Page 24 of Christmas On Call
“Really. Unless—do you want to? We don’t have to if you’re not ready for more. I just guessed you kinda were with how you spoke about it before?—”
Max kissed her, cutting off the spiral before it could start.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, just breathing together, letting the reality settle.
Asha leaned her head onto Max’s shoulder and felt Max’s arm come around her. Yes. This.This is what I’ve been missing, she thought.
Not perfection. Not control. Just being seen for the real her inside.
8
MAX
Two weeks into January, and Max’s life had become a study in compartmentalization.
There was Work Max: professional, efficient, friendly with everyone, carefully neutral around Dr. Patel. Work Max kept her distance, called her “Doctor” in that respectful tone as much as possible, never letting her eyes linger too long on the curve of Asha’s neck or the way her hands moved when she was explaining a procedure to a resident. Tried her best to stop her thoughts from melting into the filthy, beautiful, and intense sex that took place every night between them.
And then there was Real Max: the one who knew what Asha looked like with her hair down and her guard lowered, who’d memorized the exact sound she made when Max kissed the spot just below her ear, who woke up at three in the morning with Asha curled against her side and felt like she’d finally found something worth keeping. She couldn’t believe how serious Asha was at work, compared to the Asha she knew deep in the night. The icy facade was truly fading in Max’s hands, and body.
The trick was keeping those two versions separate. Most days, Max managed it. Some days, it felt like trying to hold water in her hands.
She arrived for her Thursday evening shift at 6:52 PM, badge already out, mentally preparing for the performance. The NICU was busy tonight—census up to eighteen, including two new admissions from the day shift. Martha was at the station looking harried, and Juliette’s hair had shifted from violet to a shade of blue that reminded Max of Windex.
“Thank God you’re here,” Martha said without preamble. “Pod three needs a med check, pod five’s twins both need their IVs changed, and everyone keeps asking when Doctor Patel will be by”.
“I’ll handle pods three and five,” Max said, already pulling up the charts on the computer. “Is Doctor Patel here yet?”
“Just got in. She’s doing rounds with the resident in pod seven.” Martha paused, gave Max a look that was a little too knowing. “You two have been working really well together lately.”
Max’s heart skipped, but she kept her expression neutral. “She’s a good doctor.”
“Mm-hmm.” Martha didn’t push, but the look lingered.
Max busied herself with the charts, hyperaware of her own face, her own body language, the way she had to actively work not to look across the unit to where Asha’s voice drifted from behind a curtain—low, measured, explaining something to the resident with that particular blend of patience and precision that made Max’s chest ache.
Professional, Max reminded herself.We’re being professional.
She grabbed the med cart and headed to pod three.
An hour later, she was halfway through changing Baby Gomez’s IV when Asha appeared at her elbow.
“Nurse Benson.” Asha’s voice was perfectly clinical. “Do you have a moment to review the latest labs for Baby Liu?”
Max didn’t look up from the infant’s impossibly small arm, where she was securing the new IV line with practiced gentleness. “Give me two minutes to finish here.”
“Of course.”
But Asha didn’t leave. She stood close—not inappropriately close, but close enough that Max could smell that clean herbal scent of her soap that now lived in Max’s sheets and in her memory. Close enough that when Max shifted her weight, their shoulders almost brushed.
Max finished the IV, documented it, then followed Asha to the computer station. They stood side by side, both staring at the screen, and Max pulled up Baby Liu’s file.
“Glucose is 82,” Max said, keeping her voice steady and professional. “Down from 95 yesterday. Bilirubin is slightly elevated at 8.2, but still within acceptable range.”
“Agreed.” Asha leaned in to see the screen better, and her hand came to rest on the desk beside Max’s.
Their pinkies touched.
It was the smallest contact—barely noticeable to anyone watching—but Max felt it like an electric shock up her arm. Asha’s pinky hooked around hers, just for a second, a secret conversation conducted in the language they’d developed over stolen moments and careful touches.
