Page 71 of Take Me to the Wedding

I frowned. I did feel very warm, but around him, my body seemed to forget how to regulate temperature. “Is that a thing?”

He nodded. “From all the inflammation.”

I got up and paced. I hadn’t missed a day of work or med school since the day I started. As residents, when one of us calls off, everyone gets burdened. Everyone suffers.

I walked to my bathroom and looked in the mirror, getting up close and tilting my head. My eye was still mostly shut. And he was right. I looked like an extra in a slasher film. “I am scary,” I said, close to tears.

I saw his reflection in the mirror, his brows lifted. Then I felt his hands on my shoulders. “Even the hideous parts can’t hide the fact that you’re beautiful,” he said, giving my shoulders a squeeze before he let go and disappeared down the hall. “Got any ice cream? The movie’s starting.”

“What movie?” Did he just call me beautiful? And was I actually about to sit down and watch a movie with him?

“The one I’m going to pick myself unless you get in here and help me. It’ll probably have a lot of bloodshed and violence too. Swords, Vikings, gladiators, that kind of thing.”

“Maybe we should just watch a game.”

“I’ll take a look at what’s on.” We sat together while he channel flipped with my remote, looking more at home on my couch than I did.

“Which one of us is more miserable?” I asked. “That person should pick.”

“Ha. I think we’re tied. I love rom-coms,” he said.

“Stop.” He was joking, right? “You do not.”

“Classic ones. You call your chief, and I’ll put on Harry and Sally.”

I froze for a moment. Because New Years. But then I realized that I’d been given an opportunity to rewrite our story. I hadn’t expected a chapter with poison ivy and broken bones, but all that aside, it felt like a new beginning.

I forced myself to make the call. And you know what? It wasn’t as bad as I thought. My chief, Priya, told me to take all the time I needed. Of course, I left out the part where I picked up the poison ivy while skidding on my ass down a cliff, chasing after a guy that I was crazy about.

When I hung up, I found Caleb in the kitchen. “You have chocolate raspberry chip or strawberry.” His voice was muffled because he was talking with his head inside my freezer. “Oh, and a little vanilla. And a little chocolate.” He turned around. “I didn’t know you were an ice-cream hoarder.”

Of course I was. “Surprise me,” I said, grabbing the remote from where he left it on the counter. He dished out the ice cream and I carried it in front of the TV while he got himself settled. Then I unceremoniously—but gently—stuffed my pillow under his cast. And passed him more Tylenol.

So we sat together on the couch and ate ice cream and watched Harry and Sally fall in love. And I forgot all about—everything: poor Ani’s ruined weekend; missing work; the fact that I swore I could feel the rash bursting through my skin in clusters of tiny blisters that were now breaking open and oozing. Terrific.

Caleb didn’t try to hold my hand. Or do anything remotely romantic. Even if I wanted to make out, my mouth was pretty much out of commission anyway. But sometimes he’d laugh at something on the TV and then turn to see if I was laughing too. Or he’d smile at me and glance at the TV and then I’d smile too.

I was at my absolute worst, and yet he looked at me like—well, like I wasn’t. He seemed, despite everything, happy to be here. And also despite everything, my heart was full. I didn’t want to be anywhere else but next to him.

Once I looked over and he was wincing a bit. And he shifted around a lot, trying to get comfortable and adjust his leg. But he never complained once.

After the ice cream, I took an anti-itch pill and then I never got to New Year’s Eve in the movie. When I woke up, it was pitch-black. The TV was off, and the only light was moonlight, streaming across the floor from my bay window. I was leaning against Caleb, resting against his chest, my hands tucked under my face. He was leaning back against the couch, his head tipped back on the pillow in a position that would probably lead to neck strain in the morning.

I carefully propped myself up enough that I could look at him. Resting, at peace, his strong features appeared softened. That intense gaze of his was shuttered, and he seemed more serious, not ready to crack a joke at a moment’s notice.

I thought about how easy it was for some people to give their hearts away. Like scooping up a bunch of fall leaves or dandelion seeds and releasing them off into the wind to land where they may. I, however, had learned to fix a vise grip on my heart. I’d safeguarded it to the point where I’d forgotten why there might be any good reason to let it go.

I took in the light lines creasing Caleb’s forehead, the soft ones around his eyes—from laughing too much, no doubt—his full, soft lips, his unreasonably stubborn jaw. He was never afraid to disagree with me, to push me, to see everything I hid from the world and pull it all back, to make me question everything I believed.

He was fun. And surprising. And kind. And he cracked me up. Most of all, he made me wonder what it would be like to be the kind of person who could take all that from someone, accept it, and then fling it all back with vibrance into the world.

ChapterNineteen

Caleb

A week and a half later, at the end of a long Wednesday, I hobbled to the door of the old house, eager to reach my apartment, fall straight onto my couch, and rest my throbbing leg and aching hands, wrists, and underarms. I had about enough energy in me to ask DoorDash to bring me takeout—again.

I have to say that I’m a decent cook. And I’m cheap, so I don’t order out often. But this week had kicked my butt. Even though I wasn’t in surgery, I still had to get to work early because it took me twice as long to get around anywhere.

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