Perfectly Adequate
I can tell he’s a flosser. Tall and he flosses. Journal-worthy.
“I’ll give him the cape later. If I show it to him now, he’ll want to take it to daycare, and there will be a meltdown when I don’t let him.”
“That’s cool. So … later.” I turn and push open the door to the stairs.
“You’re taking the stairs?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yep. I like to close my movement and exercise rings before noon.” Lifting my wrist, I show him my watch.
He holds up his watch. “I already closed my exercise ring this morning.” He winks.
Tall. Flosser. Fit. Yeah, totally journal-worthy.
CHAPTER THREE
Accidental Babysitter
Elijah
“Cute cape.” Mom smiles at Super Roman as he flies around my parents’ backyard, chasing Elmo their golden retriever.
I nod, sipping my Sunday brunch mimosa, finding it impossible to hide my grin while looking at that cape and thinking about the woman who gave it to him. “The burn incident…” I glance at Mom, leaning to my right since the burns on my left butt cheek and the back of my left leg prevent me from sitting with my weight evenly distributed “…the culprit is a patient transporter at the hospital. She replaced my items of clothing … including new underwear.”
Mom’s eyebrows inch up her forehead.
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “She also bought Roman that cape, having never met him.”
“I already love her. When are you bringing her to Sunday brunch?”
I laugh some more. “In another life where I’m not emotionally stunted from my wife leaving me and only spending half the year with my son. Or when I’m not buried in my lab or attending funerals of deceased patients.”
“Well…” she taps my leg with her toe as she bounces one leg crossed over the other “…in that pathetic spiel you call an excuse, you failed to mention that you’re not interested or attracted to this woman. That’s progress, Eli.”
I scratch my jaw, focusing my gaze on Roman. “She’s young.”
“How young?”
I shrug. “Maybe late twenties. I’m not sure.”
“Married?”
“I don’t know.” I grin. “Our interactions have been limited.”
“Wedding band?”
“No. But she might just not wear it to work.”
“Ha!” Mom throws her arms in the air like someone scored a touchdown. “You looked! Eli, you actually looked to see if she was wearing a wedding ring. That means something, my dear boy.”
Great. Yes, I looked to see if she had a ring on her finger after she went on about the podcast on burn research. For the tiniest, fleeting moment, I wondered if she went home to some guy who got to listen to her sexy, nerdy-girl chattering about medical research.
Jesus …
Did I really just think “sexy?”
“You should ask her out on a date.”
“I work with her. Not a good idea.”
Mom pulls her glasses down to the tip of her nose to look at me over the frames. “She’s a patient transporter. I’d hardly call that working with her.”
“I’m not ready to date.”
Mom drains her drink and sets it on the mosaic tile table between us. “Roman sure does like that cape.”
On a sigh, I bite back my grin. “Yeah, yeah … it was the perfect gift. I’ll write her a thank-you.”
“You do that.” Mom nods slowly. “Make sure you leave your cell number on that thank-you.”
“Aaannd … I’m out of here. Where’s Dad?”
She juts her chin toward the detached garage. “Playing with grease, as always. You know, you’ll never get over Julie if you don’t crack open the door to other possibilities.”
“Yup, I think I’ll go help Dad.” I make my escape to the garage to help my dad. He doesn’t ask questions beyond what’s up—a man of few words, always under a car, covered in grease. My parents are opposites in every way possible—the mechanic and the psychiatrist. But somehow it just works. Maybe Julie and I were too much alike. I never thought that really could be the case, but the list of things I never thought seems to grow every day.
* * *
“I asked Dorothy out on a date,” Dr. Warren informs me two seconds after I walk into the lab Monday morning.
My forward motion comes to a halt, crashing into a strange reality. It’s not that he asked her out on a date. It’s the way my hands ball into fists because I want to strike him square in the nose. And I’m not a violent person. Relaxing my fists, I stare at them for a few seconds before shaking them out, shaking out the completely irrational sense of anger he spurred in my unstable mind.
“Why would you do that? You were making fun of her just last week.”
“I wasn’t making fun of her. Just making observations. But I sensed it pissed you off, so I thought what better way to make you see that I’m not a dick than to ask her out. Buy her dinner. Show her a good time.”