Too Much Information (Awkward Love 3)

“Thank you.”

I turn around and start walking out, still staring at the papers in my hands.

“What did you say your name was?”

My heart skips a beat as I turn around. I smile at her.

“Laura.”

“Well, good luck, Laura,” she says.

#

I’m still thinking about the project when I leave the hospital. I walk out to my car and unlock the door, sliding into the seat. My heart races as I reach into my bag and pull out the application. I read through, right to that last question. It’s a thousand-word, essay question, asking why I want to specialize in fertility.

Wow, that is such an open-ended question.

I stare at the words, not sure how to approach it. I could keep my response professional, or I could try and entice an emotional reaction from her, by going into the more personal reasons as to why I want this. But I want to win this because she thinks I deserve it, not because she feels sorry for me.

I put the application back in my bag and click in my seatbelt. Just as I’m turning the key, my phone rings. It’s Becca.

“Yo. Remember me?”

“Becs, I’m sorry.” I wince, because there’s no denying it. I’ve been a bad friend. “Work has been flat out and then—”

“When you’re done with that, you’ve been flat out under Luke?”

I can’t help but laugh with her as she chuckles at her own joke.

“God, I’m hilarious. What are you doing tonight? Want to catch up over dinner?”

“Would tomorrow night work for you instead?”

Tonight is one of the few nights where both Luke and I are going to be home at a respectable hour, so I wanted to make the most of it—especially being that it’s a Saturday.

“Sure. Come over here if you like. I finish at four, so any time after that.”

“Great, I’ll see you then.”

I hang up and text Luke. A smile creeps onto my face at the idea of spending time with him.

Me: What time are you finishing?

Luke: Seven. Why?

Me: I figured it it’s about time you took me out on a date. You know, impressed me, that kind of thing. Make me put out.

Luke: It’s a little late for that isn’t it? But seriously, I don’t impress you? Is there an emoji for a broken heart? I’ll fix this. Leave it with me. Be ready at eight. I’m going all out, baby. I’ll text you when I want you to come downstairs.

I bite my lip and smile. He amazes me every day, and I’m pretty sure he knew it. I was just sick of our relationship being sex and smiling at each other at work. I know it comes with the territory of having the kind of jobs we have, but I still want more. I want everything.

I head home, driving past Matt and Annie’s on the way. When I see their car, I pull in behind it and get out. Annie waddles to the door when I knock. She smiles and waves me inside.

“Oh, thank God. Get in here and take my mind off this monster,” she complains. “And I don’t mean the child. Your brother…” she shakes her head and sighs. “You can settle the argument.”

“What argument?” I giggle, walking inside.

“Down the hall, in the nursery. Go. You’ll see. He says I’m insensitive, but tell me that thing isn’t hideous.”

“That thing I spent the last three weeks creating as a surprise for you,” Matt hollers from the nursery.

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have,” she roars back.

I walk into the nursery, not sure what I’m going to find. I stop in my tracks and stare at the wooden crib that Matt is proudly standing in front of. Although crib is a generous term for this thing.

“See? Go and tell Annie how great this is. Tell her that she should be happy that she has a husband who actually wants to do shit around the house,” he rebukes, loudly.

“I would be, if that husband could actually do shit,” she calls back.

I cover my hand over my face and stifle a giggle. Matt looks hurt.

“Seriously? You’re on her side?”

“I’m, uh, just worried this might be violating a dozen or so safety regulations, that’s all. You know, they have that kind of thing for newborns,” I point out. “They try and keep them alive these days.”

I step forward and touch the side rail, jumping back when it crashes to the ground. I giggle, trying not to lose my shit in front of poor Matt, but it’s no use. I dissolve into a fit of laughter that is so intense I’m at risk of wetting myself.

“Well, it’s obviously not finished yet,” Matt grumbles. “I thought it would be really cool to make the crib. Remember our crib? Dad made that. There was no worrying about safety regulations then and we survived,” he gripes. “And it lasted a long time, too.”