Page 15 of Anatomy of a Meet Cute
“Girl, after a sixteen-hour shift is not the time to look at your auntie’s Pinterest board. You’re tired.”
“You’re right,” Jehan sniffed, looking around with a critical eye for possibly the first time in hours. “And Travis and I haven’t ever been separated like this since we started dating six years ago. I know it’s a sensitive time for him. We’ve never had to negotiate our relationship from a distance. He likely thinks dismissing my family’s expectations is helpful.”
“See. Everyone’s processing right now.” Sam picked up a pile and stacked it carelessly on top of another, trying to think. Jabs at Travis would not help anyone right now. Looking for an encouraging way to reframe her friend’s struggle, she said, “I’m sure Travis can learn to respect the role your family plays in important events. Your mom and aunts can wait forty-eight hours, and tomorrow, we can space out after work, look at the pretty pictures, decide which ones to keep and which ones to throw out. Sound good?”
“When you say it like that, I feel ridiculous.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Smiling at her, Sam shook her head and laughed. “After all, you talked me out of flipping out over seeing my mom in LA. Roomies are good for perspective.”
“Honestly, anxiety is really normal,” Sam said, smiling up at the woman in front of her. Sheila was relatively new to the clinic, which meant that her baby and Sam would get to go through her first year at SF Central together. The thought was fun for Sam, but she didn’t voice that to her patient, who was already looking a little nauseous while Sam walked her through an outline of the next six months pre- and postpartum.
“This is a lot,” Sheila said, fidgeting on the exam table. “How does anyone remember all this?”
“A lot of it, your body will likely do for you.” Sam laughed. “And what it doesn’t do, anyone in your life who has been pregnant in the last few years will remember for you.”
Sheila giggled. “Advice from strangers. Every pregnant person’s worst nightmare.”
“I’m not sure I’d take it from them. At least not without vetting it first,” Sam laughed, then began to write down a list of a few things Sheila should keep in the house as her pregnancy progressed. “Does your family live locally?”
“No. It’s just me and my partner. They drive a short-haul truck route, so right now it is just me. We’re originally from Utah.”
“Oh,” Sam said. Suddenly her nerves made a lot more sense. “In that case, I might recommend taking a few classes to help you make a few other pregnant friends, and if you are so inclined, you might want to speak with a birthing specialist.”
“Birthing specialist?”
“Commonly called a doula.” Sam made a mental note to cut down on the jargon next time she had this conversation.
“Where can I find those? Classes and the birthing ... whatever you called it.” Sam felt her heartbeat pick up. Not three seconds ago she’d been riding high on her ability to suggest resources. Now she was crashing under the weight of where to actually get them. Sheila must have sensed her hesitance, because she started, “I can google—”
“No worries!” While Sam was a fan of learning to change a headlight from YouTube, googling pregnancy plus anything had an equal likelihood of getting her ripped off as solving her problem. “It’s just that I’m still new here, so I am not sure which services are reputable in the area. But you have another appointment in a few weeks, so why don’t I ask around, and we can talk about your options then?”
Sheila nodded, the corners of her mouth turning up slowly. “Sounds good.”
“Okay then. Any other questions I can answer for you?” Sam asked, praying that if she had questions, they were medical in nature. Last week someone had asked where the nearest coffee place was, and it had nearly killed Sam to admit she didn’t know that either.
“No, I think I’m all set. Thank you, Doctor.”
“All right. Take care. And call that number or send me an email if you have any questions before your next appointment.” Sam handed her the page she had been writing on and stepped out of the room, careful to gently close the door behind her.
Sam walked down the hallway, sighing heavily as she made her way to the nurses’ station. She felt Sheila’s question rattling around in her head and winced. Much to her chagrin, the charge nurse was not at the desk. Sam wanted to be able to email her patient the information as soon as possible. She also wanted to get the answers to her questions from anyone other than Grant.
She’d seen him at the short convening he held for the fellows and residents he was supervising that day. The meeting was only fifteen minutes and entirely patient focused, but Sam could almost feel Grant’smind assessing her every word, looking for some new way to retrieve the upper hand the entire time. By the end of the morning, she decided that avoiding him was the best possible outcome. Duke pointed out that it would be physically impossible for her to avoid the man for the next three years, but Sam had to disagree. Where there was a will, there was a way. And she had a lot of will. Except ...
She also had a lot of questions. Loath as she was to admit it, Grant would have the answers. If it was between maintaining a petty grudge and providing patient care, Sam could suck it up for twenty minutes.
Rounding the corner toward the graying staff lounge, Sam spotted him through the webbed window in the door. Perched on the end of a couch, he was huddled over some paper spread out over a coffee table. His dark hair was perfectly in place, held together by the same kind of alchemy that also made his scrubs wrinkle-free despite being six hours into a shift. The muscles in his left arm flexed as his pen hovered over the page, preparing to write down notes on whatever was causing the crease in his brow.
Does he have to be hot?It was one thing to have to work with someone who you didn’t really like. It was another thing to work with someone who was so good looking it was difficult to make eye contact with them. Why couldn’t he just be disheveled like everyone else?
Taking a deep breath, Sam reminded herself that she’d watched the guy peg someone with a basketball. Whether or not he was perfectly put together, she didn’t need to be intimidated by him. Grant’s gaze flicked briefly to the door as Sam did her best to glide through it, willing her heartbeat to slow down as she entered the room.
“Hey,” Grant said, the muscles in his face twitching toward a smile before he looked back down at whatever he was writing.
“Hello,” Sam said, with a small wave that instantaneously felt absurd. He wasn’t looking at her. Why was she waving? Looking forsomething to do with her hands, she went over to the coffee machine and stared at its buttons for a moment. She just needed to be cool. Colleagues bounced ideas off each other all the time. Fumbling with a puny-looking paper cup, Sam poked at a button promising a latte before turning to face the couch and its occupant again.
“Hey, Grant. I’ve been meaning to ask—” The sound of the machine wheezing and grinding coffee beans interrupted her right as he looked up, a hint of his earlier concentration still furrowing his brow. The machine let out a puff of steam and seemed to quiet down as it began to fill her cup, and Sam took another deep breath. “Wow, that is loud. How does anyone have a conversation over that?”
“Fair warning—it tastes how it sounds. Most of us get coffee from the cafeteria.” Grant half smiled, and the lines on his forehead disappeared. “What’s up?”
