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MALLORY
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As my arms reach over my head, in need of a good stretch, a fuzzy pastel yellow throw pillow falls on my face. I push it away, along with the hair stuck to my lip. Sun peeks in through my sheer purple curtain. Today will be a good day, I can already feel it. I got loads of sleep, so no puffy eyes for my date tonight.
Are we calling it a date? I have known this man for a while, but I don’t really know him. Wow, I don’t think I have ever thought of him as a man. Not in that way. Yes, he is male, but he has always been Dr. Pratt to me. Funny how one’s perception can change so quickly.
Reaching over, I palm the nightstand for my phone, but it isn’t there. Hell, I left it in my purse again, or in the kitchen, didn’t I? No biggie, I didn’t need it interrupting my sleep. It would be nice to know how much I got, though. My bladder calls. Guess I’ll have to find out later.
Not wanting to waste the day away, I decide to take a shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed before emerging into the land of the living. My phone is sitting right where I left it. Now that I see it on the kitchen counter, I remember placing it there before getting a glass of water and heading to bed.
That explains why my stomach feels off today. I didn’t eat anything of substance yesterday. A small salad from the hospital cafeteria. Nothing for lunch or dinner. Then why am I not hungry? I feel almost sick, a little nauseated even. My body probably thinks we are doing that intermittent fasting everyone raves about. Don’t worry, I’ll get us some food soon. No one here is fasting on purpose.
The glittery pink case I have on my phone is chipping. I should replace it soon. How long have I had this now, eight months, a year? I am usually pretty frugal, but I think a year might warrant a fresh case, not a new phone.
The screen is black and unresponsive. It’s dead! Wait, no. Just powered off. Must have done an update overnight or something.
Once powered back on, I get several alerts. Emails—all junk—some games I play saying it’s time to check in. I skip everything and go right to the texts.
Kent sent a text. I already saved his number, but I bet he was just making sure I hadn’t forgotten to do that. It feels strangely comfortable thinking of him as Kent now.
When I open the message thread, my mind goes blank. When did all of this happen? Last night at 9:10 pm is when the correspondence started. I didn’t even take an Ambien last night. How do I not remember this? And how did I manage to get up, send these messages, and still place my phone back in the kitchen before returning to bed? I must have been out of it—sleepwalking maybe; at least I sound coherent.
How do I respond to this?
Just casual for now. Nothing fancy. Not yet.
Three minutes later.
Unless you want to go somewhere that will allow us to dress up and act pretentious. I thought being comfortable would be better for a first date. They are awkward enough.
Ten minutes later. Already after ten at night.
It’s up to you. Just let me know. Goodnight.
I must have fallen asleep on him. Even though I feel like I was already asleep for this entire conversation.
I try to think of something witty to say, but my mind fails me.
Good morning! I am all for a casual evening. I get what you are saying about wanting to be comfortable. Although it has been a while since I have had a first date. Yes, I guess we are calling this a date. If that is okay, anyway. What time, and where should I meet you? Yes, meet you. It’s a first date, after all. A girl can never be too careful.
That is way too long for witty.
No response. He is off today, so he probably sleeps in, just like I should be doing. Yet here I am, wide awake at seven in the morning. Get a life girl. I set the phone down and search for something to eat. I might have to head over to Einstein’s Bagels. It’s been more than a week since I’ve hit up a store.
What is this? I pick up an unopened box of Twinkies sitting next to the sink. The fridge contains a fresh half gallon of milk. Whole milk. Who over the age of six drinks Whole milk? There’s also a dozen eggs, a block of mozzarella cheese, and a package of market-rolled meat balls. The price sticker on the meat says $9.98. No way would I spend that much on eight meatballs. They aren’t even veal. Where did these come from?
Madeline!
Oh crap, Madeline! I forgot all about last night. She must have gone to the store because I failed to go on my own, like I said I would. I open the pantry and see a box of pasta and a can of sauce sitting front and center. For my benefit, I’m sure.
Damn, I feel like such an A-hole right now. My sister was waiting for me. I was late getting home because I stayed after my shift, covering for another nurse. I felt bad about being late this week and thought an act of kindness would make up for it. All that did was cause more problems.
I move over to Amy’s old door—why I still refer to the room as hers, I do not know—I want to give it a knock, but think twice about the act. She’s probably mad at me, and she has every right to be. I’m not even going to try the knob. Surely it is locked.
“I’m sorry, Mad. I’ll do better next time,” I whisper while walking back down the hall and to the kitchen, where I grab a Twinkie, stuff it into my purse, and head out the door. Being stuck inside these walls will not help me today. I need to get out.
Now what? My plans for day one on off days are always to sleep in. I’ve gotten enough sleep. Barricading myself inside all day is depressing. Knowing that I disappointed my sister makes it worse. That must go in a book somewhere as a first. Me disappointing Madeline? Inconceivable! Still, it may not have happened before, but I feel like crud because of it. My early morning enthusiasm is now long gone.
Spotting Paul taking a bag of trash out, I give him a wave and say, “Good morning, stranger. Long time no see.”
So unlike me. Usually, I am running for the hills trying to avoid him. I feel like being neighborly this morning. Some positivity may help brighten my dimly lit life. Having something to look forward to, like my date, has put me in a good mood.
Paul responds with a head nod and a tight smile. Hmm, what’s up with him? Oh, well.
I go to pull the Twinkie out of my purse, but decide to save it for later. Looks like a visit to Einstein’s will happen after all. What else is there to do? I have hours until my date starts and no other plans.
Since dinner got skipped last night, I order a bacon and egg sandwich instead of my regular bagel smear. A little protein will do me good. Considering that it is super early on a Thursday, this place is only busy with to-go orders, and a table is not hard to find.
I pop a squat at a two-seater and get comfortable before unwrapping my sandwich, taking a bite, then pulling out my phone. Still no reply from Dr. Pratt. It’s early, no sweat. I am not getting ghosted. Why am I freaking out?
Probably because this is the first man who has shown an inkling of interest in me since Shawn. It has been over six months since we split, and I still feel like there wasn’t any closure on my end. We were together for almost two years. Yeah, it was on and off because the relationship was toxic. We both should have known from the beginning that it wasn’t going to work, yet we fought for it anyway. Or was I the one fighting, and he just gave in to my needy requests to stay?
What was our first date like? Racking my brain, trying to remember, gives me a headache. All I know is we didn’t go on many dates while actually dating. No, we fought, then made up. That was our daily life. Not every day, but often enough. And I tried to hold on to it because...why? Beats me.
What was going on before Shawn entered my realm of existence? For so long, I relied on him to provide me with the very air it takes to survive. Air that is free to everyone on earth. Somehow, I thought it would not come without him. Such a stupid girl mistake, one I will not let happen again. I say that, yet here I am, waiting for a guy to respond.
Dr. Pratt is not just any guy, though. He is the most respectable physician in the city. He is also at least ten years older than me, if not more. That shouldn’t be a problem. We are both consenting adults. He might differ from the ones that came before him, but I shouldn’t think too much about it. I also shouldn’t put too much effort into it. If this doesn’t work out, how will I still be able to work with him? Will he change his schedule? Is that how I will know?
I could show up to work on Sunday and not be working on the same floor or at the same time that he is. That will be my sign to give up. Easy peasy. Minimal harm done.
As I throw my trash in the bin and get ready to exit the nearly empty bagel restaurant, my phone chimes with a message.
Good morning! Guess you passed out on me last night. I was wired and ready for an all-night chat. We still have today.
He’s awake! It’s almost ten in the morning and he just woke up. I can somehow feel it through the wires, or whatever sends vibes our way when physically apart. I was his first message, end of story, and I am sticking to it. Also, is it weird that he wanted to chat all night? Who does that after the age of seventeen? Surely not a busy surgeon.
Why am I obsessing about this? I do not want to be that girl.
Okay, I have to reply. Should I do that now? Yes, no games. That’s what we are going with. Again, with the ‘we’! That is what I am going with. Back tracking to previous texts, some I do not remember from last night, I see a question from me.
So, where should I meet you? I type.
I was thinking of The Mexican in the Village. It’s not too far or too fancy. How does that sound to you?
I have heard of the place. What does he mean by ‘not too far’? Does he know where I live? If so, did I tell him and forget? Quickly, I Google the restaurant and see I will need to take an Uber. There is no way I can walk that. Maybe he thinks I have a car. Because, as Berkley says, everyone in Texas with a valid driver’s license has a freaking car.
That sounds perfect. Seven?
His response comes instantly.
Seven it is.
***
The nerves running through me have a mind of their own. I am wearing a simple peach-lined black dress that stops just above my knees and has ruffled straps that cover the top half of my shoulders. As I walk up and see my reflection in the mirrored glass, I realize this may not have been the best choice. I look like a little girl, or maybe someone attending lunch at a country club event. It seemed safe at the time. Now I just look silly.
My reflection reminds me of a version of this vintage Barbie my mother used to call Peach. Too late to turn back now. Also, why am I stressing so much? This guy sees me in loose-fitting scrubs every day and still asked me out. He won’t care about the dress. He will just be happy that I showed up, didn’t chicken out, and the dress will be a bonus. I mean, these legs aren’t bad to look at. Thank you, of stairs!
Wait, why will it be a bonus? Because it is easy access? Here I go, over thinking everything again. No easy access will happen tonight. I didn’t even pair my underwear. Why? Because no bra is required with this dress, that’s what makes it so amazing. Okay, this thought process isn’t helping.
Approaching the hostess stand, a scary thought enters my mind. What do I do now? Do I just stand back and wait for him? What if he is already here; should I let them know that someone is expecting me?
Luck is in my corner tonight. When I enter the doors, Kent stands from a bench to greet me.
“Hey, you made it.” He wraps his arm around my torso, not quite touching. It’s more like a hug you give a family member out of obligation instead of need or want.
“Were you worried that I wouldn’t?” I can feel the tension leaving him and already know he was nervous about my arrival.
“Not really,” he says while we follow the hostess. “It’s just that I made reservations after our talk. I didn’t know this place got so busy, but it is a Thursday night. Anyway, the internet recommended I make reservations. When I showed up here without you... let’s just say, things got real.” He shrugs.
“Sorry. I tried to show up on time. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
“No, Mal.” He shakes his head and pulls out a chair for me to take a seat at our small table. “None of that had anything to do with your promptness. Which, I might add, is perfect, like always.” So, he doesn’t know about me being late to work this week. Good.
We are interrupted by the waitress wanting to take our drink order. I just want water. Kent gives me a look, as if to ask if I am sure. When I smile, he orders water of his own. It’s a first date; I have no plans to drink alcohol while we are here. Maybe next time, mate.
We spend our time talking about things we like, and a little time on the stuff we don’t like.
Never once do we bring up work, and I enjoy that about him. It’s also one of the reasons I connected so well with Berkley. That seems to be the only thing going on with everyone else I work with. It’s nice to escape the everyday and hear about other things people are into.
As I listen to him rave about the cruise he went on this last spring, fear enters my mind and I zone out. We can’t talk about him all night. I will look like some kind of mute if I don’t enter the conversation at some point. What the heck am I going to talk about when my turn comes around? Nothing, and I mean absolutely NOTHING, is going on with me. I can’t tell him about my sister. It’s too embarrassing and too soon for that. Can I possibly get away with just asking questions? I mean, it will show that I am interested in him.
“Spring and winter cruises are the best. In March, you can escape from all the pollen and rain. Then come November or December, you can get away from the cold and chances of slipping on dry leaves as you casually walk down a sidewalk.” Wait what? He lost me there.
“Kent, have you found yourself the victim of loose dry leaves that have recently fallen during the later seasons? Because, if you have, I think you may be entitled to compensation.” I get a laugh, a full-on belly laugh, out of this guy. Okay, I might just be able to make it through an appetizer.
Our waitress—the girl who looks like she is recovering from an all-night bender and regrets not calling in—comes to take our order. I had a nice breakfast, but that was half a day ago. The only thing I have consumed since then had no nutritional value whatsoever. Sorry, Twinkie, I’m talking about you. This girl is ready to eat.
Kent is still looking at his menu, but I studied it in detail online this afternoon, and already know what I want. “I’ll have the chimichanga, but can I have charro beans instead of the refried?”
She eyes me, not writing anything down. “Of course, as we do not serve refried beans as a side.”
Oh, I guess I didn’t look at the menu in as much detail as I thought. semi-swanky Mexican establishments don’t have refried beans; noted.
Kent stumbles when it comes his turn to order. Was I too abrupt? Or was he just not given enough time to ponder? Either he wasn’t lying about never dating or he isn’t used to women knowing what they want. It is weird, as I am not usually that woman. However, tonight, I feel feisty.
“I’ll have the chicken fajitas for one. Could you leave off all the sides? Also, you don’t need to bring any tortillas with it.” Our waitress notes his requests and adds a smile before leaving us alone.
“Ever the health nut,” I comment, not thinking about my words before saying them.
“Well, I am a doctor and should always be conscious.”
He looks off with a blank stare. “Are you alright?” I ask.
“Yeah. Yeah!” he voices without looking at me. Then he shakes his head and calls for the waitress again.
“What are you doing?”
Kent does not answer me as our waitress approaches. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?”
“Please scratch my order. I will have what the lady is having.” She scrunches up her nose at his request, but nods in compliance.
“What was that about?” I ask when our tired waitress is out of earshot.
“You’re right,” he comments. “I never indulge. What is life if we never indulge in the fun stuff? Can I tell you a secret?”
“Uh, sure.”
He leans in and whispers like this is a deep, dark secret no one else should hear. “I have never had a chimichanga. I actually don’t even know what it is.”
Holy effing crap! Are you kidding me? I combust in such an unladylike way; I am sure this place is about to kick us out. He waits. Kent does not react. He just sits there patiently and waits for my outburst to be done. “Why would you order something you don’t know if you will like it?”
He shrugs. “You ordered it, so it must be good. I need something good in my life from time to time. Right now seems like the perfect chance.”
His words and the look on his face do not match. He is playing me. I thought he liked me, but now I feel differently. He wants something from me, just one thing. One thing I do not feel he deserves. Suddenly, this does not feel right.
What an idiot. I thought we could be something. You know, he is a doctor, he must be smart. But no! This guy is just as dumb as the rest of them. He may have an Ivy League education and a seven-figure salary, but when you get down to the brass tacks, he is still a moron.
What kind of game is he trying to play? Who does he want me to see him as? I would prefer he acts like himself, but that does not seem to be happening.
I shut down. My walls go up. For some reason, I am no longer comfortable in his company. Are these past traumas moving in and taking over my mood, or should I listen to my inner voice and back off now?
I can’t seem to break out of the shell I have enclosed myself in. We spend the rest of our meal in awkward silence. I believe he feels the shift as much as I have.