Page 20 of French Kiss

8

Late Nights

Year One - March

San Francisco

Maddox wasn’t entirelywrong about Jordan. He was a nice Midwestern boy, but there wasn’t a ton of depth there. I didn’t care. After my long on-call shifts, I wanted levity and ease. Jordan couldn’t have been nicer, and he made residency almost enjoyable.

And the drama of a breakup seemed worse than the nondrama of a perfunctory relationship. So for the time being, I hung in.

My relationship with Jordan corresponded with new interest from Maddox, who got in the habit of calling me late at night when he knew I was sleeping at the hospital. We’d talk long into the night, phones cupped to our ears, finally freed from the day’s stresses and open to conversations about philosophical subjects and our futures.

“Does it scare you to think about going into the world to practice medicine for real?” he asked, his voice gravelly and soft.

“It’s not the medicine that scares me, but I do feel like I’ve been taken care of so far by other people. I guess it’s time to be pushed out of the nest.”

“I have no doubt you’ll fly, little sparrow.”

“How about you? Are you scared to be done?” He never struck me as someone who was scared of anything, so it surprised me when he answered.

“I’m scared of everything. What if I’ve been kidding everyone so far, just getting by because people like having me around?”

“People don’t like having you around that much. You’re good at what you do,” I said.

“That means a lot, coming from you,” he said. “I’ve always respected you. I hope you know that.”

“Thanks, Mad.”

“I kinda wish I was on call tonight. We could share a bed in the on-call room.” He spoke quietly, his voice a deep rumble.

“Very funny,” I said, because it was the right thing to say. But my heart was beating fast, thinking about him curled up next to me in the twin bed. He had to know what effect his words had on me and he wasn’t playing fair. I knew I should end the call and probably call Jordan, but I didn’t want to hang up. I liked hearing Maddox’s scratchy tired voice in my ear.

It was almost like lovers sharing a blanket under the stars, only I was be lying on a cot in the on-call room while he was presumably wrapped in the comfort of his own down bedding.

“These talks you and I have, do you have these conversations with Jordan?” Maddox asked.

“No. We cook dinner together and have sex. Like normal people.”

“I’m glad you save these conversations for me.”

“I don’t save them for you. You just constantly call me.”

“You know this relationship isn’t going anywhere,” he said, like it was a fact..

“You’re a broken record. This is getting ridiculous. Why do you care?”

“Because you’re my friend. When are you going to listen?”

“I’m never going to break up with a guy because you tell me to. So stop it,” I said. But I actually didn’t mind that much. It felt like Maddox was using my relationship with Jordan as a way into a conversation with me. And I felt like it was bringing us closer.

I should have been bonding with my boyfriend instead, but Maddox was the one engaging me in interesting conversation late into the night. He was the one making me feel things I swore I didn’t want to feel when it came to him.

“Have you ever been to the opera?” Maddox asked.

“No. Never felt compelled. But one night, I was flipping channels and came across one streaming La Bohème, and honestly, I couldn’t stop watching. It was all in Italian, obviously, but I completely understood what was happening. Just emotion.”

“Totally. My mom dragged me to the opera once. I was not a happy camper, being a teenage boy who didn’t really relish spending alone time with my mom on a Friday night, let alone going to the opera.”