Page 38 of Paging Dr. Hart
Praying Ethan is gone so I won’t have to face him, I pad on quiet feet down the hallway and peer around the corner. There he is, doing those ridiculous tai chi moves in the living room. There’s no avoiding him. I psych myself up to say something mean and sarcastic. It’s time to push him away, to remind him I’m a rose with sharp prickly thorns.
“Hey, Karate Kid. How’s wax on and wax off going this morning?” I say in my best snarky tone as I flounce toward the kitchen.
Ethan raises his eyebrows at my performance. “Good morning to you, too, Sleeping Beauty.”
The word “beauty” bounces around my head like a ping-pong ball as I enter the kitchen and skid to a stop. My iced coffee sits on the counter waiting for me. Ethan must have prepared it. I take a tentative sip. It’s perfect, exactly how I like it. The wind gets taken out of my spiteful sails. It’s possible I’m overreacting a bit. After all, it was only sleep. It’s not like we had sex or anything. And we didn’tactuallykiss.
Cautiously, I carry my iced coffee into the living room and sit on the couch.Ethan ignores me, but he doesn’t seem angry, just like he’s concentrating. His eyes stay focused on some far-off middle distance. I drink my delicious coffee and watch him move gracefully through the poses. His muscles bunch and loosen as he bends. When he lifts his hands above his head during one pose, his shirt rides up, exposing a slice of smooth tan skin.
Don’t look.
Finished with his routine, Ethan plops down on the couch next to me. The cushion bows under his weight, creating a hollow. Leaning back, I try not to topple into him. Can’t get too close this morning, not when the sensation of his body against mine is so fresh in my mind. Ethan furrows his brow, like he’s thinking hard about something.
Here it comes. We’re going to have an awkward conversation about last night.
“When the next group of residents come up to Cleveland, we should have them start on the ultrasound biopsy rotation, not CAT biopsy. What do you think?” He looks at me questioningly.
“Oh…okay?” I stammer out, surprised.
“Great.” Ethan rubs his hands together. “That’s settled. What about the call shifts? The next group will have to take some call. Do you think three a week is too many?”
I say hesitantly, “I think that’s fine?”
“What about textbooks? Which ones should we recommend they bring? Do we need to determine a minimum number of cases that they should read each day? Should we prerecord a video explaining the curriculum we set up? Dr. Fann might give one educational lecture a week if we ask him.” Ethan is all business, firing off ideas left and right.
That’s when I realize we aren’t going to talk about the nightmares or the sleeping arrangement or the maybe-almost kiss. Ethan’s doing this on purpose, talking about work to spare me. Get me back in my comfort zone.
The wall I’ve built against him crumbles, tiny pieces of brick and mortar falling to the ground. My muscles relax as I search him, looking for something to fear and finding nothing. There must be a strange expression on my face because Ethan halts mid-sentence and cocks his head to the side. “What?” he asks softly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
How can I explain my swirling thoughts in my mind? I’m not used to this sensation, this strange rush of gratitude. Not used to feeling safe. I’m wonderstruck, so I shake my head and say, “Tell me again how you think the call shift should work.”
•••
Later that day, we’re back in the hospital. Work is busy, but we’re making great progress. We’re almost done setting up the resident exchange. Ethan acts like nothing strange happened between us, making it easy to fall back into our routine.
Until nighttime, that is.
When it’s time to say good night, Ethan looks pointedly at me and gently pats the empty spot on the air mattress next to him. Like last night, he’s deliberately positioned himself on the far left side of the bed, leaving the right wide open.
I begin to argue but stop. Getting a good sleep last night was life-changing. It washed away years of exhaustion. It’s tempting to feel that way again. To have the world sharp and colorful, not dulled by fatigue like usual. With a sigh of defeat, I shuffle over and climb in next to him. I turn my back to him and don’t complain when he pulls me close and spoons me with one arm loosely thrown over my waist.
“Good night, Sleeping Beauty.” The soft whisper in my ear sends an infinitesimal shiver through my body. Too small, hopefully, for Ethan to notice. I fall asleep quickly. If I dream, I don’t remember it in the morning. We sleep together like this for our last couple of nights in Cleveland.
It’s the best sleep of my life.
32
Our cars are packed. The apartment has been cleared out. The trash can is full of the half-eaten grocery items we couldn’t quite finish. It was hard for me to throw away food like that. I still remember back in college and medical school when I was broke and alone, surviving on ramen and water.
Ethan searches through the apartment once more to make sure we haven’t left anything behind. Waiting next to my car, I watch him lock the apartment door for the last time. He jogs easily down the stairs to me. I drop my set of keys into his outstretched hand. He’ll return both sets to the apartment manager before he leaves for Columbus.
An awkward silence settles.
“Well, thanks for being a good housemate.” He hesitates, seemingly at a loss.
“You too.” I grip my car keys tight in my hand and shift on my feet.
A wave of sadness drifts over me. I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss seeing Ethan every day. I’d grown used to sharing that small space with him. We’d developed our own rituals and routines within those walls. Every morning when we’d leave for work, I’d duck under his arm as he held the front door open. Every evening, he’d turn on the bathroom light, a nightlight for me, before going to bed.
