Page 44 of The Doctor's Simple Life

“What’s good on the menu?” Sienna asks, her eyes flicking over the leather-bound list.

“Oh, literally anything.” I shrug. “I’ll probably get a pasta. They cook it to perfection, but they do a great pizza too. And risotto. Honestly, anything on the menu is great.”

“Helpful,” she says dryly.

“I try my best.”

A waiter marches up to our table and introduces himself. He asks us for our drinks order, and I order a bottle of champagne for the table.

“Champagne,” says Sienna. “What’s the occasion?”

“Does there need to be one? You and me having a nice meal together, is that not occasion enough?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” she giggles, and I take a sharp breath in.

Yes. I am. Of course I am. But now that I need the words, I’ve forgotten how to speak.

Instead of telling her the truth I should tell her, I say, “I guess I’ve remembered what passion feels like. I mean, we’ve really helped Mr. Bird. I would never have done something like that back in Miami. I would never have cared.”

She nods, and I launch into some stories of the best times I’ve had at the hospital. There are so many now that I talk and talk and talk while Sienna sits there laughing at me and laughing with me.

Everything feels so special again. I think this is the way doctors are supposed to feel; like they help, like they care.

I think this is how I felt once, when I was young, when I was bright-eyed and fresh from graduating. I think I forgot that I cared, once.

“So you’re sad to leave, then?” Sienna asks suddenly, and it’s like she’s popped a balloon on our good mood.

Slowly, I say, “I don’t think I would go that far, but it’s been a much better time than I was expecting. Plus, I met you.” I grin at her, meeting her eyes and noting the surprise I see.

“Me?” she blinks, her mouth opening slightly like there’s a breath she forgot to take. “I’m nothing special.”

“Don’t say that,” I snap. “Don’t even think it.”

“Sorry…” She looks down at her silverware, then quietly says, “So does that mean we’re…?”

“We’re what?”

She blinks back up at me, and despite the blankness she forces her expression into, I can still see the worry and doubt swimming in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe… maybe we were something more… well…”

“But I’ll be gone soon.” I sigh, finally laying what we were both thinking on the table.

“Yeah,” she whispers.

“So let’s not worry about labels.” It pains me to say it, but if I make her think it’s not serious, I can protect her from the hurt when I leave. It doesn’t matter what I really want. I don’t want her to be hurt. “We can just keep things as they are, right? Having fun, you and me.”

“Yeah,” Sienna says quietly.

And because I never learned when to stop, I add, “I’m just not ready for commitment. I’m not settled enough in my life.”

“Me neither,” she says, withdrawing.

I feel myself shriveling too. Clearly that wasn’t the right thing to say.

We sit in silence long enough for our food to come. I thank the waiter and pop the champagne, then pour us both out a glass. Sienna smiles thinly but still says nothing.

I can’t handle the weird tension between us, so I change the subject. It’s safest to go back to talking about work, so I do, and Sienna engages with me a little, but there’s something weird about her. It’s like suddenly she’s totally detached from our date.

Surely, she wasn’t expecting me to tell her that I wanted things to be official between us? That I wanted her to be my girlfriend?

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