Page 47 of Holiday Love
“Helen?” I repeat, drawing out the word.
A loud sigh from her as she peeks at me. “No. I know I should’ve but…I chickened out.”
I push down any disappointment at her confession. This isn’t about me. It’s about her. I know she was working herself up to talk to Lindsey. That “listen” sticky note has grown worn from Helen rubbing her thumb over it every morning. The more time I spend with her, the more I realize she doesn’t see herself the way the rest of the world does.
She gets insecure. Overthinks. Self-sabotages.
Ihateit.
“Come here,” I say, patting the cushion right next to me, not caring if I sound bossy.
She slumps down like a teenager who missed curfew. “What?”
I shift awkwardly to face her, cast and all. “Let’s practice.”
“Practice what?” she asks, and there’s a flatness in her eyes that tugs at something deep in my chest. Ever since the suspension, she’s carried this shadow around, like she’s already half-convinced she’s failed, even though I’ve seen her spend hours hunched over her laptop, digging through research, building arguments to give the hospital committee. I know how much being a doctor means to her, how it’s part of her identity. Having it ripped away, even temporarily, is like tearing out a piece of her.
“Listening,” I reply.
She gives me a skeptical look.
Good thing I’m stubborn. “How did you get to be such a great doctor?”
“According to the hospital, I’m not a good doctor,” she says sullenly.
“That’s not what they said,” I counter, watching her closely. I wish she’d tell me the whole story about why she got suspended, but for now, I’ll take what I can get. “You studied. You practiced. That’s how you got good at it.”
“So?” She stares at her hand, tapping nervously against her thigh.
“So…” My mouth quirks, and I tip my head toward her. “Same rules apply here. We’ll practice until you’re great at this too.”
She shoots me a look that’s equal parts reluctance and curiosity.
“Let’s try it,” I say, leaning back like this is no big deal, even though I’m seriously invested. “You be you, and I’ll be Lindsey.” There’s a paper towel on the coffee table, left over from a snack I had earlier today. I snatch it and place it on top of my head. “Pretend I have long hair, like you said Lindsey has.” Dramatically, I flip imaginary strands over my shoulders.
Helen giggles. Exactly what I was hoping for. I’m addicted to that sound, so light and breathy. She lights up when she laughs, almost like she’s surprised herself.
Fighting the urge to laugh with her, I straighten my mouth and pitch my voice extra high, hopefully woman-like. I wave enthusiastically and squeak, “Hi, Helen! Wanna be my bestie?”
Helen laughs so hard she snorts, and my grin breaks free, stretching my cheeks.
“That wasridiculous,” she wheezes. “Lindsey isn’t going to say that to me.”
Tilting my head, I tell her, “She might not say it outright, but that’s probably what she’s thinking.”
“Doubtful.”
“Fine. Take two.” I clear my throat, drop the act, and say in a more-normal voice, “Helen, so nice to see you.”
Helen stares at me, her lips twitching.
Without moving my lips, I stage whisper, “This is the part where you say something back.”
“Oh!” She startles. “Right. Sorry. I got distracted.”
“By my rock-hard abs? My mesmerizing eyes?” I lean forward and purr, enjoying the way her eyes widen and her breath stills. I’m flirting with her,again. I can’t seem to stop. It doesn’t help that she’s so responsive, so easily flustered with her cheeks staining pink.
Helen blinks once, twice, slowly. Then she gives herself a shake, and that dazed look clears, replaced by a slit-eyed glare. “Distracted by your horrendous impression of a woman.”
