“Are you serious?” he asks, his voice clipped, his eyes growing dark. I look down at his hands, clenched at his sides. I must have struck a nerve.
He probably pities me.
“Yes, really,” I say, pretending it doesn’t affect me. “I’m sorry I shared that. I don’t usually tell strangers my life story.” I glance up at him. “I don’t want your pity either,” I snarl. “I’m not broken.”
“I… I don’t. Pity doesn’t do shit. I just can’t fathom why your so-called friends would leave you when you need them the most. Those are the kinds of people I pity.” Jesse stops and takes a deep breath before adding, “They weren’t friends to begin with, you know?” His tone has changed to something I can only describe as sweet. I look down to find he’s no longer balling his hands into fists.
I nod. “I know that now.” I’ve learned that regardless of how tough things get, friends don’t leave you behind. Friends pick each other up. They should have called me out on my attitude– not abandoned me.
“Also, feel free to share anything you want with me. I’m not a stranger, remember. I’m your Good Doctor,” Jesse says, causing me to laugh out loud.
“Intern, you mean?” I correct.
“Good Intern, hopeful Good Doctor?” he says, smiling, and I’m afraid to admit I’m a little taken by him. A school girl crush—that’s what I’d call it.
“Maybe one day,” I tell him.
“Definitely one day.”
“You’re sure about that?” I don’t know that I’ve ever been as certain about anything as he seems to be about becoming a doctor.
“I’ve only been sure about one other thing in my life,” he says, his mood clearly darkening once again. I wonder what that other thing is and find myself about to ask when my mother walks back into the room.
“Ready to go?” she asks, unaware of the moment she’s just interrupted.
“Yep,” I tell her, getting up from the bed.
Jesse takes my elbow, gently guiding me off the edge of the mattress. “Good luck at home. If you need anything or feel like anything’s wrong, come straight to the ER. Don’t risk anything. A fever, a long-lasting headache, nausea, whatever it is. Come to the emergency room. And if you need anything else—don’t be afraid to let me know,” he says to me. He sounds like a parent making sure their child is aware that they can’t stay out past curfew—no excuses.
“Yes, Doctor,” I joke.
“Does she have your number, young man?” my mom asks, and I turn to glare at her. What the hell is she doing?
“She does not,” Jesse responds shyly.
Mom’s hands go straight to her hips as she successfully embarrasses me. “So how does she get in contact with you?”
“He was just saying that, Mom. He meant the hospital!”
“What? I mean, he said let him know.” She looks at me like it’s obvious that I need his personal phone number.
“That’s true, ma’am. I’ll write my number down, and you can give me a call if you need anything. Remember, I’m not a doctor—”
“Not yet,” I interrupt.
“I’m not a doctor yet, so if anything, head straight to the hospital.”
“Yes, sir,” I joke, glad we’ve moved past the awkward mom-getting-hot-guy’s-number-for-me moment.
“I’m serious, Zoe. Please be careful,” he says, handing me a piece of paper I didn’t realize he’d ripped from his notepad.
“She will be,” Mom answers on my behalf, smiling widely as she looks at the paper in my hand.
“Do you have any other questions? I may not have the answer, but I can ask someone that knows,” he says, looking at my mother first and then back at me.
“Are you an athlete?” she blurts out. The question has clearly been running through my mind, but I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask. Of course, my mother has no fear whatsoever—and no filter either.
“Yes, ma’am. How’d you know?” He looks directly at me, and I blush in response. From the corner of my eye, I catch my mother giving me a knowing look.
“Just wondering, sweetheart,” she says innocently.
“What sport do you play?” If we’re going to do this, we might as well go down the road fully.
“Football,” he answers, and I nod because that’s exactly what I expected him to play.
“What position?” I continue the conversation like my father isn’t waiting for Mom and me in the parking lot—like Jesse doesn’t have other patients to see and things to do.
“Kicker, actually.” I can’t stop my eyes from slowly shifting down to his legs. Football players have great bodies, but kickers have amazing legs. His scrubs don’t give much away, and I find myself wishing I’d run into him at the beach.
“From what I know about football, which isn’t much by the way, the kicker is really important. Field goals, punts, kickoffs and all,” I tell him, but it comes out more like a question, and his eyebrows rise in surprise.
“You know enough to know the right terminology. That’s more than most girls…” He coughs, “Sorry—people I meet.”
“Eh, you look like a football player, by the way,” I tell him and curse internally for letting those words escape my mouth.
He gives me a knowing smile. “I do? I hope that’s a compliment.”
“I don’t know. It could be.” I try to course correct, but it’s too late. I’ve complimented the guy, and there’s no way I can take it back.
“I’m sorry to cut your flirting short, but your dad just sent me seven text messages in a row. He’s getting impatient,” my mother says.
“Mom!” I shout. “Not flirting!”
“Of course you weren’t,” she says sarcastically.
Jesse apologizes, and I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks he’s making us late or if he considered what we were doing flirting.
“You have no reason to apologize,” I tell him. I enjoyed our conversation. There’s so much more about him I’d like to know, and I don’t understand why I find myself invested in him. Maybe it’s because he’s the only other person that’s around my age.
“You sure don’t,” Mom adds, looking up from her phone.
Argh, could this get any more awkward?
“We’ve got to go, Jesse. Mom is getting to the age where she can’t tell the difference between people talking and flirting.”
“Girl, I’ve done my fair share of both and can tell the difference from miles away!”
WTF, Mom?
I shake my head, silently begging for her to understand. “Please stop.”
“I’m just saying. This,” she says, pointing at both of us, “is great. You’ll just have to do it on a different day. Maybe you can text Jesse tonight and he can come over for dinner or something.”
I hook my arm with hers and begin to pull her out of the room. “We’re leaving now.”
Turning back, I mouth, “I’m so sorry about her.”
He chuckles, a laugh so rich that I feel it in the depths of my stomach.
“No worries,” he mouths back. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you then,” I answer. Mom and I reach the elevator bank, and I press the button for the lobby, where Dad awaits.
I’m shocked because for the first time in a while, I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow.
Even more surprising is that I’m looking forward to coming back here.
8
ZOE
“I haven’t seen you in a couple of days, where have you been hiding?” Jesse asks, coming into the room I’m staying in. I had chemo again this week, and as usual, after I’m treated, I stay in the hospital for a couple of nights so they can keep an eye on me and the chemo’s effects.
“I could say the same about you!” I respond.
“They’ve been keeping me busy. I had to help out on a different floor,” he says, seemingly disappointed.
“That makes sense. Welcome back.”
He shakes his head and smiles. “You didn’t call
me.”
“I thought you said to call if I felt bad,” I respond.
Shaking his head, he chastises, “I said go straight to the emergency room if you feel bad and to call me if you needed anything else.”
“Right,” I tell him, because that’s exactly what he said.
“I’m glad you’re okay. How are you feeling?” he asks.
I look around the room, mulling the question over before bringing my attention back to him. “I’m okay,” I answer.
Nodding, he absently plays with the hair on the back of his head before speaking again. “Good. You’re nearing the end.”
“That’s what you guys tell me.”
He stares at me intently for a moment. “Do you think it’ll be okay if I stopped by during lunch?” he asks shyly.
Grinning, I say, “Do you want to be friends with me or something?”
“Something like that. You’re like the only one my age around here.”
“Oh, so you’re saying if it weren’t because we’re around the same age, you wouldn’t bother talking to me?”
His face reddening, he says, “Not at all.”
“Where do you normally have lunch?”
“Cafeteria
“How about I meet you there?” I don’t feel like staying in this room the whole time.
“I’m not sure you can leave the room,” he says. “But I can ask.”
Excited at the prospect of leaving this room, I add, “It’d be nice to walk around a little.”
“Okay, I’ll be back around noon—when I go on break. Best case scenario, we’ll head over to the cafeteria together. Worst case scenario, you’ll have to endure my presence in your room for a little longer as I chow down on a turkey sandwich.”
“The horror!” I respond in mock outrage.
“I think you’re warming to my presence.”
“I wouldn’t say all that,” I deadpan.
“True. You didn’t bother using the number I took such a long time writing down after your mom asked,” he says, and I laugh louder than I intended to at the reminder of my mom’s shamelessness.
I think he wanted me to call him—text him at least—and that makes me smile. “Maybe I’ll consider sending you a text this time.”
“Maybe you will,” he says. “And maybe I’ll consider having lunch elsewhere,” he jokes.
“That’s fine by me,” I retort. “It’s not like I was the one asking.” He walks out of the door, his laughter echoing down the hall.
I look around the room, trying to find something to do. When my eyes land on the TV, I grab the remote connected to the bed and turn the channels until I find an episode of Gilmore Girls I’ve watched a million times before. Settling in with the blanket covering me, I give Rory and her drama my full attention.
Opening my eyes, I realize I fell asleep…and I’m still at the hospital. At least all the medical devices have been detached from my body, and, in a way, I feel free.
“Oh, you’re up,” my mom says, walking into the room with a cup of coffee in hand and a smile on her face.
“How long have you been here for?” I ask. She’s been getting better at not spending every single second of the day here. She may even start working part-time soon—if I can convince her to, that is.
“Only, like, an hour. I came in when you were already asleep. I watched some TV. I even read some gossip magazine in the waiting room—”
“I don’t want to know which celebrity did what stupid thing, Mom,” I tell her, knowing if I give her the chance, she’ll spend the next two hours chatting away.
“Fine, I’ll keep it to myself… for now!”
“How long do I have to stay this time?” I ask, hoping it’s not three days.
She closes the distance and pushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Dr. Roman said maybe two days this time,” she says eagerly.
“Two days sounds better than three,” Jesse says, coming to stand just inside the room.
“Mom, you remember Jesse,” I tell her by way of reintroduction.
Turning to him, she says, “How could I forget?” But when she turns back to me, she winks.
“I just wanted to let you know you’re good to hang at the cafeteria for a little while.”
“You’re going to the cafeteria?” Mom asks uncertainly.
I nod. “I’m having lunch with Jesse.”
Her eyes light up, and she looks from him to me a few times.
Crap.
“Not like that!” I yell.
“Not like what?” she asks, pretending not to know what I’m objecting to.
“Jesse just stopped by earlier and offered to have lunch with me,” I tell her.
She looks at him. “Did he, now?”
Jesse begins nervously tugging at his hair again. “I just thought Zoe would enjoy looking at a different set of walls,” he reasons.
My mother smiles. “Such a thoughtful young man,” she tells him. “So, what are you waiting for?”
“Do you want to go now or—wait? I’m okay either way,” he replies, stumbling over his words. If this is how he acts around my mom, I can only imagine how nervous he’d be meeting my dad. Not that he has to—not that he ever will.
“Now’s okay,” my mom answers before I can. I give her a sidelong look, and she lifts her shoulder as if asking ‘What?’ Shaking my head, I slowly start lifting myself up from the bed, surprised when Jesse appears at my side a moment later.
Helping me, he asks, “You sure you want to get up?”
I see the concern in his eyes but nod. “Yeah. I took a nap and everything. I need a break from this room.” I take his hand and allow him to help me get up. The moment we touch, I feel a comforting feeling spread through my body. I almost pull out of his grasp but think better of it. The last thing I want to do is fall face down on the floor—I think that’d be more embarrassing than my mom asking Jesse for his number.
“You good?” he asks when my feet touch the floor.
I nod. “Thanks.” I let go of his hand and immediately miss the feeling from earlier.
“You’re welcome to join us, ma’am,” he says to my mother.
“I’ll be okay,” she replies with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “I’ve got a few errands to run. You two have fun.”
She leaves the room, and I look at Jesse and shrug. “Shall we?”
He nods. Out in the hallway, he clears his throat. “She scares me,” he says.
“Who, my mom?” I ask, looking behind me as if she were there.
He nods. “Yeah.”
“She’s harmless. She loves romance…hasn’t got a filter though.”
“Good to know,” he says with a smile as we arrive at the cafeteria. He leads me to one of the tables closest to the door.
I take a seat, enjoying how normal this is. “She swears we’ve got a romance story waiting to be written.” I don’t know why I tell him that. Not only is it embarrassing, but it’ll likely make things awkward and uncomfortable.
“I—”
“Don’t worry. I’ve assured her there’s nothing going on,” I respond, and he nods absentmindedly before walking over to the refrigerator. He hurries back to the table with a plastic bag in his hands and sits down. Opening it, he pulls out a Ziploc bag with a sandwich, chips, a green apple and a bottle of orange juice.
“Does your mom pack your lunches?” I ask, breaking the silence we’ve been sitting in for what feels like hours but has probably only been a few seconds.
He looks up at me. “Why do you ask?”
“Just seems really…healthy.”
He opens the bag and pulls out the sandwich. “We’ve got to watch what we eat—football rules and all.” I nod like I know exactly where he’s coming from.
He brings the sandwich to his mouth for a bite but stops. “Do you want half?”
“You’re asking me now?” I reply.
“Sorry. I didn’t leave my house thinking I was going to have lunch with you. I didn’t pack yo
u anything.”
“It’s okay. I’m not hungry anyway. Chemo takes away my appetite.”
He smiles apologetically. “Sorry.” He digs further into the bag. “How about an apple?” he asks.
“I don’t really want any food.”
“You said okay to coming to lunch with me. The least you can do is eat,” he says, and I know he wants me to say yes to something so he can feel okay about eating too.
“You asked me, but whatever. I’ll take the apple.” He rolls the apple from his side of the table to mine. I grab it and take a bite.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he says with a rich laugh.
“Should have told me that earlier,” I joke in response.
We spend the rest of his break talking about Bragan University and life in general. He tells me about how hard it’s been to be an intern and then to show up at football practice and pretend he’s not exhausted. I tell him more about Maria and some of the other patients on this floor. He asks me a few things about myself—like my favorite type of music and what I wanted to be when I grew up. The conversation flows smoothly—like two old friends catching up on all the things that have changed in each other’s lives. When his break is up, he gives me his hand once again and guides me to my room.
“If you ever need a break from your room, let me know,” he says as we walk back.
“You going to give up your lunch breaks and spend them with me now?” I ask half-jokingly.
He slows his steps before responding, “I’d still eat, but you can sit in the cafeteria with me. It was nice getting to know more about you. I’ll continue to bring you an apple if you join me,” he says with a boyish smile, and I laugh.
“I never thought I’d see the day where someone bribes me with an apple.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “I never thought I’d do that either, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.”
We stand outside of my door, neither one of us ready to end whatever this is. “I’ll join you again tomorrow, if that’s okay,” I reply cautiously.
“Of course that’s okay. I was the one who asked,” he says, following me inside the room.
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