. “Why are you getting so pissed off right now? I’m sorry I asked about your mom, but I truly didn’t know—”
“But see, that’s the problem with you! You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and continually try to fix people or make decisions for them when they never asked for you to. You act like this is your role in life, but it’s a self-appointed role. Some people don’t want or need to be fixed. I’m not your patient.”
He expels a heavy breath and runs his hand through his hair, and it sticks up on the right side. I want to curse him for making himself look even sexier while I’m angry at him.
“Is this how it’s always going to be? You biting my head off about everything? I mean, geez, Jessie. I was trying to have one freaking conversation with you, get to know you the smallest amount, and you can’t even handle that.”
I can feel my expression harden, because he’s right. We were almost friends. I was on the verge of letting him in, and I absolutely don’t want to let that happen. “Yeah, this whole thing was a bad idea. We’re not friends, and I don’t like you, so let’s just quit pretending.”
His midnight blue eyes pierce me, and for a moment, he looks shaken. “I wasn’t pretending. I was trying to give us a shot at being civil to each other.”
I stand up from the couch—slowly, because my belly makes power exits difficult—but I eventually manage it. “Well, you can give that dream up right now. I don’t need any more friends. I’m full up, thanks. Let’s get through your stupid fundraiser, and once my house is fixed, I’ll go back home, and we can each forget the other ever existed.”
“You sure know how to make a guy feel good,” he calls over his shoulder as I storm toward the stairs. “You forgot your popcorn, Oscar.”
“Tell you what, just go ahead and shove it up your butt, Dr. Stuck-up.”
“You need a new insult. That one is worn out.”
I make it all the way upstairs before I let myself cry. I hate crying. It makes me feel weak and broken. I’ve felt that way too many times in my life, and I’m sick of it.
But when I wipe my tears away and fling open the door to my bedroom, I’m instantly reminded of my obnoxious, nosey, prying roommate. “ANDREW!” I yell and then jump when his voice sounds right behind me, hands gripping my biceps to gently move me out of the way. Unwanted chills fly over my skin. His body brushes against mine as he passes me in the door frame, and honestly, I’m a little shocked. Part of me expected him to storm out of the house for the night since I was so rude to him, but he was already on his way up here without me having to ask.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m moving them out. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”
I grin mockingly up at him. “Why not, when you make it look so appealing?”
We stare for two long seconds, mimicking each other’s frightening, lunatic smiles, until Drew’s eyes lower to my mouth. My stomach drops down to my feet, and I take a retreating step back.
Haven’t I scared him off yet?
I didn’t sleep at all last night. I’m a dead man walking, and I feel that metaphor in so many ways. All night my thoughts circled around Jessie, looking at our conversation from every angle and wondering what I should have done differently. I spooked her, jumped too many steps ahead at once. I felt a tinge of friendship and got greedy. I wanted it all—to know everything. I would have stayed up all night downloading as much information from her as she’d have allowed.
My own desire to know her sort of shocked me. I didn’t realize until the moment I was given a morsel of kindness how much I’ve been repressing my hope of…friendship…a relationship…a civil acquaintance with Jessie? I don’t know what to call it. Some mix of all of those.
Now, I’m in the kitchen making breakfast, and Jessie hasn’t come out of her room yet for the day. I heard her come down around 1 AM and watch TV, still struggling with insomnia. I listened to that entire episode of Seinfeld trying to get up the courage to go out and talk to her again or sit down beside her and finally watch together like we had planned.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’ll hide away all day. She’ll punish me for trying to push the line. Get back over there in the ‘I hate you’ zone. I don’t want to be in that zone anymore. I don’t want to fight so much. Those few minutes of real conversation were not enough, and it only scratched the surface of what I want from her. Now, I feel like digging, uncovering everything I can about Jessie. I’m an archeologist, and all I need is someone to get me a shovel and one of those little dust brushes.
I crack four eggs, whisk them, and pour them into the pan. They sizzle and pop, and their aroma fills the air. I scramble them around in the pan, and just as I’m dumping them out onto a plate, I hear footsteps behind me. It’s Jessie. My heart hammers, and for reasons I don’t fully understand yet, I feel like smiling at the sight of her here in the kitchen. She’s not punishing me.
She’s wearing a pair of jeans and a simple tight grey t-shirt, her bump sticking out like a little basketball. I look at her, and she looks at me. She blinks, I blink. Since she doesn’t make an attempt to say anything, I don’t dare speak either. I don’t know what I would say, honestly. I’m sorry? I’m not. I do want to know about Jessie’s mom, and her dad, and her family, and what her favorite color is, and if she had to have braces in high school, and if she stays all the way to the end of the movie credits or gets up and rushes out before the line builds up.
I watch Jessie’s eyes drop to the eggs on the plate I’m holding, and I see the desire in them. I grab another plate out of the cabinet and slide half of my portion onto it. She watches closely with a hesitant brow. Trying not to make any sudden movements, I set the plate down and slide it across the counter toward Jessie. Her lips press together as she surveys the scrambled eggs, like if she accepts them, she’s accepting more than just breakfast. She’s right. It’s a peace treaty in the form of squishy, delicious, yellow proteins.
Never has my kitchen felt so quiet and yet so loud at the same time. I can hear her breathing. I can hear my own heart beating in my ears. Something is different between us today, and every cell in my body is hyperaware of it. Neither of us is saying anything, but I don’t feel like we have to. This is our truce. We do nothing but bicker and fight, and this is us saying, Let’s not ruin anything with words today.
Jessie delicately picks up the plate and then lifts a bite of eggs to her full, soft pink lips. She grins around the fork, and I’m mesmerized as I allow myself to watch her with new eyes. I’ve always had a filter around Jessie, a yeah-she’s-cute-but-her-heart-is-cold-as-ice lens I viewed every encounter with her through. Now, I’m seeing her without it, and there’s vulnerability, and fear, and a painful childhood. There’s humor and strength, and playfulness. Now that I’ve taken off that filter, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put it back on. Jessie is starting to make sense to me, and she’s only becoming more beautiful as she comes into focus.
We both finish our breakfast in silence, practically staring at each other the entire time, and it’s oddly the most comfortable I’ve been in forever. She has to get closer to me to put her plate in the sink after she finishes her eggs. My back is leaning against the portion of counter just beside it, and I’m not going to move. Jessie comes forward slowly, one foot in front of the other like she can sense this thing humming between us and is scared to get too close. I watch her every step of the way, and she watches me. Without words to distract us, we’re each highly aware of the other.
The hairs on my arms stand on end when she sets her plate in the sink and her arm brushes against mine. She pauses beside me, both of us facing different directions, and slowly her eyes rise to mine. I hold my breath. What now? her gaze asks.
I shrug lightly and smile.
She smiles too, and it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s lig
ht filtering into a desolate, damp cave. It’s the first taste of watermelon in summer. It’s a monarch butterfly landing on your finger.
And just like those things, it’s fleeting.
I’m staring at her mouth when her smile fades. She backs up, nods briefly, grabs her keys off the counter, and leaves the house. All I can do is frown at the front door and spend the rest of the day obsessing over this silent interaction. I’ll replay it a hundred and two times in my head, trying to decipher if it meant something, but the truth is, it was probably nothing. Maybe I’ll wake up later and realize it was an odd dream. Either way, I know I won’t be able to look at Jessie the same after this.
“Shhhh, I think I hear the garage!” I tell Lucy, my not-so-willing partner in crime. You would think a friend would help another friend prank Drew out of the goodness of her heart, but no. I had to barter with a night of babysitting. Joke’s on her though, because I would have watched Levi regardless.
We both stop talking, registering the sound of a car pulling in, and we jump into position.
“This is not a drill! I repeat—not a drill!”
“Who are you yelling at like that? It’s only me!”
“I’m sorry! I’m just nervous. I really want to pull this off.”
Today, I’m trading my babysitting services for Lucy to play along and pretend to be my midwife. Here’s the trick: she’s not going to be a regular midwife. Oh no. She’s going to be my “birth guru”. Aka something we completely made up and intend to freak Drew out with.
Drew and I haven’t spoken to each other since the fight the other night. We have seen each other, though, and it’s been super unnerving. I don’t know if this is another one of our strange battles or something different, but we don’t talk to each other anymore. Literally. We interact, but only silently.
The morning after the fight, we had eggs together, and it felt like so much more. Can eating breakfast be sensual? Part of me thinks I’m losing my mind in this house and maybe he is too. It’s like a vortex that’s sucked us both in and is spitting us out slightly demented. Two days ago, one of Drew’s patients went into labor, so he didn’t get home until one in the morning. I wasn’t waiting up for him or anything, I just couldn’t sleep because of this crazy insomnia. But when he got home, he took one look at me on the couch, his eyes swept to the empty cushion beside me, and his brows rose in question. I nodded and he sat down. We never touched, never spoke, only watched TV side by side until we both fell asleep watching Seinfeld reruns.
