Page 53 of Love Medley
Me: That’s not a dog. That’s a cotton ball.
Lucy: We aren’t friends anymore.
I know she’s joking, but the wordfriendsstill makes my stomach drop. What if that’s all this is to her? What if I’ve been reading it all wrong?
Me: What kind of breed is it?
Lucy: Bichon frise.
Never heard of it. Quickly, I replace my fake dating inquiry with “bichon frise.”
Me: So basically this is the French word for a cotton ball.
Lucy: You’re awful! They're the cutest dogs on the planet.
Me: This is kibble for the real dogs. I.e. the noble labrador or the majestic goldenretriever.
Lucy: …
Me: Ask anyone. They’ll agree with me.
Lucy: *rolls eyes* Whatever. Why aren’t we working together at all this week?!
Despite myself, I grin down at my phone. That means she misses me a little bit, right? I’m grasping for straws here, I know.
Me: Yeah, my schedule’s been a bit wonky because I had to switch some shifts to get Saturday off.
Lucy: I’m so excited to see you play at TNT!
Me: It’ll be a good time. Any of your friends coming?
Lucy: They’re all coming!
Me: I’ll make sure to leave four tickets with Eddie, the bouncer.
Lucy: What time should we be there?
Me: How does 8pm sound?
Lucy: Excellent. We’ll be there!
Those texts fill me with doubt—first she joked we “weren’t friends anymore,” and then she sounded like any other acquaintance accepting an invite. Revisiting the night at Bill’s in my mind, I decide I must have really misread her signals.
I don’t know why I thought I had a chance. I’m just glad I cleared that up before I made a complete fool of myself at TNT. Still, my heart continues to be an idiot and pump harder at the thought of seeing her again.
Somehow, I have to make my heart believe what my head already knows.
A few hours into my ER shift, I finish up some charting and decide it’s time to eat. As I’m about to open the door to the break room, I hear a voice behind me.
“Jake, can we talk?”
It’s Sam.
Inwardly, I groan. This is the last thing I want to deal with today, but if I’m honest, I wouldn’t want to deal with it any day. Also, if I never hear the words “can we talk” again, it’ll be too soon.
Out loud, I say, “Sure. I’m about to heat up my food.”
As Sam settles down at one of the tables behind me, I place my tupperware container in the microwave and set the time to three minutes.
