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Sometimes you think you’ve seen everything life can throw at you, and the future feels all but guaranteed. Working in a hospital, I know this isn’t the case. The coma patient who’s been unresponsive for five years suddenly wakes up. A routine check-up suddenly turns into a code. But it’s easy to get complacent, to believe that you know what’s coming. And then suddenly things change, and everything you thought was impossible becomes an option.
“Doctor Dorian! Why, aren’t you as handsome as ever?” Miss Peterson smiles at me through several layers of wrinkles, looking as cheery as usual. It’s Tuesday, and I’m on my post-Turk-chat-and-chew rotation, checking in on my patients. Miss Peterson is a regular at Sacred Heart; when you’re in your nineties, being at a hospital is almost a part-time job. She’s a favorite among the staff, always so complimentary. I never leave her room without hearing how attractive I am, and maybe it’s because she knows I’ll always sneak her an extra pudding cup from the cafeteria, but considering my current love life, it’s nice to have someone acknowledge my tush still looks good in these pants.
“Good to see you as well, Miss Peterson! Let’s take a look at your most recent blood work, shall we?” Skimming her chart, I see that her insulin levels are holding steady, and all those markers that were looking scary before have improved. “Well, if this keeps up, you’ll be out before the end of the week!”
“Oh, that’s a shame, I’ll miss talking to such an intelligent, handsome young man.” No one had called me young in about fifteen years, but considering Miss Peterson showed me pictures from when she met Teddy Roosevelt, her perspective is probably different from most.
“Are you this nice to all your doctors, or just the ones who look like they need a compliment?” I tease.
“Only the eligible bachelors. You are still eligible, aren’t you, Doctor Dorian?” We had talked about my current love life woes earlier this week. Despite a great start, Charlie and I were doomed to fail; she was a Wicked hater and nobody talks bad about my girl Elphaba. Miss Peterson knows all of this, so why is she asking an obvious question?
“Miss Peterson, I’m flattered, but I don’t tend to date patients.” Especially ones who could have gone to high school with my grandparents.
“What about their grandchildren?” She’s looking at me like she’s Ahab and I’m the white whale she’s been searching for. “My oldest Casey is single and looking to mingle.”
“I don’t really think-”
“Oh, don’t be modest. Here, I’ll give you Casey’s phone number.” She jots it down and rips it off the notepad next to her bedside, holding it out. “You can say that I insisted. Think about it. You deserve happiness just like everyone else, Doctor Dorian.”
I take the paper, knowing I’ll be the bane of the staff if I refuse. It’s not like I have to use it. I’m not that desperate.
“Am I that desperate?” I ask Turk later, as we’re sitting at the bar, having a drink after work. I’m buzzed on appletinis and feeling loose. “Like, I know I’m in kind of a rut-”
“Pshh. A rut. You’re in a damn sinkhole, JD. And that’s why Miss Peterson is the nicest old lady in the world, cause not only did she get her daughter to bake an entire tray of brownies for the care team, I bet she already went ahead and greased the wheels to hook you up with her hot granddaughter.” Turk holds out his hand.
“What?”
“Gimmie your phone and watch me work my magic.”
“Your magic hasn’t really been relevant since 1997.”
“I’ve been practicing!” Turk yanks my phone away. “My girls showed me WikiHow.”
“What does that have to do-”
“Quiet.” Turk begins to type furiously, as if he’s an 18th century novelist driven by cocaine and gumption. He hands it back to me after a moment, and I read the message. Hi, this is John Dorian. Is this the cutie that Miss Peterson told me I should take for a nice dinner?
I lower my phone. “You’re like Shakespeare, except brown and bald.”
“Listen, JD, you’ve got to start thinking outside the box. Get out of your comfort zone. A blind date is the perfect opportunity.”
“Easy for you to say! All you had to do to find a wife was walk into the first day of your internship.”
“What Carla and I have can never be matched, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get something at least eighty, eighty-five percent as good.”
“Your faith in me is staggering.”
I’m jolted when my phone vibrates; it seems the mysterious Casey isn’t shy about responding. I’m guessing this is the handsome doctor my grandmother was insisting I meet? You’re actually a doctor, right? Grandma sometimes calls people doctors and then I find out they practice out of a yurt in the Mojave and talk a lot about ayahuasca.
Oh, she’s funny. No, they let me have my MD and everything. If you don’t believe me, you can check the California Department of Professional Regulation-
“What are you writing, oh my God, dude?” Turk gives me major side-eye. “Do you want this date or not? Delete that shit.”
Damn those velvety chocolate orbs, so persuasive! “No one appreciates my subtle humor,” I sigh, tap tap tapping backwards up until everything before pressing send.
It’s only a moment before I receive a response. And everything? What else is there?
Wanna find out? Ooooo, still got it, JD.
You’ve convinced me. Are you busy Friday night?
I’m free after eight!
“The exclamation point makes you sound desperate.”
“T-Dizzle, stop harshin’ my vibe or I won’t let you peep on my convos anymore.”
Casey did not seem to take my punctuation choices as desperation, writing back a moment later. How does Italian sound? Nico’s?
Bellisima. That single semester of Italian from undergrad is really paying dividends.
Great. Looking forward to hearing about the everything soon ;)
“A winky face, Turk! I nailed it!”
“Ah, ah ah. You nailed the opening play. You’re still five yards away from a first down and you’ve been fumbling all season.”
“You know the sports metaphors go right over my head.”
“I know the only balls you’re familiar with are your own,” he nods sagely, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Please don’t fuck this up. Carla already made me promise we’ll only get a one bedroom when we move to a 55+ community, I won’t have room for you.”
“Not even for our adult slumber parties?” I press a hand to my chest. “But where will we store the karaoke machine?”
“What did we agree to call them, JD?”
“Our manly hangouts where I sleep in the guest room.” I sigh.
Now I know I have to clinch this date, or I’ll end up as a geriatric hanger on in the guest suite Ollie builds me when he buys a mega mansion. My only entertainment will be trying to set up my hot granddaughters like Miss Peterson. Hopefully Ollie will get me a minxy nurse for sponge baths. Ooooh, Ms. Evans, just a little lower-
A sharp whistle breaks me out of this reoccurring daydream. “Oldie, phone home! Earth to Oldie! Anything rattling around in that empty maraca of yours?”
“Yeowch! How are your lips still so supple and soft enough to do that?!” I clutch my ears, scowling at Doctor Cox. It’s been two days since the bar, and we’re sitting in my office, my desk between us, laden with books and papers on microscopic polyangitis as I research possible treatment methods. Every time I glance at Perry’s latest test results, my eyes water like I’ve just taken a spoonful of wasabi, so instead I’ve focused on poring over whatever I can find that might point to a possible answer.
“Calisthenics,” he not answers me, nodding at the desk. “Any progress?”
“Not yet,” I answer honestly, sighing. “There’s some experimental stuff coming out of UCLA that I’m looking into-”
“Not looking to be some black-pilled grad student’s guinea pig there, Marcia.”
“I’m trying. Are you still feeling okay?”
“Other than feeling the weight of my own mortality as I lie awake at 2am, sure, just peachy-keen.”
“Your sarcasm levels certainly haven’t taken a hit.”
“Well gosh, Oldie, I’m soooooo sorry my imminent demise has got you feeling overworked. Hey, maybe I should just call the gravedigger now and tell him to start on my plot. Plus, if I convince Jordan to off herself with me, we can probably get a two-for-one deal!”
“I know you’re only lashing out because you’re scared,” I say, shifting my attention back to my laptop and pretending to type Important Doctor Things. I won’t give him the fight he’s looking for. Instead, I’m gonna kill him with kindness. “Tough luck there, Perry. When you open your heart to John Dorian, you can’t stuff the feelings genie back in the bottle!”
The growl he lets out used to terrify me; now it’s just a comforting reminder that as much as things have changed between us, some things never will. “I’m going to stuff you into a bottle if you don’t get me a solid answer on treatment protocol in the next forty-eight hours.”
“I’m actually off tomorrow night. How do you feel about Saturday morning?”
“Take the overnight shift. You’re Chief of Medicine, you’re supposed to be an example. Besides, what else do you have going on?”
For once, I have a good answer to this. “Actually, I’ve got a date.”
Perry raises an eyebrow. “Oh ho ho! Another poor unfortunate soul? Don’t worry, I’m sure this next one will be the one to finally pop your cherry.”
“I’ve had sex before - You’ve met my kids!”
“And when the DNA results come back, maybe I’ll start to believe Barbie put a baby in you. Just remember, Angela, even if he promises you a ring, you’re gonna want more proof before you show him your tits.” He mimes himself lifting up his shirt, just in case I miss his point.
I stick up my nose, like a regal 18th century gentlewoman. “Under the shirt stuff is third date material. I’m a traditional kinda gal.”
“I’ll note that for when I finally set up your Grindr profile.”
I squint at him. “How do you know what Grindr is?”
He throws up his hands. “Everybody knows what Grindr is. Now, I’m going to spend what limited time I have left with my beautiful wife and children, since god knows you’re too busy writing ‘Mrs. John Whateverhisface’ in your spiral notebook a hundred times to actually be a doctor. You can just get back to me when you figure something out; hopefully my cold, dead heart will still be beating at that point.” He shoves out of his chair, gives me a classic Doctor Cox Glare for good measure, and strides out of the room.
I yell after him. “You can’t fool me, Perry! I know what’s in that heart now; it’s emotional vulnerability!”
Despite his psychological warfare and decades long emasculation campaign, a visit with Doctor Cox always leaves me with an extra pep in my step and a determination to prove my mettle. Before the end of my shift on Friday, I’ve made some phone calls and figured out some promising options, happily shooting him a text as I walk out the door to ask if he’s okay with the plan. I get back an eye roll emoji with a thumbs up next to it, which, in Doctor Cox-speak, is the equivalent of him lifting me up off the floor and twirling me around before dipping me and kissing me passionately. The idea gives me shivers… of platonic admiration.
I shiver my way out the door and into my car, praying Maintenance Guy hasn’t chosen tonight to fill my tailpipe with smashed bananas. The engine turns over, so I do a little fist pump, and zip out of the parking lot.
Nico’s is a moderately expensive Italian place in the middle of town; a prime date joint for everyone from teenagers blowing their life savings on fettuccine Alfredo to old people blowing their pensions on chicken par-mih-gee-ana. It’s the kind of place that shows you’re not desperate to be liked, but interested enough to forgo the Applebees gift card from 2012 sitting in your wallet. However, I am desperate to be liked, so I opted for the tailored suit I used to wear on certain concierge calls; it screams professional, but flirty if you play your cards right. Hopefully it impresses.
Casey never actually sent a picture of herself, so I’m left standing in the doorway, texting her. I made it! I’m in a black vest and suit.
I glance around the waiting area, noting a variety of attractive women. I wonder if any of them are my mystery date? Oooo, I definitely wouldn’t mind if it was her…
“John Dorian?” I jump a little and spin around, blinking at a tall, muscular man with light brown hair, a sharp, stubble-covered jaw and a curious smile.
“Ye-es?” Did Casey send him to guide us to our table? He’s not dressed like the rest of the staff.
The man raises an eyebrow, as if I’m the one being confusing. “Hi, I’m… Casey?”
I open my mouth, and then freeze for a good ten seconds.
Wait.
Several things click into place at once. She called him her grandchild, she never used pronouns for him, he never sent me a picture, I never implied he was a woman in my texts-
“Oh,” I say, in a voice so weak and pathetic it might as well be sitting in a wet cardboard box on the side of the road. “You, uh… aren’t what I was expecting.”
“Hopefully in a good way?” Now Casey looks as awkward as I sound. “Do you still wanna sit down?”
Of course not, don’t you know I’m-
“Straight! Away!” I somehow manage to jerk my expression into something that looks less panicked and follow the host and Casey to a cozy seat at the far end of the restaurant. The host is beaming at us, like she’s simply delighted by our presence. At least somebody here is having a good time.
“So…” Casey starts when she finally leaves. “Not what you were expecting?”
For a brief moment, I consider lying. Putting on a grand performance, just to avoid hurting the feelings of someone who seemed charming and kind over text. This could be my King Lear moment. My Pippin!
Oh, who am I kidding. I lost the role of Cow in my high school production of Into the Woods to a cardboard standee.
“I thought you were a woman,” I answer honestly.
Casey pauses mid bread-tear, and then lets out a laugh, dropping his face into his hands.
“Of course you did. Because Grandma didn’t say I was a man. Again.”
“Again?”
“Third time in two years. She’s really casting her net wide to see what sticks. If she even gets a whiff of metrosexuality in a man, they get my number.”
Miss Peterson, you crafty old girl! I knew wearing a polo shirt to work once was going to come back to bite me. “One of my interns said I needed to stop queerbaiting her… she seems chronically online so I’m hoping that means something nicer than it sounds.”
Casey sighs. “The first time this happened, I was so humiliated. Now I’m just disappointed.”
And then he proceeds to give me the most intense once over I’ve been subjected to. His eyes linger over every dip and valley of my rockin’ bod, like I’m a fine prize stallion and he’s ready to put down good money for me.
“It’s really a shame,” he finishes, meeting my gaze.
Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I feel a little lightheaded. Usually I only feel like this after getting off carnival rides and having dinner with my ex-in-laws. “Sure is,” I agree, for some reason.
“Why’d you stay, though?”
“Huh?”
“Why’d you sit down? The other two guys practically ran out the door the moment they realized what was going on. But you didn’t. You sat down with me.”
“Well that’s, uh...” Quick - come up with a reason! “Because I’m such a fantastic ally!”
Casey quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes! I even got a nomination for it at the last hospital gala dinner.” That’s not a lie, either. When Nurse Dubois handed me the award, he whispered I see you into my ear and gave me a look that definitely meant I acknowledge your support of my people. “I also struggle to say no and often find myself regretting the consequences.”
“So you’re a people-pleaser.”
“Some have called me this. Are you pleased?”
“Frankly, I’m bewildered. Are you regretting sitting down with me?”
I’ve got a knee jerk answer, but something makes me pause. “Actually? No. You seem nice and this feels like a lot less pressure than I’m used to on dates- not that this is a date.”
“Mhmmm.” Casey’s got this look in his eye, and I’m sure if I knew him better, I would instantly be able to tell what he’s thinking. I get the sense he’s the kind of guy who has a whole unspoken language with his close friends. “So you tend to feel a lot of pressure on dates with women.”
“What are you, my therapist?” I joke weakly. “Doesn’t everyone feel pressure when they’re dating? You’re trying to basically sell the best version of yourself to a person before they see the one that sits on the toilet eating Twinkies at 3am.”
“Well, how about this. Since you’re having a nice time, and now that I understand what’s going on, I’m having a much less confusing time, we could just sit and talk and eat some nice food. No pressure, no expectations. Just see how it feels.”
He doesn’t want your cherry on date one, he’s a keeper, yells the little Doctor Cox in my brain. I shoo it away, considering Casey’s offer. “You understand I’m straight, right?”
“I understand you sat down,” he says. “I’m interested in seeing what that means.”
Well… it would be a shame to make them clean up the table and not make any money off of us. “Maybe just an appetizer.”
“Everything’s on me,” Casey promises. “It would’ve been, anyway, for someone as cute as you.” He winks.
The blush that erupts up my chest is extremely manly and heterosexual.
Before long, an appetizer turns into a pasta course and an entree. As we consume unhealthy amounts of red sauce, I learn that Casey is working on a PhD in psychology (the talk therapy energy makes sense now), works in community mental health, and has received several awards for his efforts. He has a fantastic relationship with his parents, goes to the gym four times a week, and loves dogs, musicals and trips to the Mediterranean. He’s also generous with attention, asking me plenty of questions about my own life. He seems really impressed by my choice to give up a lucrative concierge doctor position and accept a Chief of Medicine role at a poorly-funded hospital.
“It was kind of a favor for a friend,” I admit. “Although if I called him my friend to his face he’d probably stuff me into one of the on-call lockers. Gently, I hope.”
“So one of those tough outer shell, ooey-gooey inside types.”
“There’s about fifteen layers of shell, and an itty-bitty pearl of goo you really have to search for.” An image flashes in my brain of Perry laying in a hospital bed, gritting out hard won words. I tried to protect you from this. I wince, glancing off to the side. “Only took me twenty-five years to reach it.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. He’s been going through some medical stuff and it’s been stressful.” No matter the gender, I really know how to bring down the mood on a date.
“I hope he knows how good of a friend he has,” Casey offers. “Let’s change the subject. Favorite coffee shop downtown?”
“Oh, The Tin Whistle, obviously.”
“Oooo, a man of taste and refinement. Grandma really knows how to pick them.”
As we work our way through the dessert course (shared, of course, because I’m too full to eat a whole slice of tiramisu myself) I let myself acknowledge the fact that Casey is a really nice guy, and this is the best time I’ve had in years on… an outing with another human being who I did not know previously.
So of course, I have to go and ruin it.
“This has been a really nice evening,” I say as my spoon hits my plate. “Thank you for that. It’s hard feeling like I can be a guy with a social life outside of the hospital.”
Casey smiles. “You’re welcome, JD. I really enjoyed myself too, best date I’ve had in a while.”
There’s that D word again. “I don’t think that’s really what it was.”
“Why not? We met at a restaurant, talked and ate food, and enjoyed each others’ company. And if you’ll allow me, I’d love to be a gentleman and walk you out to your car before saying goodnight.”
“But generally a date happens when two people meet with the purpose of seeing if they like the other person and want to continue a relationship.”
“Well, I like you. How do you feel about me?”
“You… do seem like a nice guy.”
“Okay. Then how would you feel about a movie next week? I buy tickets, you buy popcorn?”
This isn’t going how I expected it to. “You said no pressure.”
“I did.” He opens his arms wide. “It’s only an offer. We both had a nice time, and I’d be up for seeing where this goes.”
“There’s only one direction it could go - a manly, platonic friendship.”
“Maybe. How did this feel? I mean, in comparison to eating dinner with a woman?”
This is why I don’t usually date people in mental health; they ask very direct questions that normal people find impolite. “It was fine,” I shrug, looking around for our waitress. “No better, no worse.”
“Okay. So the offer still stands.”
“I- I should go.” My tummy was calm five minutes ago, but now it feels like I’ve just gotten off the Skydiver coaster at Adventure Park and Turk is handing me a barf bag. I jerk up from my chair, glancing around the room. It feels like everyone has been staring at us, even if there are no other eyes on me at the moment. “You said you’d take care of this?”
“Absolutely. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you out?”
I shake my head. “It was nice to meet you,” I say, sticking my hand out. Then I realize that’s probably a little informal for a date- except it’s not a date, so I kind of whip it forward and back and forward for a second. Casey raises an eyebrow and does not make a move to take my hand. A diner behind Casey politely coughs, knocking me out of my loop. “Um. Bye.”
I have never run out of a date in my life, no matter how awful. But there’s something to be said for speed walking. When I push the front door of the restaurant open and cold air hits my face, it feels like the world shifts.
The street outside is quiet, unassuming. It looks exactly like it did when I came in. Nothing has changed.
Except everything has changed.
No, you’re being dramatic. You just had a nice dinner with a nice guy and you felt kind of warm and fuzzy afterwards. You feel the same way after your twice monthly full body massage with Michael. He’s got such soft, pillowy fingertips and does wonders for your sciatica.
Only… sometimes I have this thing where a thought or memory gets stuck in my head and plays itself over and over again, making me doubt my entire grip on reality. Walking down the street, I think about work, about the last time sweat broke out on the back of my neck, the words maybe try dudes repeating over and over and over with each successive step towards my car.
And for the first time ever, I consider.
No, bad Newbie, consideration bad! The little Perry in my head yells as I do a little swoon, catching myself against the wall of the nearest building.
See? Even the idea of it is giving me the vapors. I am straight. Very straight. Just like all the other men on this block.
“You doin’ okay there, sweetie?” A man in a fabulous pink blouse and a perfectly coiffed wig stares at me from the doorway of the building. I glance up and realize I’m leaning against the wall of the local gay bar, Ace’s.
Shit. Bad example.
“Just fine and completely heterosexual!” I yelp, leaping away from the wall and quickly striding faster.
“We can put that to the test if you want!”
“You have a good evening yourself, sir!” I just need to make it to my car. Then I’ll be safe from these wild thoughts that were supposed to stay in that undergrad dorm room after Jimmy Lawson said I was pretty in the right lighting.
Thankfully, my car is only another block up the street. I slip inside, shut the door, and take a deep breath. Everything is fine.
My phone buzzes. It’s Casey. Hey. I’m sorry if I freaked you out. You’re a really nice guy and I had a great time. Don’t worry about next week, have a nice night
And instead of feeling relieved, I make a little hiccupy sound and burst into tears.
Oh no. No no no no no no no no-
No, I’m sorry! I had a lot of fun, I just don’t know what I’m doing. It’s hard to type when you can’t see very well. I send the message, wipe my eyes, and watch as three bubbles pop up on screen. It feels like the longest ten seconds of my life waiting for an answer.
Do you want some help figuring it out?
I rest my forehead on my steering wheel, taking big, gulping breaths of air. The truth is, ever since the divorce, nothing’s really felt right in my love life. I’ve had more emotionally intimate conversations in the last three months with Doctor Cox than a single woman I’ve dated, and every attempt at a relationship has felt pretty empty. Like there’s something missing. And the date with Casey - because that’s what it was, a date - felt more exciting, more engaging than anything I’ve felt in years.
I think so. I stare at the words for a second, my finger hovering over the Send button. Is this just desperation? When I was younger, it felt like women threw themselves at me, or at least kept me busy enough that there was no need to consider other options. And even with my lady dating card firmly in check, there was still a constant barrage of gay jokes and people implying my masculinity was in question. It was bad enough when people just had assumptions to go off of. Actually giving them evidence though? Not an option.
Get out of your comfort zone, the little Turk on my shoulder says, before doing a sick dab and back flipping off my collarbone.
And maybe sometimes, you have to do a sick dab and back flip into a new opportunity, even if it scares you more than you thought possible. Because it’s better than being alone forever.
I press Send.
Ten seconds later, Casey answers. I’d still love to take you to that movie. Do you want me to pick you up?
I think I’d like that. Then I send him my address and spend the next twenty minutes breathing into my hands until the world stops spinning.
“How was your date?” Carla asks the next day, smiling at me. “She spend the night?”
“No, actually. Just dinner. He was very nice.” I didn’t get much sleep last night, but that’s okay, because I’ve come up with a plan. I’m going to play this off as if nothing has changed and everybody else is crazy for making a big deal out of this.
Carla’s smile doesn’t change. “Oh Bambi, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy it worked out.”
Wait a minute. Why isn’t she making a big deal out of this?! “Did you hear me correctly? I said he was very nice. As in a guy. A dude. A whole adult man.”
“I did. What did you like about him?”
“And that doesn’t make you see me in a completely different light?”
“Do you want it to?”
“I expected something!” I don’t flounce, but my foot might stomp a little and my arms might go noodly. “Damn it, Carla, I’m having my big bisexual awakening and you’re acting like it’s a normal Saturday!”
“Somebody has a big queer awakening at this hospital every week, honey,” Nurse Dubois pipes up from halfway across the nurse’s station. “Six months ago, Doctor Adams, he slash him, was Doctor Adams, she slash her. You’re not doing anything new.”
“But it’s me, Carla,” I say, hitting her with my big puppy dog pleading eyes. “You’ve known me for twenty-five years and this isn’t surprising you?”
“It’s because I’ve known you for twenty-five years that this isn’t surprising me. Go have your big bisexual awakening at Turk, JD. Maybe he’ll give you the response you want.” She grips my forearm and squeezes lightly. “I’m just proud of you.”
“You’re acting really normal about this and it’s really aggravating!” I call as she strides away to see a patient. “This isn’t how it goes in all those Lifetime movies I’ve watched!”
“And you thought you were straight,” Doctor Park snipes as he breezes past me. “Hilarious.”
Undeterred, I follow Carla’s advice and make my way over to surgery. Turk is arm deep in an appendectomy when I step into the viewing room, his interns clustered around him. I press the call button, waving at him. “You got a minute, CB?”
“Always for you, VB. Deshana, you can finish this up,” he says, stepping away and snapping his gloves off.
“Yessss, thanks Doctor Dorian!” Deshana says.
See? Already my BBA (what I’m choosing to call my big bisexual awakening) is paying dividends, letting the next generation take the wheel.
“What’s up?” Turk asks, shutting the operating room door behind him. “Is it a Two Chiefs thing?”
“Two Chiefs,” I whisper, automatically doing our little handshake; Turk mimes from a distance to avoid coating me with any residual blood. “No, actually it’s a personal thing. I guess I could’ve waited but I wanted to let you know about that date with Casey.”
“Oh, hell yeah. How’d it go?”
“I had a really fun time. With him.” I put a little extra sauce on the word, waggling my eyebrows.
At least Turk has the decency to look a little surprised. “Him?”
“Yeah? Whatcha think about that?”
Turk gives me two thumbs up. “I’m really proud of you, dude. That’s a big step.”
“You spend too much time with your wife,” I say, scowling and putting my hands on my hips. “At least pretend this is a big deal for you!”
“If you want a big reaction, go tell Elliot. I’m just glad I can stop apologizing to guys who ask about you and telling them he’s not there quite yet.” He lets out a laugh, shoulders bobbing with the relief of a man who just found out his tumor is benign. “Gonna be so much less work for me.”
“If that guy doesn’t work out, I’ve got an uncle your age who’s free.” Deshana winks at me through the glass. Apparently I’d left the mic on when I hit the call button, and my conversation with Turk has been broadcast to the entire OR.
I sigh and nod. “Thank you, Deshana. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I think you’re really cool and brave, Doctor Dorian!” Amara contributes, pumping her fists. “Diversity win!”
“Amara, watch the surgical tray- I gotta get back in there,” Turk says, giving me two thumbs up as he backs into the door. “You can tell me all about your new, gay feelings at lunch, okay?”
“Bisexual! I need to be clear, these are bisexual feelings!” Aaaand he’s gone.
Okay, surely Elliot will give me the reaction I want.
“Oh thank God,” Elliot says, yanking a fake floppy digestive tract out of one of the medical dummies. “I knew it wasn’t me.”
“What are you talking about?” I dodge a large intestine and she tosses it into the pile on the table behind me. “What wasn’t you?”
“All this time I was worried that I’d made some terrible mistake, that I hadn’t tried hard enough, that I’d absorbed a bunch of terrible ideas about marriage from my parents and would forever be doomed to repeating them.”
“I’m not sure you avoided that last one-”
“But now it’s clear: I’m not the reason our relationship failed! You just need a husband, not a wife.”
“I still like women,” I say, lamely.
“Okay, but Ollie was teaching me about these Gen Z terms… homoro-something-or-other? Anyway, the point is, you obviously like sleeping with women, but you only want to be in a long term relationship with men.”
“I don’t think that’s true-”
“Has to be. I mean, that’s the only reasonable explanation for why we couldn’t work out. Duh.”
“Nobody gets me,” I bemoan, collapsing dramatically onto a nearby couch.
Elliot frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Yesterday I thought I was solidly heterosexual and was already making plans for how to finance a late in life marriage to my new, hot forty year old lady fiancee. How am I supposed to do that now?”
“Exactly the same way, except you’ll both wear suits. Or, y’know, whatever works for you. It’s 2026.” I put my head into my hands, groaning. Elliot sits down next to me and places a hand on my shoulder. “JD, you seem to be taking this a lot harder than everybody else.”
“It’s hard having a big bisexual awakening when you’re fifty-two,” I admit. “This feels like a thirty-five-year-old man’s game. I don’t know what I’m doing, Elliot. Did you ever have gay feelings?”
Elliot’s eyes get lost in the distance for a minute. “But we’re both girls, Lucy,” she sighs, before blinking and looking back at me. “Sorry, what?”
“Who’s Lucy?”
“No one. Nothing. Look, JD, you’re gonna be fine, okay? You’ve already figured out the hardest part: getting somebody interested in you. I’m sure Casey can give you a crash course in how to be bisexual.”
“He’s actually gay.”
“Missing the point, JD.”
“No, I hear you. Thanks, Elliot.” It doesn’t really fix anything, but Elliot seems happy to have helped, so at least my existential sexuality crisis is making somebody feel great.
As I’m heading back to my office, I run into Nurse Dubois. “Here,” he says, handing over a small business card. “Thought you could use this. Or you could try the psych department and get your meds upped, cause nobody here needs a depressed Chief of Medicine.”
I look down at the card as he walks away: Sacred Heart LGBTQ Support Group - Meets Monthly in the Cafeteria on Thursday nights at 7.
“I’ve been chosen,” I whisper, pocketing the card.
It perks me up a little bit, but I’m still turning over this new information about myself two hours later in the middle of Doctor Cox’s follow-up appointment. The little vein on his forehead throbs with increasing intensity the longer I go on without speaking. Maybe we should add meditation to the treatment plan.
“Say there, Oldie, do you think we could get started before the microscopic polyangitis finishes me off and I drop dead on your office floor?”
“Sorry. It’s just been a weird morning.”
“Oh really? Well gee, tell me all about it; that’s what we’re here for, aren’t we?” He rests his head on his hands. “And maybe we can braid each other’s hair while ya do it.”
I’m going to ignore that comment and power through, even though I think Perry’s locks would look dazzling with a few little French braids peppered throughout. “Well, if you must know, I went on a date.”
“Gosh, Belinda, add dementia to my chart because I know we’ve had this conversation before.”
“With a man,” I clarify, looking back at Perry’s chart. “Nobody’s responding how I expect them to. Carla and Turk both acted like they’ve known this was possible for years, and I think Elliot may not be far behind me if I just keep mentioning Lucy.” I sigh. “It just feels like this should be a bigger deal to people.”
Dead silence greets me. Perry’s expression looks like someone made him suck on a lemon and then pushed him out of a plane without a parachute.
“Your mouth is open,” I point out.
Perry snaps his jaw shut and rubs his nose, leaning forward. “I just need to make sure I’m hearing you correctly and that we don’t need to add that to my rapidly growing list of zany symptoms. Are you telling me that after two decades of everybody telling you to go find a guy to give your flower to, you’ve actually gone and done it?”
“I mean, it was just one date, but we have another one planned, and who knows!” Finally, a real reaction! I knew Doctor Cox would come through for me. I throw up my arms, waggling them a little. “Maybe I’ll have a whirlwind romance and we'll get married in Vegas! The possibilities are endless. It’s 2026 and I’m pretty sure it’s still legal to marry a man.”
The little vein on Perry’s head starts throbbing again. “Okay, Delilah, I know you’re a massive people-pleaser, but this is just sad, really, a new low for you.”
Wait. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, just because you’re down by three in the bottom of the ninth, doesn’t mean you send your pitcher to bat to see what happens.”
“Again with the sports metaphors.”
Perry rolls his eyes. “Apparently you need to be reminded what a joke is, so let me clarify. You date women, JD. The humor only works if you’re not actually gay; then it’s just a hate crime.”
“I’m not gay though,” I counter. “I’m bisexual. Or maybe pansexual? I need to ask Deshana the difference.”
“No, you definitely don’t; firstly because the discourse would make your little brain explode all over these nice walls, and secondly, more importantly, because you are straight.”
Okay, this is starting to feel like the sad Lifetime movies that leave me angry at somebody’s dad. “Why are you acting like this? I know you’re not homophobic. I saw the pictures from Doctor Park’s bachelor party before his ex-fiancee did all that terrible stuff. You led the conga line!”
“And I did a damn good job. But unlike you, Doctor Park actually likes men.”
“You know, just because you emphasize the last few words of your sentence, doesn’t make it extra true.”
Perry growls, pressing a hand against the desk and pushing himself up to loom over me, his Carhartt jacket billowing like a lumber jack Dracula. A Lumber Drac. “By God, hasn’t the alphabet community suffered enough without you trying to justify why you’re allowed on the floats at their parades? Now, I’m gonna give you five seconds to agree to a date with one of Jordan’s friends, or so-ho-help me, Newbie-”
“Or you’ll what?” I’m not going to be bullied in my own office, even if it kind of still feels like his office considering I kept most of the decor the same after he left. I stand up and give my best glare right back. “This isn’t 2005, Perry. You aren’t in charge of me anymore, and you definitely were never in charge of my love life. I’m trying something new that has the chance to make me happy, and you want to act like I need your permission or something? What’s the problem here?”
“The problem is I never got- no, you know what? Forget it.” Perry jerks backwards, knocking the chair behind him askew. “I want my care switched over to Doctor Park.”
“Perry-”
“No, JD.” He shakes his head. The air between us feels frigid, despite the warm summer day. And even though there’s only a desk between us, it feels like he’s a thousand miles away. “Enjoy your date, and have a great life.”
Then he walks out and slams the door behind him.
…What the fuck just happened?
“I don’t get it,” I tell Turk as I steal his curly fries in the hospital cafeteria that afternoon. “I expected some teasing, some awkwardness, maybe a Very Special Moment where he hugged me and sentimental music played.” Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba, ba-ba. “But he was just so angry. Like I’d done something he could never forgive me for. And then he said he wanted Doctor Park to take over his case.”
Turk swats my hand away from his last fry. “I’m tellin’ you, JD, you need to stop needing Doctor Cox’s approval for every decision you make. It’s unhealthy.”
“This isn’t about work, though! I don’t want his approval because he’s my mentor or my boss or anything like that. It’s just, he’s my friend. Or at least I thought he was. I want my friend to be happy for me, is that so wrong? You and Carla and Elliot pulled it off just fine.”
“Yeah, but your relationship with him has always been a little…” Turk makes a little hand wavy motion. “Weird.”
“Weird in what way?”
“Like, do you want him to be your mentor? Do you want him to be your therapist? Do you want him to be your dad?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Haven’t wanted that last one in a long time, thanks.”
“Then which is it, man? Because he’s not your friend in the ways Carla and Elliot and me are your friends. There’s something different going on there. And maybe he sees it too. So figure it out, and maybe you’ll figure him out.”
Turk has a good point. If I don’t really know what Doctor Cox and I are to each other, then maybe I’m missing important information that could help me understand why he’s reacting this way. So I resolve to ask around the hospital and interview people who have seen us interact, to get an idea of how we come off to others.
“You both, um, seem to care about each other, I guess?” Doctor Tosh says. “But in a kind of unhealthy way where he yells a lot and you do a lot of emotional labor to keep him in check. Sorry, I’ve been on psych rotation this week and it’s, woooo! It’s a lot. Might have to skeet about it later.”
“Oh, I am not unpacking all of that for you two,” Nurse Dubois says. “No way, you don’t pay me enough.”
“You two are a little… obsessed with each other,” Carla offers. “Have you tried sitting down together with Sibby? She’s actually had some good advice for my relationship with Turk.”
“I think it’s best I don’t comment on Doctor Cox,” Sibby tells me, showing all her teeth, hands clutched together rigidly on her desk. I can see her nails digging into her palms. “I just finished my anger management courses and I’d really like to not put them to the test right now.”
Doctor Park laughs in my face for a solid thirty seconds. “Oh, oh you’re seriously asking me?” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. “Sorry, I’m just relishing the fact that you couldn’t keep Perry’s case without pissing him off enough to send him back into my arms.”
I imagine Doctor Cox running across a field of flowers, a magical glow in the air as he collapses into Doctor Park’s manly, well-built arms. A knot of something that definitely isn’t jealousy twists in my gut.
“Look,” I say, “I know you don’t like me very much-”
“Oh? You mean I have a problem with the man who came in out of nowhere after a decade and stole a job that I deserved by all rights? After I put all of the work and effort into becoming Perry’s trusted right-hand man? Another white man comes in and takes over, shocking.”
“Okay, you don’t like me at all. But I’m sure you heard him talk about me once or twice-”
“Once or twice?” Doctor Park scoffs. “He wouldn’t shut up about you! Every damn intern who walked in the door got compared to his peerless Newbie. Oh, why can’t you be more like Newbie, he would’ve done this, he would’ve done that, he would’ve sucked me off in my office if I’d asked!”
“Did he say that?”
“It was basically implied.” Doctor Park folds his arms. “You know, there was a time when I too was a young, optimistic intern who just wanted to impress, and I tried to take your place. Even thought about seducing Perry. But you know what I realized?” He points a finger at me. “Doctor Cox will never move past you, and it’s pointless for anybody else to try.”
Doctor Park’s words leave me even more confused than when I started. I know Doctor Cox cares about me a lot, and damn it, there’s a level of friendship between us that even he can’t deny. But praising me to all his new interns? Talking about me like I’m some long lost love he’s yearning for? He’s never displayed that kind of behavior towards me… outside of some very private daydreams I had my first year of internship.
I keep mulling over everyone’s words for the rest of the week. My name is still on Perry’s chart as primary physician, but any time I try to schedule a follow up meeting on his calendar, it immediately gets cancelled. He’s hot and he’s cold. He’s yes and he’s hell no, Newbie, nooooo, no, no, no, no-
“JD?” My focus shifts back to Casey, sitting beside me as the house lights come up at our movie date on Friday. “What’d you think?”
“It was really good.” I can’t say much more; I don’t remember half of what we watched, considering I was internally roleplaying a dozen scenarios for how to get Perry to talk to me again.
“Hey, you okay?” He rests a hand on my arm. “You seem kind of out of it.”
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing a hand down my face. “Just work stress. And personal stress. Doctor Cox still isn’t talking to me, and I’m worried.”
“You must be close to the guy, if you can’t take your mind off of him long enough to watch what was truly an abysmal movie. Whatever you were ruminating on was probably much more entertaining.”
“I’m sorry.” I feel like I’m fucking this up, and that’s not Casey’s fault. “This zoning out isn’t new for me. My past girlfriends always tell me I’m in my own head too much.”
Casey looks like he wants to say something about that, probably that involves the words coping mechanisms and childhood trauma. Thankfully he chooses other words. “If you’re not having fun, do you want to go home?”
“Maybe we could just walk for a bit. We’re close to the boardwalk, right?”
So we head out into the darkened summer night, strolling past teenagers vaping weed and thirty year olds also vaping weed. Casey is very polite and keeps his hands to himself, but I try to be a little brave in reaching out to grasp one. It’s… nice. Perfectly fine. The world around us is quiet as we step onto the wooden boards running parallel to the beach, and so are we for the next few minutes.
“Hey, Casey?” A question has been bubbling in the back of my brain since the restaurant, and now is as good as any time to ask it. “I’m sure it’s extra work going out with a guy who doesn’t even know for sure what he wants, so why bother with me?”
“In my experience, not knowing what we really want is a part of building any relationship,” he says, squeezing my hand. “So whenever I meet somebody, I remind myself that doubts are always going to be there, but the best way to figure things out is just to try something new, even if it kind of scares me, and see what happens. Don’t get me wrong, if I really thought there was no hope here, I wouldn’t have asked you for another date. I like myself more than that.”
I come to a stop, and he turns to face me.
Try something new. Get out of your comfort zone.
“JD?”
I step forward, take a deep breath, lean in and press our lips together. Casey makes a little surprised sound, but grasps my shoulders to steady himself.
We stay like that for a few moments. And it’s nice. It’s not comets and fireworks, but it’s… it’s just nice.
When I pull away, he tilts his head. “Well?”
“I’m still not sure, but… how about some soul food? Next weekend?”
“I’d like that,” he says, smiling.
The next day, I almost fall out of my chair when Jordan barges into my office, leaving a dent in the wall that Maintenance Guy will definitely blame me for. And thus, the next generation of our feud will carry on.
“DJ, we have a problem,” Jordan says. “For some reason, Perry’s gotten it in his head that he actually gets to make decisions about his healthcare providers, and as much as I’ve tried to explain to him, no, honey, your twinky little protege is the one we want, for some reason, he’s now fixated on switching to Doctor Park.” She leans over my desk, also looming, not as tall as Perry but even more intimidating. “So I need to know, what the hell did you do?”
“Nothing, Jordan!” This is getting exhausting. “I’m just trying to make a positive change for myself and Perry seems to have a problem with that.”
“Did the paperwork for your, what do they call it now, gender-affirming surgery go through?”
“I went on a date. With a guy.”
“That’s a new development?”
“It’s been truly lovely to see you again,” I sigh, pointing towards the door.
“Oh no, you don’t dismiss me, sweetie pie. See, if I want my previously planned retirement plans to go off without a hitch, I need Perry not to croak before we get enough money for the summer house in the Poconos. Do you know how expensive marble countertops are in this economy? So you two are going to have a little chat, fix up whatever the hell is going on between you, and then you’re going to get his stupid autoimmune disease into remission or I will make you the latest organ donor for this hospital!”
“I’m not trying to avoid talking to him, Jordan-”
“Don’t care. Figure it out, DJ,” she snaps, twirling around on a heel and storming out.
The problem is, I’ve been trying to figure it out all week, with the feedback of half a dozen people, and I still don’t have a clear picture of what’s going on. And the only person I really want to talk to about it won’t return my messages.
In my apartment later that night, I’m resolving a master plan to engineer a forced meeting - I’ll burst into the room at his consult with Doctor Park, accusing the other doctor of medical fraud and presenting Perry with a chart that clears him of all health conditions forever! - when I hear a knock on my door.
When I open it, Doctor Cox is standing there, leaning against the jamb, looking like a guy who just got thrown out of an unmarked van: wary and looking for threats. He’s got a bottle of unopened whiskey in one hand.
“Jordan kicked me out until we talked. Where do you keep your glasses?” He strides in without asking if he’s allowed (always) and starts to wrench open my kitchen cabinets.
I shut the door. “The one on the far left. I’m not really much of a whiskey guy.”
He snorts. “No shit. This is for me, so I can survive this conversation.”
Still, he grabs two glasses out of the cabinet and pours a shot into both, handing me one. He downs his in one gulp; I take a single sip and wince.
“Jesus,” he mutters, grabbing my glass and downing my drink as well. “Just sit down.”
Even though we’re in my apartment, I feel like a guest perching in the center of my own couch, twiddling my fingers and watching him pace in front of my coffee table.
“You didn’t take your shoes off,” I point out. “It’s impolite.”
“You are infuriating, you know that?”
“I’ve gathered.” I jump a little when he kicks his shoes off in a heap and nudges me over so he can sit on the couch next to me. But he doesn’t say anything after, just stares at the glass in his hands, swirling the next shot around.
This feels serious. Oh no, is he feeling worse than he admitted? Is he going to refuse treatment? There must be a way to change his mind. Jordan would help me convince him, she has tools I don’t… like boobs.
“Um, are we just sitting and drinking in silence? I could be persuaded, but I don’t have appletini mix-”
“You asked what my problem was.” He lets out a reedy laugh, rubbing his face. “Well that’s a question that’d take a novel to answer, and unfortunately for you, I’m no Mister Darcy.”
“I don’t think I’m spunky enough for Lizzy Bennett anyway,” I sigh. “You know, I spent the last week quizzing half the hospital to try and figure us out, and I’m not a lot clearer than when I started.”
“Humor me, Georgia.” Perry sits back, twisting to face me. “What did you learn?”
I think back over the past week. I learned that I don’t want Doctor Cox to be my boss, or my therapist, or my dad. I learned that apparently we’re way too complicated for the office gossip to unpack. I learned that even when I wasn’t around, Doctor Cox couldn’t shut up about me, and when it comes to my place in his life, nobody else can compete.
“I learned that you care about me,” I say, things starting to add up. “I mean, I knew that, but it’s completely obvious to everybody else too. And there’s something about what I’m doing that’s hurting you. And... and all I want is for you to just be honest with me, so we can fix it. Is that so hard? You were never shy about it before.”
“I have never, ever been shy about anything in my life, Barbarella, let’s get that clear right now.”
“Perry.”
“You’re getting a little too loose with my first name there, Doctor Dorian.”
“You’re retired. I really should be calling you The Cox Formerly Known As Doctor. And you’re avoiding the question.”
“You used to be a lot less argumentative.”
He’s right. But things have changed. “I’ve seen your ooey-gooey center. I’m not scared of you anymore.”
“Good.” He sets the glass back on the coffee table. “Because the truth is, I’m not shy about being honest with you, I’m fucking terrified of it. JD… I think if I knew men were an option for you twenty years ago, I would’ve tried to be first on your list.”
Every molecule of saliva evaporates from my mouth as I swallow, and the world tilts a little sideways. “Oh.”
“That’s all you have to say? Oh?”
“It’s a lot to process, okay! And I’m already processing a sexuality crisis. Give me a minute.” I swipe the glass Perry put down and chug the shot whole. He quirks an eyebrow as I sputter and choke. “Fuck! It burns.”
“Process faster,” Perry growls.
“I’m working on it!” I smack my chest to get any residual whiskey out of my lungs, and ponder this new information. “But you’re straight.”
“Says who? You think you’re the only guy who didn’t figure himself out until later in life? Jordan’s not the only Sullivan I’ve fooled around with, and I don’t mean your ex.”
“So you’re saying… if I’d had my big bisexual awakening at thirty instead of fifty…”
“Let’s be clear, I don’t sleep with underlings. I would’ve waited until you were on your way out before saying anything.” He shifts in his seat, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “Truth be told, I almost did.”
“But- but you and Jordan-”
“Were doing wonderfully back then and continue to be. But we also each lack certain anatomical features that may from time to time require us to step outside of our happily divorced cohabitation.”
So that means… Jordan slides onto the bed, grinning at the nubile young women across from her. “Ladies, you’ve heard of the Vagina Monologues, correct? Well, we’re about to have a vagina dialogue-
A piercing whistle cuts through my fantasy. “Tina! Now is really na-hawt the time for one of your dissociative episodes.”
“I don’t really plan them,” I mutter, turning so we’re looking at one another head on. “So that’s why you got so mad when I said I was dating a guy?”
Perry shrugs. “It’s hard to know you’ve missed your shot and watch somebody else step up to the hoop. I know that’s a sports metaphor, so if you’re confused-”
“No, I get it.”
“Anyway, I hope you and the idiot you’ve tricked into touching your unmentionables have many long, happy years together, but that’s about enough emotional honesty for a lifetime for me.”
“Thanks, I guess. I still want to be your doctor, though.”
“Seeing as I never officially requested a transfer, I guess you’re stuck with me.”
He rolls his eyes when I do a little fist pump, but there’s no heat behind it. I jump up as he gets to his feet, following him to the front door.
It feels like things have shifted again. Some questions have been answered, and yet I’m left with the burning desire to know one more thing…
“Hey, wait,” I say. Perry pauses his hand on the doorknob, looking back at me. “You would’ve wanted to be on my list. So you liked me. Like, liked me, liked me.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with butchering the English language?”
“Stop deflecting, please.”
“Fine. Yes, I liked you, okay?”
“So do you still? Like me like that.”
“What’s that got to do with anything, Veronica?”
“I feel like I deserve to know.”
“You don’t get to know all my secrets, Margie.”
He’s leaning heavily on the girl names; I can tell he’s flailing. The thing is, it matters if we’re talking about Perry’s affection for me in the past tense or present. It matters, because the most important thing I learned this week is that sometimes you have to do things that scare you. You’ll never know what you want until you do.
And I realize that what scares me right now is that Perry will walk out that door before I get an answer. Maybe I have to be the brave one tonight.
I can see the way his whole body tenses when I grasp his shoulder. Like a feral cat, waiting to strike. “What are you doing?”
“Please don’t punch me,” I say.
Then I lean in and kiss him.
He freezes, doesn’t immediately shove me away, and I feel…
Comets and fireworks.
“Why, in the name of every fake deity man has ever come up with, wha-hye the fuck did you do that?” he asks when I pull away. He’s breathing hard, and I can’t tell whether he wants to strangle me, or shove me against the wall and do it again.
“Had to know,” I say, shrugging.
“Know what?”
“If we’re on the same page.”
“It is impossible for us to even be in the same library right now, JD. This is a terrible, unworkable situation you’ve just put us in.” But he hasn’t shoved my hand off his shoulder. Hasn’t moved an inch.
“You still haven’t answered my question. If you could still have me, would you?”
“Oh, fuck you. This isn’t a fun exercise for you to get some easy, low-stakes experience so you don’t have to tell your boyfriend you’ve never kissed a guy.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. And I kissed him before you.”
Both of my questions are finally answered when he growls, shoves me back against the wall and proceeds to explore my mouth with his tongue like he’s mining for gold in my dental crowns. It’s hard, fast and probably the hottest thing I’ve been a part of since Elliot dragged me to a drag king show and the lead performer shook his butt in my face. My unmentionables tingle, waking the hell up.
“Did he kiss you that good?” Perry breathes against my mouth when he’s done.
“I think we would’ve gotten arrested for public indecency if he had,” I gasp. “Do it again.”
“No.” Then he pins my hands to the wall so I can’t touch him, and fixes me with a glare. “This cannot happen.”
“Give me one actual good reason why!”
“I can give you five. One, you are my doctor and the ethics code violations would be a nightmare. Two, I’m going through medical treatment for a fatal disease and my doctor, aka you, have advised me to avoid stressful situations-”
“I know one way we could help you relieve stress.”
“Quiet, I’m not done. Three, I am fifteen years older than you-”
“Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, baby-”
“Four,” he snarls, “Not only am I fifteen years older than you, I am old. I’ve got maybe five, ten good years left in me before the incontinence kicks in and I need Jack to start changing my diapers. If the renal failure doesn’t kill me first.”
“Okay, what’s number five?”
“This isn’t actually what you want, JD. That’s number five.” He finally lets my hands go, stepping back. “And I’m not looking to get my heart broken when you eventually realize that.”
I can make lists too. I hold up a hand and start counting off. “One, nobody who we’d tell would care. Two, healthy amounts of sex are medically advisable for stress relief and quality of life metrics. Three, at our age, the gap is negligible. Four, as your doctor, I believe that if we can get this thing into remission, you could live to 103 and have many healthy years ahead of you. And five… you don’t know what I actually want.”
But now I finally do.
I pause, tilting my head. “You’d really be heartbroken?”
“God, Matilda, can we not with the touchy feels? Haven’t we had enough of that tonight?”
“You liked that. You like me. And I like you, so, so much.” So much it hurts in that good kind of way that makes your eyes water and your chest seize up. “I just… I didn’t know this was an option for us.”
“I can relate,” Perry mutters. His shoulders have sagged a little, and he’s still by the door, but his hand stays firmly away from the doorknob.
I think he’s starting to listen. I just need to avoid spooking him. “We don’t have to do anything right now. We could just sit and talk. Please, Perry?”
Sometimes real life gets a little hazy for me, and reality bends just enough that everything feels like a movie. And this moment feels like that moment in a movie when the song kicks over, where the energy just shifts, and you know the building tension has nowhere else to go.
It’s slower, this time, when he presses me back into the wall. Everything slows down. Two hands on my waist, two blue eyes sizing me up, still a little wary but wholly focused on me in a way that makes me feel like my insides are being pried open and everything is laid bare.
“You are the most infuriating girl alive,” Perry says. “Fuck. Come here, JD.”
Then everything slows down even more, until it speeds up all at once.
Comets and fireworks.
Later, we’re sprawled on the couch, his head on my leg while I run my fingers through his hair. We need to figure out where his pants went. I need to figure out how to get stains out of my upholstery. These are all problems very worth having.
“This could go so wrong,” Perry says, eyes closed, sighing as I rub two fingers against his temple.
“You know, when I did couples’ therapy with Elliot-”
“You know what I really want to hear you talk about right after we’ve had sex? Your ex-wife.”
“Just listen. Anyway, whenever we were worried about making changes in our relationship, the therapist would always ask us, but what if it all goes right?”
“And then you got divorced. Really inspirational, Beatrice.”
“Yeah, but this would never have happened if I was still with Elliot. So, y’know.” I wave my free hand around. “Perspective.”
“Hmmmm.”
Perry’s already taught me so much: how to be a good doctor, a good supervisor, a good Chief of Medicine. And I’d like to think I’ve taught him a few things as well, even if he’d rather have his tongue ripped out than admit to it. But I don’t think either of us have a map for how to navigate what comes next.
The truth is, when I kissed him, it still felt impossible that it could lead to anywhere good. His worries aren’t unfair, and I share a lot of them. Plus I feel kind of bad, because Casey really is a nice guy. If I were a different me, somebody who didn’t have this weird, obsessive relationship with my former mentor turned friend turned something else entirely, I could see us working out.
But I’m not that guy. I’m just-
“JD. If you ruin my perfectly coiffed curls with your toddler-like yanking hands, I will hurt you, and not in a kinky way.”
“You’re unreasonably fit for a man your age,” I reply, grinning down at him. “I always thought you were compensating for something, but. I now know you are definitely not.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Stop talking. God, Bridget, I can’t stand your yammering.” He reaches up, pulling me down into another toe-curling kiss.
He’s lying, but I’m not about to correct him.