Page 2 of Christmas On Call
Asha recoiled—not visibly, she hoped, but enough that her feet refused to move. She shook her head, voice flat. “I’m here for rounds, not decoration.”
Max shrugged, undeterred. “Suit yourself. You’re missing out.” Her smile held a challenge.
As Max scampered off to the next set of parents, Asha scanned the room, trying to tally all the policy breaches. But the more she counted, the less any of them seemed to matter. The parents had already shed a collective year’s worth of anxiety inthe few minutes since she entered. Even the babies, still pink and wrinkled, seemed quieter, as if the light and laughter had trickled in through their translucent skin.
Asha turned her back to the unit, focused her gaze on the paperwork in front of her. She scribbled her initials on the shift sheet, pen trembling. A fine dusting of glitter from a stray snowflake caught the edge of her sleeve, clinging to the lab coat with alarming persistence.
She brushed at it, but it stuck fast.
She’d been standing for too long with the clipboard pressed to her chest, watching Max wrap up her personal reimagining of the North Pole. The parents had all drifted back to their pods or shuffled off to the lounge for midnight coffee, and the only sound was the buzz of filtered air and the low, rhythmic beep of the central monitor.
Now or never, Asha told herself.
She squared her shoulders and approached, footsteps cautious, every inch the model of professionalism. Max was repositioning the ladder near the nurses’ station, humming a line from “Winter Wonderland” under her breath.
“Ms. Benson.” Asha waited until Max turned, then nodded once in greeting. “Do you have a moment?”
Max tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I’ve got plenty, Doc. What’s up?”
Asha gestured with the clipboard, aiming the tip like a pointer at the far wall. “The strand of lights near bed eight is drooping. It’s obstructing the power strip and could become a tripping hazard for the staff.” She shifted the clipboard to her left hand and tapped the surface with her pen, a metronome of authority. “Additionally, any foreign objects introduced into the unit risk introducing pathogens. The garlands are nonessential and could interfere with rapid response.”
Max didn’t move, but her eyebrows arched as if she’d just watched a particularly nimble cat attempt a leap and belly flop into a trash can. “Copy that,” she said. “I’ll make sure everything is secured and Clorox-wiped before the next shift.”
Asha hesitated, not quite sure how to respond to such easy acquiescence. “Good. That’s all.”
She started to turn away, but Max, quick as a spark, hopped off the bottom rung and landed directly in Asha’s path. The nurse leaned in, not close enough to breach protocol, but near enough that Asha could smell the faint citrus of hand soap and, underneath, a hint of the pine that had been bothering her since she’d arrived.
“Come on, Dr. Patel.” Max’s green eyes shone with a challenge. “It’s Christmas. Even the micro-organisms are taking the night off.”
Asha’s mouth twitched—she couldn’t tell if it was the beginnings of a smile or the urge to issue a citation. “If only pathogens observed federal holidays.”
Max grinned, full wattage. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll unionize.”
The humor was disarming, which only made Asha more determined not to fall for it. “In the future, I’d appreciate being consulted before any modifications to the environment,” she said, though the words came out softer than intended, even if clinically sharp and spiky all at the same time.
Max’s face went mock-serious. “You got it, boss. No more festive sabotage.” She raised her right hand in a lazy salute.
For a moment, Asha lingered, stuck between the compulsion to correct another minor infraction (the ladder, still unsecured) and the urge to escape before she said something regrettable. She opted for the latter, sidestepping Max and making a beeline for the desk.
She sat and tried to lose herself in the patient charts, but the decorations had multiplied, worming their way into every line of her sight. Even worse, she found herself attuned to Max’s every movement: the way she bantered with the other nurses, the gentle motions with which she checked in on the parents, the casual confidence that made everything seem both lighter and a little bit out of control. All of these things building up, sending Asha into a small cycle of feeling like her environment was far from how she’d like it to be. Far from how it should be.
Asha was halfway through updating her orders when she heard Max’s voice again, now pitched low but still carrying across the pod.
“Hey, Doctor Grinch,” Max called, tapping a pen on the edge of the nurses’ station to mimic Asha’s own habit. “Don’t forget to try the cookies. They’re infection-control compliant. Gluten-free and everything.”
It was the nickname that did it. Asha’s hand jerked, leaving a thin blue line across the prescription pad. She glanced up, ready to deliver a scathing rejoinder, but Max just winked, then turned back to her work.
The silence stretched. Asha’s cheeks grew hot. A physiological response she’d hoped she’d outgrown after med school, when her stoicism was the only armor she had against the disaster of her first solo code.
She refocused, willing her hands steady, but found herself glancing up again and again. Max had moved on to hanging miniature stockings above the medication fridge, consulting her phone for the order of names. Each time she reached, the hem of her scrub top rode up slightly, and her hair pulled back in a messy bun that was already coming loose, caught the soft glow of the fairy lights. A small tattoo peeked from her wrist: a row of cartoon animals in Santa hats. Unprofessional, Asha thought.
She tried, in vain, to tune out the way Max’s laughter infected the other nurses, or how the soft lights blurred the sharp edges of the room. She tried to work, but the unit refused to be subdued. The decorations were everywhere, and so was Max.
And, infuriatingly, so was Asha’s attention.
2
MAX
