Page 31 of Christmas On Call
Thursday passed in a haze. She stayed in bed until noon, then moved to the couch. Didn’t eat. Didn’t shower. Just existed in liminal space, unable to move forward or back, trapped in the paralyzing space between what was and what would be.
By evening, she’d convinced herself that ending things with Max was the only logical solution. It would hurt—God, it would destroy her—but it would also be clean. Simple. No disclosure needed if there was no relationship to disclose. She could go back to being Dr. Patel, ice queen, untouchable and alone. Feelings were bringing mess, and Asha had no time for it.
It was better that way. Safer.
She almost believed it.
At 7:08 PM, someone knocked on her door.
Asha ignored it, pulling the blanket tighter around herself on the couch.
The knocking continued, insistent and worried.
“Asha, I know you’re in there. Your car’s in the garage. Please open the door. You are seriously freaking me out and it’s not fair you’re ignoring me like this.”
Max’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Asha considered staying quiet, pretending she wasn’t home. But Max would just keep knocking, or call building security, or camp out in the hallway until Asha had no choice but to face her.
She dragged herself to the door and opened it.
Max’s expression shifted instantly from relief to shock. “Oh my God, Asha, what happened? What the hell is going on? You haven’t replied to me and you look like death.”
Asha must look worse than she thought. She hadn’t brushed her hair in two days. Her pajamas were rumpled. Her eyes felt swollen from crying at intervals she couldn’t quite track.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, but the words rang hollow even to her own ears.
“You’re not fine.” Max stepped forward, and Asha moved aside to let her in. “You called in sick, you haven’t answered your phone in over 24 hours. Can we sit down together? Please?”
They moved to the living room. Max sat on one end of the couch, and Asha curled up on the other, maintaining distance. The space between them felt like miles.
“Tell me what happened, just fucking speak to me please,” Max said.
Asha stared at her hands, at her unpolished nails and the faint tremor in her fingers. “Harrison knows.”
The words fell like stones into still water.
“Knows what?” Max asked, though her expression said she already understood.
“About us.” Asha’s voice came out flat, emotionless. “He saw a text from you during the department meeting. The one with the—” She couldn’t say it. “He called me to his office. Told me we have to file a relationship disclosure with HR within a week, or he’ll do it himself.”
Max was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then: “Okay. So we file the disclosure. That’s not the end of the world, right? This isn’t exactly a surprise. Surely you expected this might happen eventually?”
“Not the end of the world?” Asha’s head snapped up, something sharp and panicked breaking through her numbness. “Max, do you understand what this means? Everyone will know. The entire department. All the nurses, the other attendings, every resident who rotates through. I’ll be ‘the lesbian doctor sleeping with the nurse.’ Everything I say, every decision I make, every interaction—it’ll all be filtered through that lens. They’ll question my judgment, my professionalism, whether I’m giving preferential treatment or?—”
“Asha, stop.” Max’s voice was firm, cutting through the spiral. “You’re catastrophizing. It’s 2025 for starters. I know you have come from homophobia and judgement in your past, but the NICU is so accepting. You are spiraling it into something it’s not.”
“I’m being realistic!” Asha stood abruptly, started pacing the small living room. “You don’t understand what it’s like. The scrutiny. The whispers. I’ve spent seven years building my reputation here, being taken seriously, being seen as competent and professional, and now—” Her voice cracked. “Now it’s all going to be reduced to who I’m sleeping with because you lured me in with your god damn niceness.”
“That’s not true,” Max said, but there was something uncertain in her voice now.
“Isn’t it?” Asha turned to face her. “You’re not—” She stopped, but not fast enough.
“I’m not what?” Max’s voice had gone very quiet.
Asha’s hands clenched at her sides. “You’re not a doctor. You don’t have the same—” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t articulate the thought without sounding exactly as awful as she feared.
“The same what?” Max stood now too, and there was hurt in her eyes, mixing with confusion. “The same reputation to protect? The same career that matters? Is that what you were going to say?”
