Page 26 of Christmas On Call
“Six hours too long. Six hours of trying to be professional when all I want to do is kiss you.”
They moved to the kitchen, where Max had already set out plates. Asha raised an eyebrow at the takeout containers. “You didn’t cook?”
“I value our relationship too much to poison you.” Max grinned. “Besides, this is from that place you like. The one with the good pad thai.”
Asha’s expression softened. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything about you.”
They ate on the couch, legs tangled together, sharing stories from their respective childhoods. Asha told her about a disastrous Diwali dinner when she was twelve, where she’d tried to explain to her parents why she wanted to be a doctor instead of an engineer, and the conversation had ended with her mother crying and her father not speaking to her for three days.
“They came around eventually,” Asha said, twirling noodles around her fork. “But only after I got into medical school. And even then, I think they were disappointed I didn’t go into a ‘real’ specialty like cardiology or neurosurgery.”
“Saving premature babies isn’t real enough?” Max asked, incredulous.
“Not in my father’s hierarchy of medical prestige.” Asha shrugged, but Max could see the old hurt beneath the casual gesture.
Max told her about her own father leaving when she was fourteen, how her mother had worked double shifts at the hospital to keep them afloat. “She was a nurse too. ICU. That’swhy I went into nursing—I wanted to be like her. Strong, capable, someone who made a difference.”
“You are,” Asha said softly. “You make a difference every day.”
The conversation drifted to lighter topics and the fact that Asha had never been to Disneyland.
“Wait, what?” Max set down her wine glass. “You’ve lived in California for how many years and you’ve never been to Disneyland?”
“I’ve been busy building my career!” Asha said defensively.
“That’s criminal. We have got to go. Soon. I’m taking you, and we’re getting those stupid Mickey ears, and you’re going to eat a churro the size of your arm. You will heal that inner child and I will help you find her.”
Asha laughed—really laughed, the sound bright and unguarded—and Max felt her heart swell with something that felt dangerously close to forever.
But then she opened her mouth and ruined it.
“We should go out sometime,” Max said, trying to keep her tone casual. “Like, actually out. To a restaurant. Maybe see a movie. Do normal couple things?”
Asha’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. The shift was subtle but immediate.
“I know we have to be careful,” Max continued quickly. “But LA is huge. There are hundreds of restaurants. What are the odds we’d run into someone from work?”
“Not zero,” Asha said quietly, setting down her fork.
“So we pick somewhere far from the hospital. Santa Monica, maybe. Or Venice Beach.”
“What if someone sees us?” Asha’s voice had gone tight, defensive. “What if one of the nurses is there? Or Doctor Harrison? Or any of the residents who rotate through?”
“Then we’re two colleagues having dinner,” Max said, but she could hear the frustration creeping into her voice despite her best efforts. “People are allowed to be friends, Asha.”
“We’re not friends though, are we, Max?” Asha stood abruptly, started gathering their plates even though they weren’t finished eating. “And the way you look at me—the way I look at you—anyone paying attention would know we’re not just friends.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with all the unspoken implications.
Max set down her wine glass carefully, trying to keep her emotions in check. “So what? We just hide forever? Never go anywhere together? Never be seen as anything more than coworkers?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?” Max stood too, following Asha to the kitchen.
Asha gripped the edge of the counter, her back to Max. “I’m saying I need time. To figure out how to navigate this. How to be with you without—” She stopped, her shoulders rigid.
