Page 36 of Christmas On Call
“I know,” Martha said gently, sitting down beside her.
Max looked up, startled. “You knew?”
“Sweetie, half the unit suspected. You two have been circling each other like magnets since Christmas.” Martha’s expression was kind but knowing. “What happened?”
The story poured out—the relationship, the hiding, Harrison seeing the text, the required disclosure, Asha’s panic, the suggestion they should end things.
“She chose her reputation over me,” Max finished, and saying it out loud made it feel devastatingly real. “I gave her everything I had, and it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”
Martha was quiet for a moment, considering. Then: “Oh honey, that’s not what happened.”
“That’s exactly what happened?—”
“No.” Martha’s voice was firm. “What happened is a terrified woman panicked when her worst fear came true. She didn’t choose her reputation over you. She just doesn’t know how to choose anything when she’s that scared.”
Max shook her head. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference is time and clarity.” Martha reached over and squeezed Max’s hand. “That woman is in love with you. Anyone with eyes can see it. The way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching? Max, she’s completely gone for you. But she’s also been wound tight as a drum her whole life, programmed to believe that perfection is the only acceptable option. That doesn’t excuse what she said to you, but it explains it.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Max’s voice cracked. “Keep waiting? Keep being patient while she figures out if I’m worth the risk?”
“No,” Martha said simply. “You’ve been patient enough. More than enough. But you also don’t have to slam the doorcompletely shut. Give her the space to make a real choice—not in panic, but with a clear head. And if she still can’t choose you even then?” Martha’s expression was sad but resolute. “Then you’ll know for sure, and you can move on with your head up. Don’t give up on her just yet though.”
Max wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “What if she doesn’t choose me?”
“Then she’s an idiot,” Martha said bluntly. “But at least you’ll know you gave her every possible chance. You’ll know you did everything right, and you can walk away knowing your worth.”
Max nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Martha stood, patted her shoulder. “Now, go splash some water on your face. We’ve got six more hours of shift, and these babies need you at your best.”
At 1:32 AM, Max passed Asha in the corridor.
“Doctor Patel, can you follow me for a quick chat please,” Max said seriously as she nodded towards the on-call room.
Asha hesitated but then nodded and followed her footsteps.
Once inside, Max locked the door and crossed her arms.
“Asha. I can’t live like this. I know you feel the same way as me. You can’t let your fucked-up past ruin what we already have here.”
“I know, but it’s not always that easy for me,” Asha sighed as she moved closer to Max, reaching out to stroke her arm.
Max looked at her. Their eyes locked again, the way they always did. And then, Max kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. There was nothing soft or sweet about it. It was desperate and angry and raw—all the hurt and longing of the past two days channeled into the press of mouths, the grip of hands, the way they stumbled backward toward the bed without breaking apart.
“Fuck. Why can’t I stay away from you?” Asha moaned.
“Because we’re meant to be together,” Max said, pulling Asha’s lab coat off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.
“This doesn’t fix anything?—”
“I know. But it feels so good.” Max’s hands were already working the buttons of Asha’s shirt, her fingers clumsy with need and anger and the overwhelming desire to be close to her, to prove something neither of them could articulate.
They fell onto the narrow bed together, a tangle of limbs and desperation. This wasn’t like the other times. This was urgent, almost violent in its intensity, both of them trying to say with their bodies what words had failed to communicate.
Max pushed Asha back against the thin mattress, kissing her throat, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts. Asha’s hands were in her hair, gripping tight enough to hurt, and Max welcomed the pain because at least it was something she could understand.
