Page 72 of Doctorshipped
It takes me a moment, and then I place him—a guy I haven’t seen since high school.
“I do. Hi, Nelson.”
Nelson greets me, walks over and shakes my dad’s hand, calling him Mister Culhane. Next thing I know, Mom’s pulling out an extra plate and asking Nelson if he likes green beans with his chicken.
Nelson is conveniently seated adjacent to me and the hopeful, but wary looks begin. You might be blindsided right now. I’m not. While I didn’t expect the matchmaking du jour tonight, seeing as I’m only here for supper and an overnight, I am used to these regular attempts to dredge up old classmates who still live in the area, or sons of a colleague, or God-knows-who to come to dinner, or if not dinner, to happen to bump into us when we are out somewhere.
Only tonight, when my parents obviously planned to try to fix me up with Nelson, I dropped theOh yeah, I’m dating a doctorbomb on them.
My parents are about as subtle as an anvil to the head. Which, I’d prefer over having to give Nelson the gracious cold shoulder right now.
Dinner moves on, and eventually, mercifully comes to a close. Mom suggests I walk Nelson out to his car. I’m surprised given that she thinks I’m dating someone. Maybe they don’t believe me. Or maybe they think I need a backup plan.
I probably need a lobotomy, or at least a laryngectomy where they’d remove my voice box. Not being able to talk seems like a viable solution at this point.
Unfortunately, at the Culhane home, the days of courtship are not obsolete. No, no. Not at all. Mom and Dad stare at me indicating I need to escort our gentleman caller to his vehicle.
I picture myself in a floor-length, Victorian gown, a shawl draped around my back and over my arms.Shall we stroll around the circle, fine sir?as my arm loops through the crook of Nelson’s. This scene would make my somewhat passive parents break out into the Highland Fling with joy, bagpipes and all. They’d put Mrs. Bennet to shame.
I glance over at Nelson as I walk him politely to his car, keeping a good two yards of space between us to convey my status clearly. I can picture quite a few men who would be a better candidate for a potential romantic interest—if I were going to be interested in dating. Nelson’s not the man for me, especially considering there is no man for me. Not even the one you’re thinking of right now.
And yes, unfortunately, I’m thinking of him too.
23
JAYME
Nighttime in my childhood bedroom feels just like you’d imagine. Time has stood still within these four walls. My trophies from the debate team line one shelf, and my awards for various writing contests all hang on a corkboard over my desk, along with tickets to a Lumineers concert, and a photo of me as Linda Loman inDeath of a Salesman,held in place by thumbtacks. I remember staring at the light lime green walls while I tried to compose my thoughts in my first attempts at writing fantasy stories back in high school.
And I just had to have this botanical comforter. I begged my mom to buy it. I should take that as a life lesson in momentary flashes of passion. Things pass. Whatever seems good in the moment can turn out to be as relevant as an out-of-date bedspread in the long run.
I pull out my notebook from my satchel and snuggle up against the pillows along my headboard.
I open to the next blank page in my journal-slash-idea book. I carry it with me everywhere in case inspiration strikes. I even have notes about strategies and methods for helping Fiona in here. I smile a drowsy smile thinking of her. She’s become so precious to me—like a niece or something even more.
I journal my thoughts and feelings for a while, and then I get down to business. Tonight I’m brainstorming about my cyborg fantasy story. The male lead is half man, half machine. But, over the course of the story, I picture him gradually leaning into his humanity.
The female who landed on his planet could only see him as a machine at first, but the more time she spends with him, the more she sees qualities that surprise and intrigue her. There’s more to the cyborg than meets the eye.
But, she’s been nearly destroyed by love before—love she had for someone who was fully human. How could she let herself love someone who doesn’t even possess half the humanity her ex had? Love has the power to decimate a heart. And my protagonist knows this well. She may go on a mission to help the cyborg, but she’s not about to put her fragile heart on the line again—not now or ever.
Ultimately, she will fall for him, against her better judgment. It’s simple on paper—in fiction. I can make her fall, make him worthy, make her risk her heart and win. If only real life were as easy to control as fiction.
I continue to jot thoughts about my characters, until my eyes drift and a yawn overtakes me. I shut my notebook, drop it into my satchel, and turn off the bedside lamp.
* * *
I wishyou could have been at Duke and Shannon’s rehearsal dinner. The full smile never left Duke’s face. Their eyes said it all, constantly finding one another in the crowd, their fingers entwining whenever they were next to one another, him putting a palm to her back, her looking up at him like he’s her world.
Tomorrow’s ceremony will be held in this outdoor amphitheater, it’s small and quaint, wooden benches in rows, with barely a slope to the ground, a view to the trees and lake in the distance. Of course, Duke made the whole rehearsal beyond fun with his antics, and the bonds between our friend group only strengthened as they do every time another one of us gets married.
Shannon asked Em, Laura, Lexi, and me to be her bridesmaids. Since she couldn’t choose a maid-of-honor, we’re all equal. Duke’s four older sisters all have roles to play, but they aren’t in the wedding party.
Duke has Aiden, Rob, Trevor, Brooks, and Shannon’s brother, Chris, on his side. That’s an extra guy, so I’ll be escorted by both Chris and Brooks for the recession after the service. Each of my friends will exit with their own husband.
Now we girls are gathered in Shannon’s suite for the night, waiting for her to come back from sneaking out with Duke one last time on the night before they are married. He came knocking at our door and swept Shannon away a few hours ago. We had planned a girls’ night in with an early enough bedtime to make sure no one ends up overtired during the ceremony. But, Duke being Duke, had to crash the party.
The door opens and Shannon nearly floats in.
