Page 73 of Bi-Partisan

He lets go of my hand, and I pick the object up. It looks vaguely like a candlestick, which explains why it’s on this table. But as I turn it over, and notice the bell shape of one end, I realize it’s exactly what I suspected.

“What is it?” he asks, hooking his chin on my shoulder to look at it with me.

“An antique stethoscope—maybe from the fifties,” I say, smiling. “I remember seeing one like it at the Walter Reed medical museum.”

“Walter Reed has a museum?”

“Yeah. I went with my mom and dad when we first moved to DC. It’s what got me interested in medicine, actually—well, sort of. I figured out pretty quickly that human medicine would not be the place for me.”

“Yeah, you don’t like people,” he teases.

“That I do not.” I take another moment to inspect the stethoscope, then go to set it down.

“You should get it,” he says before taking a step back.

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeats. “It’s literally the perfect flea market find for you. It reminds you of something you saw in a museum that inspired your career.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need it.”

“I disagree,” he says brightly before plucking the stethoscope off the table.

“What are you—“

“Excuse me, how much for this?” he asks the person sitting in front of a cash box behind the table.

“Since it doesn’t have a mate, twenty bucks,” the seller says.

I open my mouth to say that it doesn’t have a mate because it’s an antique medical instrument, not a candlestick, but Jamie cuts me off before I can.

“Sold,” he says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He fishes out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it to the seller with a smile. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

“Jamie, you didn’t have to do that,” I say once we’re out of earshot of the table.

“Shh,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to my cheek as he places the stethoscope in my hands. “You clearly wanted it. Besides, I feel like we just got a crazy deal because that person didn’t know what this actually was. I’d guess antique medical equipment probably goes for hundreds on places like eBay.”

He’s right. It usually does go for a lot more than twenty dollars. He’s also right that something about it called to me. I’m just so used to that voice saying “but think about having to pack it later” being louder than any desire for something that will just sit on a shelf, unused.

But clearly, Jamie is even louder than that voice, and I think I really need that.

With a small smile, I tuck the stethoscope in the bag with my records. “Thank you,” I say before kissing him quickly on the cheek.

He grins. “Okay, well, with that mission accomplished, now it’s barbecue time,” he says, holding out his hand.

“It’s barely eleven,” I protest.

“It’s never too early for the world’s best barbecue,” he says, holding out his hand.

I fondly roll my eyes, but take his hand anyway to let him lead me to the car.

Fifteen minutes later, we pull up in front of a small, almost hole in the wall restaurant in a strip mall.

“This is the world’s best barbecue?” I ask skeptically.

“No, that’s McCall’s, but that’s in Goldsboro and takes an hour to get to on a good day. This is my go-to place, though.” He goes to get out of the car, but stops. “Oh, wait, before I forget and become miserable later...”

I furrow my brow as he fiddles with a keychain on his keyring. When he unscrews some sort of cap and shakes a tablet into his hand, I can’t stop my frown. I’m not certain, but it’s safe to assume it’s an antacid. I’ve never realized he carries on his keychain before, but it’s concerning. It means his reflux is bad enough that he has to keep it on-hand at all times, and if it’s that bad, it may be causing long-lasting damage.

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