Page 32 of Christmas On Call
“That’s not—I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Then how did you mean it?” Max’s voice rose slightly. “Because it sounds like you’re saying your career is more important than mine. That being a doctor makes you more valuable than being a nurse. And you’re kinda pissing me off now.”
“No.” Asha shook her head violently. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying the power dynamics are different. The expectations are different. Female doctors in relationships with nurses—there’s a whole history of?—”
“Of what?” Max challenged. “Of people making assumptions? Of gossip? Asha, that’s going to happen regardless. People talk. That’s what they do. But we haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Haven’t we?” The question burst out before Asha could stop it. “We’ve been hiding this for weeks. Sneaking around. Being deliberately deceptive about the nature of our relationship. That’s?—”
“That’s what you asked for,” Max said, and now there was real frustration in her voice. “I wanted to be open from the start. You’re the one who insisted we keep it secret.”
“Because I knew this would happen!” Asha’s voice broke. “I knew that the moment anyone found out, everything would change. And I was right. Harrison knows, and in a week the entire hospital will know.”
“Is that more important than us? Than your feelings?” Max finished quietly.
The words hung in the air like an accusation.
“That’s not fair,” Asha whispered.
“None of this is fair,” Max said, and her voice was tired now, defeated. “I have been so patient, Asha. I have given you space. I have hidden what we are because you asked me to. I’ve let you keep me a secret, let you treat me like something you’re ashamed of, because I thought—” She stopped, swallowed hard. “I thought eventually you’d be brave enough to choose this. Choose us. But you’re acting like a child.”
“I’m not ashamed of you.”
“Then why are you acting like this?” Max’s eyes were too bright now, wet at the corners. “Because you’re clearly ashamed of me. Is it that I’m a nurse and you’re a doctor? Is it that you’re in love with a woman? What is it that terrifies you so much that you’d rather let this destroy us than just file a stupid form with HR?”
The questions hit like physical blows. Asha felt her legs weaken, felt herself sinking back onto the couch. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and it was the truest thing she’d said in days. “I don’t know what I’m ashamed of. I just know that I’ve spent myentire life trying to be perfect. Trying to meet every expectation. Trying to prove I’m serious and capable and worthy of respect. And this—” She gestured helplessly between them. “This feels like it undoes all of that. Like all anyone will see is the relationship, not the work, not the years of?—”
“So I’m the thing that undoes you,” Max said softly. “Loving me is what destroys everything you’ve built.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You’re going around in circles, Asha, and it’s killing me,” Max’s voice was gentle but devastated. “Asha, I love you. I am so completely in love with you that it terrifies me. But I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I can’t be with someone who sees loving me as the thing that ruins them.”
Asha felt tears spilling down her face, hot and unwelcome. “You don’t understand. My parents—the way I was raised—emotions were never valued. Achievement was valued. Perfection was valued. But feelings, relationships, anything messy or human—those were liabilities. Weaknesses. I learned early to wall those parts off, to be the daughter they wanted, the doctor everyone expected, and I don’t know how to be anything else. My brain just can’t function with feelings in it.”
“So learn,” Max said, and there was pleading in her voice now. “Let me help you learn. We can figure this out together, but you have to let me in. Really in. Not just when we’re alone in your apartment or mine. You have to be willing to claim this—claim us—publicly.”
Asha wiped at her face with shaking hands. “Maybe I can’t and you’re better off without me. Have you thought about that? Why are you still trying with me anyway?”
The question hung between them, terrible and honest.
Max closed her eyes, took a breath. When she opened them again, something had shifted—a hardening, a drawing back. “I don’t know what we’re doing here.”
“Max, please?—”
“No.” Max held up a hand. “I have given you everything, Asha. My time, my patience, my heart. I have made myself vulnerable in ways that scare the hell out of me because I thought—I believed—that what we had was worth it. But I can’t keep fighting for us when you’re already looking for the exit.”
“I’m not—” Asha started, but the words died on her lips because they both knew it was a lie.
Max moved toward the door, picked up her jacket from where she’d dropped it on the chair. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like she was giving Asha time to stop her.
Asha wanted to. God, she wanted to. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Maybe we should end this here,” Asha heard herself say, and the words tasted like poison. “Before it gets worse. Before we both lose our jobs or?—”
“Before you have to actually choose me,” Max said, and her voice was hollow now. “Before you have to be brave.”
“That’s not—” Asha tried, but Max cut her off.
