Doctor Dearest

Natalie narrows her eyes on me.

“Maybe you should ask your sister if she’s being nice to me,” I add, turning the tables.

Her caustic laugh makes it clear she thinks that’s a totally ludicrous suggestion.

“Of course she’s being nice to you,” Noah says, coming to her defense. “She’s nice to everyone.”

Natalie’s smug smile pushes the dial even more in my favor.

“How are the renovations coming along anyway?” she asks me. “Any chance you’re moving out sooner rather than later?”

“My contractor assures me it’ll only be another month, but I’ve learned to take his estimates with a grain of salt. Sick of me already?”

“Terribly. I’d kick you out if you weren’t friends with Noah.”

“See?” I say to Noah. “Your sister has some bite in her.”

“Only when provoked,” she says, not giving Noah time to speak.

“Time out,” Noah says, as if he has any control over the situation. Even if he were here, I doubt Natalie or I would pay him much attention.

This is between us.

“What’s gotten into you two?”

It’s obvious, isn’t it?

This is what happens when you try to put a lid on a pot that’s already boiling over. This is what happens when you treat your emotions like they’ve got an on/off switch.

You can’t think yourself out of wanting someone, but go ahead, Natalie.

Keep trying.Chapter SeventeenNatalieAbysmal. The last three weeks have been abysmal. I’ve looked up all sorts of astrological and supernatural occurrences, hoping I can pin my feelings on the full moon or Mercury’s retrograde or the two (!!!) black cats I saw last month. I don’t feel like myself. My temper has a hairpin trigger. I’m hungry all the time, because God forbid I actually go into the townhouse for dinner. Activities that used to interest me just don’t cut it anymore. I have a stack of unread books sitting on my nightstand and I can’t seem to get into any of them. The only hobby I have at the moment is trying to not think about Connor. It consumes all my brain power.

Lindsey comes near me only when it’s absolutely necessary, talking gently and quietly as if she’s scared I’m a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. She’s begged off running with me. Apparently, she doesn’t like my pace. “It’s like you’re running for your life,” she said the other day, bending over to clutch her side. It’s true. I’m pushing myself too hard, and my knee is hating me for it.

Connor is as irresistible as ever. I’m sorry, did I say irresistible? I meant irritating.

Oh my God, stop looking at him.

It’s hard though.

I sit outside, eating my lunch at the hospital, and he cuts through the courtyard, hands in the pockets of his white coat, attention straight ahead. I have no idea where he’s going. It doesn’t matter. The point is he’s there and I can’t look away. I try. I focus down on my sandwich, counting the layers: tomato, cheese, lettuce—oh who am I kidding?

I glance back up to watch him and his gaze slides over to me. There’s no visible shock there. His look says, in a bored tone, Yes, Natalie, I know you want me. Oh, and you might want to dab that mustard off your chin.

I will a pigeon to poop on his mop of gloriously thick brown hair.

That would teach him.

Saturday, Lindsey decides she’s had enough of me “acting like a maniac”—her not-so-kind words—and demands we go out so I can get my mind off of Connor. I’ve told her everything because I wanted advice, but even if I hadn’t shared my troubles with her, I’m probably not as good at hiding my secret as I think I am. Repressed feelings have to come out one way or another, sooner or later…

I agree to go out with her, but nowhere far. I don’t have the energy. I don’t want to take the T or catch an Uber. No dragging me over to Harvard Yard in the hopes that we find ourselves in a Good Will Hunting situation with guys who bear a passing resemblance to ol’ Matt and Ben. I don’t like “them apples” enough to schlep all the way over there.

In the end, we settle on a pub in Beacon Hill, only a few blocks from the townhouse. It’s called 21st Amendment and I’ve been here a dozen times. It’s one of Noah’s favorite places to eat even though it’s a hotbed of tourists. He’s a sucker for their chowder. I like their fries. Yes, I will be eating my weight in them tonight.

The city is bustling with activity. The air outside has decided to take a chill pill and grace us with a preview of early fall weather. We get caught up in a traffic jam on the sidewalk outside the pub. The Freedom Trail runs nearby with stops at The Common and the State House. We pass a tour guide decked out in full Founding Fathers garb as he politely tries to corral his group.