Perfectly Adequate(8)
I scratch my jaw, focusing my gaze on Roman. “She’s young.”
“How young?”
I shrug. “Maybe late twenties. I’m not sure.”
“Married?”
“I don’t know.” I grin. “Our interactions have been limited.”
“Wedding band?”
“No. But she might just not wear it to work.”
“Ha!” Mom throws her arms in the air like someone scored a touchdown. “You looked! Eli, you actually looked to see if she was wearing a wedding ring. That means something, my dear boy.”
Great. Yes, I looked to see if she had a ring on her finger after she went on about the podcast on burn research. For the tiniest, fleeting moment, I wondered if she went home to some guy who got to listen to her sexy, nerdy-girl chattering about medical research.
Jesus …
Did I really just think “sexy?”
“You should ask her out on a date.”
“I work with her. Not a good idea.”
Mom pulls her glasses down to the tip of her nose to look at me over the frames. “She’s a patient transporter. I’d hardly call that working with her.”
“I’m not ready to date.”
Mom drains her drink and sets it on the mosaic tile table between us. “Roman sure does like that cape.”
On a sigh, I bite back my grin. “Yeah, yeah … it was the perfect gift. I’ll write her a thank-you.”
“You do that.” Mom nods slowly. “Make sure you leave your cell number on that thank-you.”
“Aaannd … I’m out of here. Where’s Dad?”
She juts her chin toward the detached garage. “Playing with grease, as always. You know, you’ll never get over Julie if you don’t crack open the door to other possibilities.”
“Yup, I think I’ll go help Dad.” I make my escape to the garage to help my dad. He doesn’t ask questions beyond what’s up—a man of few words, always under a car, covered in grease. My parents are opposites in every way possible—the mechanic and the psychiatrist. But somehow it just works. Maybe Julie and I were too much alike. I never thought that really could be the case, but the list of things I never thought seems to grow every day.
*
“I asked Dorothy out on a date,” Dr. Warren informs me two seconds after I walk into the lab Monday morning.
My forward motion comes to a halt, crashing into a strange reality. It’s not that he asked her out on a date. It’s the way my hands ball into fists because I want to strike him square in the nose. And I’m not a violent person. Relaxing my fists, I stare at them for a few seconds before shaking them out, shaking out the completely irrational sense of anger he spurred in my unstable mind.
“Why would you do that? You were making fun of her just last week.”
“I wasn’t making fun of her. Just making observations. But I sensed it pissed you off, so I thought what better way to make you see that I’m not a dick than to ask her out. Buy her dinner. Show her a good time.”
How did he make it through medical school? Why did our educational institutions not require an ounce of common sense to receive a diploma? “Your level of ignorance knows no boundaries.”
“I graduated top in my class.”
“Good for you. I hope you find the cure for all cancers because your chances at finding success as a decent human are pretty slim.”
He chuckles like I’m joking.
I’m not joking. Clearing my throat, I thumb through some papers next to my computer. “Did she say yes?”
“I’m not sure. I think she needs to check her calendar, but she didn’t say calendar. She actually said ‘list.’ Do you suppose Dorothy Mayhem has a waiting list for dating?” Warren laughs, shaking his head.
“Maybe it’s a sex offender list.”
“Real funny.” He tips his chin, looking through the microscope.
“Did you…” I play it casual like it’s not bugging the hell out of me “…just ask her out this morning?”
“Yesterday. She only works Friday through Sunday. She’s a nursing student. Willow said she lives on a farm with emus. I’m not buying that rumor, but I’m sure as hell intrigued. It’s been a while since a woman really intrigued me. But she wouldn’t hand over her phone number, so now I have to wait until Friday to see where I fit on her list.”
“Who is Willow?”
Warren’s head snaps up. “Dude, she’s your nurse.”
“Willa. Not Willow.”
He shakes his head, enjoying some sort of laugh at my expense. “No one calls her Willa.”
My head jerks backward. “I call her Willa because that’s her name.”
“I stand corrected. No one except you calls her Willa.”
“Why not?”
“If you were a woman in your twenties named after your great grandmother Willa, would you actually go by that name?”
My lips twist, eyes squint. “Huh … how did I miss that? I’ll try to remember to call her Willow from now on.”
“No. Don’t. I’m pretty sure the only thing keeping her from jumping you is the fact that you call her Willa. If you call her Willow, she’ll probably start dry humping your leg.” Warren glances at his phone. “I have to check on Opal.”