“Oh, man, you are screwed, dude!” Hal said. “Isn’t there some code of ethics or something that prevents you from dating a patient?”
Something rose up in me, and I snapped back at my frat brother, “I’m not dating a patient. She’s sick, she needs help, and I took a code of ethics.”
“Bullshit!” Hal laughed almost hysterically. “You took a code of ethics, my ass. You literally work in an urgent care facility where everybody is sick, and not one time have I heard of you going into a patient’s house to give them some soup and then have a dirty nerve to call it ‘drunch.’ That’s not even the definition. You’re supposed to be drinking. You know, alcoholic drinks!”
“Clearly, she can’t drink alcoholic beverages,” I informed my ill-advised friend.
“You know exactly what I mean. Whose silly idea was it anyway?” He shook his head. “You know what, I don’t even wanna know.”
That day, we ate in silence because I really had nothing else to say. Hal’s observation was correct, but I wasn’t meaning to discuss that part.
Ivory had my phone number, but I did not have hers. I could look at her records, but that was unethical. The next day was Saturday, so I planned to go over there at lunch again, and then she and I would have a conversation. This was going on for much longer than I had thought, but we needed to keep moving.
By Saturday, I came to Ivory’s house, and she looked much better. She greeted me at the door with a smile on her face, and she didn’t seem as stiff or sickly as before. She had lost some weight, and her cheekbones seemed more pronounced.
“You’re back!” Ivory exclaimed. “Man, is it good to see you! I’m feeling a whole lot better, and I really, really, really appreciate all the help that you’ve provided this week. I mean, I feel like you are my guardian angel or something.”
I would have laughed had my next words been a little different. Hal’s comments continued to twirl around in my head as the night went on. What next?
“So what happens next week?” I asked her as I walked in and placed her food on the magazine table.
“Well, I go back to work because I’m already feeling better. Thanks to you.” She plopped on the couch and looked in the bag. Then she said, “Can we have more than drunch next time?”
“Do you want there to be a next time?” I asked while standing close to the door but not sitting like I normally did.
“What’s wrong with you?” She raised an eyebrow while remaining standing too.
“Just trying to understand some things,” I added while folding my arms over my chest. “What happens next week besides you going back to work?”
She mimicked my behavior, and it took me back to the time in the clinic room where we stood toe-to-toe about me being an absolute asshole because she didn’t get the flu shot. Now, I must have been repeating this because she was squared up right along with me.
“Well, Ian,” she said my name with a lot of attitude. “What do you want to happen next week? I mean, you’ve taken it upon yourself to insert you in my life. I’ve asked you for nothing, but you come in here, giving off bad vibes as if I owe you something. So you tell me what you’d like to see next week.”
One of my eyebrows rose because that was not my intention. However, I could see that not only was she feeling better, but she was also stuck on what she felt like I was presenting. Fuck, why had I let my anxiousness get the best of me?
“Glad you’re feeling better,” I told her. “I guess you won’t need me anymore.” On that last note, I turned and said, “See you around.”
“Really?” I heard her call back, but I left. What was the point in sowing and toiling in the ground that was not meant for me? This did not make any sense to me.
When I told Hal about what happened, he almost cursed me out.
“Bro, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he exclaimed. “You find a woman who tolerates your shit and captures you enough, and you just leave. Say, ‘Have a good day,’ and leave? Fuck, who does that?”
This man and I were seconds from a fistfight. It was him who basically was condemning the entire thing. Then it hit me.
“You’re a fucking moron!” I exclaimed. “Why would I take advice from you? You can’t even hold on to a dog, forget a woman. I mean, when was your last girlfriend? Eighth fucking grade.”
“Whoa, bro,” Hal’s hands went up in surrender. “Don’t get mad at me because you’re an idiot. I got a cactus plant, and she’s doing just fine. A little dab of water here, a little sun there, and we’re cooking with gas.”
“Gas?” I scoffed and shook my head. “Fuck you and your gas.”
Then I sped up and went back to work. Today I didn’t have to close late, and I also didn’t go past Ivory’s for our normal lunch—well, drunch, as we called it. I hoped she was taking care of herself and getting the needed rest, along with eating right.
Why was she even on my mind?
She needed to escape out of my system and fast.
Then I sneezed while walking into the clinic.
My entire staff looked at me as if I had the coronavirus. Well, probably because that’s how I looked at them if they so much as sniffled in my presence.
“Doctor,” the receptionist called as if to ask me my own unspoken and spoken rule—the “take your sick ass home.”
The funniest thing was that I was seconds from making the same excuses my staff would—from allergies to “It’s not contagious” to “I’ll just take some vitamin C.”
It was when I sneezed again, as I was moving from the lobby to the back offices, that I loudly said, “I’m going home. You don’t have to tell me.”
There was some snickling, but I just grabbed my shit, grabbed some medicine, and left with a wave.
Fuck me.
The last thing I needed was to be sick. Mostly because I just got finished cursing out Hal, and for once, I thought, Who takes care of the doctor? When I’m down and out, who the fuck watches out for me?
Chapter 5
Ivory
They always said that women were emotional and temperamental, but I swear on everything men had PMS as well. They, I would argue, were more touchy and testy than most women. The nerve of Ian coming to my apartment with that pompous ass attitude, like I owe him something. He was more than a lifesaver, but we’d never discussed any sort of repayment besides me expressing my gratitude every single time he walked through my door.
Did he think I was trying to take advantage?
Half of me wanted to let him know that I absolutely was not, and if I could pay him back, I most certainly would. That would explain why I marched over to the clinic and tried to demand that I see Dr. Ian Crain.
“He’s out, miss.” A woman at the front shared. I assumed she was the receptionist.
“Huh?” I gave her a look. “He owns the place and is always here.”
She must have picked up that I knew him, because she said, “Yeah, he’s out sick.”
What?
Now, what in the hell.
I didn’t even look around to see if they would give me his address, but I surely went by the nearest store and bought some soup, bread, and ginger ale. This was exactly how I would pay the good doctor back.