Page 30 of Love and Other Mental Health Concerns
“No, not like a patient.” She gives me an eye roll; her tone is indignant. “Like a friend would offer a friend. Don’t you have friends?” She stares at me incredulously. Now I hate how many times she has said ‘friend.’
“Maybe a couple, it is difficult with the constant moving to keep connections.” I give her a smile, trying to be more playful than embarrassed.
“I can see that.” She pauses thoughtfully. Biting her bottom lip and completely distracting me. Her mouth is so pouty and perfect. “May I ask you a question? Fair warning, it’sabout something that isn’t really my business and might be inappropriate.”
“Please, those are my favorite kind.” Now I’m intrigued. She breathes deeply before she continues.
“I’ve heard some things. That you date around a lot, a fling kind of guy. And then your mom kind of alluded something to that effect.” She is looking everywhere around the room except for right at me, and I can’t help but get a little kick out of it.
“Yes, so what is the question? You can ask me anything.” Did the heat turn on in this office? Marcy and I have had personal conversations, and flirted a bit, but we haven’t discussed our romantic lives at all. The shift in topic is impacting the energy in the room, and I am buzzing.
“Well, what about me?” She asks so simply.
“What do you mean?” My heart is pounding, I am shocked the buttons on my shirt aren’t popping off from the pressure.
“Your intentions. What are your intentions with me?” Her frankness catches me off guard. Her expression is inquiring, somewhat timid in contrast to the direct nature of her question. It makes me smile, and I have to refrain from saying the incredibly filthy intentions coming to mind. Also guessing that asking her to immediately be mine forever would be frowned upon at this point. Again, I am still learning this balance.
“Well Marcy, what do you think my intentions are?” A shy smile comes to her mouth.
“I think you held my hand like you wanted to be more than friends, and I think you flirt with me sometimes like you want to be more than friends. I think you stayed up all night fixing my car, and someone with platonic intentions doesn’t do things like that.” I am very much enjoying where this is going, I can feel my pulse racing, those damn butterflies flapping.
“You would be correct.” Now we are both blushing, and my blazer is stifling. It’s like we are in middle school and dancing around asking if we ‘like’ each other.
“Okay. Then I think…” and as I am on the edge of my seat, leaning over my desk, taking in the glorious scent of her, about to reach for her hand, there is knock at the door.
Without hesitation, the once cracked door is swung open and in walks a familiar face with timing seemingly orchestrated by the devil himself. Isabel Rollins, a two-night encounter from a job ten months ago near Fargo, North Dakota.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.In the bad way.
“Nick Anderson!” She says in a sing-song voice. Isabel is a petite, blond, travel nurse, with a thin build and bubbly blue eyes. She walks into my office like she owns the place, like she and I know each other beyond a couple nights of fucking to stave off the boredom of Fargo in January. I haven’t spoken to her since, so why she is here is beyond me. She is naturally outgoing and flirtatious, and everything about the way she is interacting with this room is sending all the wrong messages.
I am in panic mode.
“Oh my god, they told me you were here! Heard it through the nursing grapevine, you know how that goes. Great news, I’ll be in town for the next couple of weeks.” She twirls a stray hair around her finger and is staring me down with an obvious recollection of the last time we were together. My mouth has gone dry.
“Yeah, Hi Isabel, I’m in the middle of something…” I’ll be honest, I am bit relieved that I remember her name because it could have been a situation where that was not the case, making me look like an even bigger asshole than I currently do.
“Oh my gosh, Nick, I am so rude.” She giggles like a mad woman and turns to Marcy, “So sorry to interrupt! I am Isabel, just an old friend of Nick’s. I’ll come back later to catch-up!” Shebrightly announces. I can’t think of any reason we would need to catch-up, and blood is now pulsing in my brain. It might be coming out my ears, but I’m too scared to check.
Marcy immediately retreats. She goes from calm back to fidgeting, the blush in her cheeks now seemingly there for an entirely different reason. I watch her face fall, her body tense, and she pushes back in her chair, not looking at me. “You know what, I was just leaving, so no need to rush out of here at all. Sounds like you guys need to catch-up.”
No. No. No.
“No, Marcy please stay.” I’m considering falling to my literal knees.
“Nick, it is really Okay, I got the answer I needed to my question after all.” She stands and turns to Isabel, “look forward to working with you Isabel, I’m Marcy. I am the social worker in the hospital, so I am sure I will be seeing you around.” Her tone is stoic.
“How did you know I was working here? Are you psychic or something?” Isabel giggles. I am mortified.
“It was the scrubs and the temporary ID badge that gave it away actually. I have also been sitting here the whole time.” Marcy gives me a quick and judgmental glance, which is feeling more than fair right now.
“Oh well, duh, of course!” Isabel sweetly responds, oblivious to the brief exchange between Marcy and me. “So nice to meet you, Marcy! Can’t wait to work with you!”
Marcy walks out the door without glancing back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Marcy
