Page 22 of Love is Fake

It might have been cute if a friend called me that, but it was ever only used by bullies like Carly.

I wrinkle my nose like the moniker is a bad smell. “I haven’t heard that name since high school.” And yet it has the power to send me back to the place that was my own personal version of hell for way too many years. “I hated it then and turns out I still hate it now! Your ex had a real way with words,” I joke feebly.

“Sorry,” Lennox winces in acknowledgement and I wonder if – in retrospect – he can see what a supreme piece of work Carly really was.

I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “You don’t have to apologize, you weren’t the one who started it.”

“No, but I didn’t stop it either. I should have.” He shakes his head and I’m so surprised at the genuine frustration I hear in his voice that I allow myself the luxury of looking at him a little more closely.

“It was a long time ago.” I wave away his annoyance. “It’s all water under the bridge,” I assure him, although I’m not sure it is.

It still hurts to think about those days, but I never put Lennox into that group of kids who made my life hell. He was never mean to me. In fact, his only cruelty was indifference and I can’t really say I blame him for that. High school boys sort of just flow with the stream.

“Still…” Lennox looks at me for a long time and I wonder if he’s seeing the girl I used to be or if he’s lost in his own high school memories.

Either way, it’s not important. We’re not here to talk about old times.

“We’re going to do some flexibility tests now, alright?” I ask him, parking our previous conversation way in the back.

“You’re the boss,” Lennox teases, but without any of the harshness I’ve become used to from him.

“Damn straight,” I joke back as I start lifting his good leg to test his hamstring length. I don’t think about the heat of his skin under my hands or the zing of awareness I feel every time I touch him. I’ve never had a crush on a patient, so whatever this is, I need to kick it to the curb and I need to do it fast.

In my head, I start reciting all the bones in the body from the toes upwards until I manage to push those flustering feelings into the background.

Denial, denial, denial. Works like a charm every time.

“Did you know in high school you wanted to be a PT?” Lennox asks, making it hard for me to pretend he’s someone else.

Still, I’m grateful for the conversation and for him making an effort even though I can’t imagine he’s actually interested in my answer.

“I thought I wanted to be a doctor,” I respond truthfully. “But I shadowed a surgeon for a while over the summer before my senior year and I realized it wasn’t for me. There are a lot of good doctors, don’t get me wrong, but they didn’t have the time to really get to know their patients. They dealt with whatever the issue was and moved on to the next thing. It was like they weren’t treating people, just the problem. I wanted to spend more time with my patients, get to know them, help them in their day to day lives, not just for the hours I was operating on them.”

I click my jaw shut, abruptly, realizing I’ve said more than I meant to.

“Sorry, you were probably hoping for more of a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer,” I smile sardonically. “I have a tendency to ramble when I’m nervous.”

“Don’t apologize,” Lennox says, “I asked the question because I wanted to hear the answer.”

Thankfully he doesn’t mention me being nervous around him, although I have a feeling he’s stored that tidbit away for another day. In the short time I’ve spent with him, Lennox has given me the impression that he pays attention and that not a lot gets past him. He’s not the dumb jock I labelled him as, which is unfortunate because that would make him a whole lot less attractive.

“What about you? Sports were always the plan I guess?” He was a star athlete back in school. Enough to have the football and hockey team fighting over him.

“They wereaplan, but they weren’t mine,” Lennox says a little testily.

I keep my mouth shut, hoping he’ll say more, but not exactly asking him to.

“It was all down to Gray Senior – my…father,” his mouth twists a little and I wonder what kind of a relationship they have that he calls his dad by his last name. Once again, I keep my mouth shut, hoping he’ll say more and I can’t say that I’m not a little surprised when he does.

Lennox shrugs, as much as he can given the position I have him in. “He wanted me to play college football,” he says. “There were college scouts in and out of my house since I was in junior high. But I wanted to travel.” He shakes his head, looking a little regretful as he dances with the memory of a time far away. “I dunno, I guess, more than anything, I just wanted to get the hell out of town. See the world outside, you know. I figured there’d be time after that to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.”

“So what happened?”

“What happened?” Lennox looks up to the ceiling, like he doesn’t really know the answer to that question. “A lot happened, I guess. Things change and you roll with it or you get left behind.”

I try not to be disappointed at his evasion, he doesn’t owe me anything and I have no right to expect him to pour his heart out to me.

“You go home much?” I ask. It’s a question that doesn’t take us out of the conversation completely, but it’s the best I can do to keep him talking without prying too much. Dare I say, I might be enjoying the amicable chat we’ve settled into. It’s worlds betterthan us sniping at each other, which was our default until not too long ago.

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