After a minute of willing my limbs to work, I started hunting for my clothes. I had to perch on the corner of her bed to step into my boxers and trousers to save myself from wobbling straight into a wall. My shirt was wrecked though I couldn't help admiring the wreck. Tiny tornado struck again.
I located one shoe, then the other, and took a moment to study Sara's apartment as I stepped into them. It was different than when Hartshorn lived here. The walls were a fresh new color, the kitchen cabinets spruced up, the furniture in pale pinks, yellows, and blues with lots of deep teal velvet. A woman lived here now and it showed.
I patted my pockets to confirm I had all the devices I'd entered with—god help me if I had to come back here tonight for my phone—and noticed an open shelf lined with glasses beside the kitchen sink. There was nothing special about these glasses. They matched the rest of Sara's pastel-y stuff—all rose quartz pink, watery blue, sunny yellow, mint green—and I wouldn't have cared but I couldn't reconcile that badass bulldozer of a woman drinking out of a princess pink glass.
For no good reason at all, I shuffled into the kitchen and picked up one of those glasses. It was adorable. It really was. But Sara wasn't adorable. She was…fuck, she was a cutthroat queen. She'd kill me and anyone else standing in her way, and, in a very sex-fogged way, I appreciated that about her. Even if it was a giant pain in my ass.
Since I was already holding it, I held the glass under the tap and filled it. It only took a moment to return to Sara's room and set it on the bedside table. I paused near the bathroom door. There were no appropriate parting words for this situation—the oops I just fucked the woman I hate and yes, I do have to slog through two months of conflict resolution sessions with her situation—but I couldn't get out of the gravitational pull of this moment until I forced myself out of it.
"Lock the door, okay?"
She gave one of those short, huffy sighs, the ones smothered in annoyance and eye rolls. Then, "Shut up."
I was an expert in nothing but that sounded to me like "Yeah, babe, it was great for me too."
I stumbled out into the foyer, my shirt hanging open and my jacket in a ball under my arm. This place looked different. Also, my legs felt about as solid as gravy. Walking more than a few steps at a time was rough. Also, concerning. It wasn't like this the last time I'd had sex. It was never like this. What kind of sorcery was she keeping in that cunt?
I started for the stairs but the front door buzzer stopped me. Also, my brain was gravy. It was safe to say that gravy had replaced the internal contents of my body.
I crossed to the door, realizing as I turned the bolt that it was the delivery person with the burrito bowl I'd ordered in a previous life, one where I hadn't fucked a woman I wanted as much as I wanted to strangle her.
And it went both ways because she'd taken my cock like she owned it, but there'd been more than a few moments when she'd looked at me like she was debating whether it would be difficult to dispose of my body. She hated me more than anyone else had ever hated me and I had a bit of experience with being everyone's least favorite person.
I accepted my order and waved to the delivery person as I retreated into the scene of the crime. I couldn't see this space without remembering everything, but the one thing that elbowed out the rest was the beat of her pulse against my thumb.
I stared at her door for a minute or two. I wasn't sure how long it was, on account of the gravy and all.
What the fuck had happened here tonight? And what the fuck happened now?
Chapter 7
Sara
Alex: My sister-in-law and I are going out for pedicures tonight. Want to come along?
Alex: I know you don't love the huge group outing thing but it's just me and Andy this time. I'm sure you remember her. I brought you to her holiday party. We also went to the farmers market with her in the summer. She's your vibe, you like her.
Alex: I just checked the board and I'm not seeing you scheduled for any ORs…
Alex: Okay, well, I'm just going to assume you're at yoga or out somewhere, or something. If you see this later and decide you want to meet up, shoot me a text. We're probably going to stop at a new spot Andy's been telling me about in the Seaport for some drinks and nibbles after.
Alex: Oh, shit, I forgot this is the day you have your meetings with Stremmel for the conflict stuff. That's why you're not on the board and not responding to texts. Sorry! My bad.
Alex: If you need to decompress from that, here's the address of the restaurant. Just so you know, it's not super busy here. Not loud at all. And we ordered the entire appetizer menu, so there's food for 8 regular people or 2-3 hungry girls.
Alex: Just give me some sign of life, okay? Or proof you and Stremmel haven't been arrested. Either one.
Sara: Sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm alive and not under arrest.
Alex: Phew. I was getting ready to call Hartshorn for bail money.
Sara: Why Hartshorn?
Alex: Why not? He can afford it.
Sara: You're probably right.
Alex: I know I'm right. Now that you're alive, do you want to join us? I would love a dramatic reenactment of today's events.
Sara: I don't know if today's events are fit for a drinks-and-apps discussion.
Alex: There's nothing you can't say over drinks and apps. I swear it.
Sara: While that may be true…
Alex: You're right. It's not cool. You're also a million times more mature than me so congratulations on that.
Sara: Not sure about that, my friend.
Alex: Believe me, you are the mature, sophisticated one here. I'm the one who crammed half a room-temp barbecue ranch pizza into her mouth before surgery at 5 a.m., is going to dry shampoo herself bald sooner or later, and wants to cackle with you over the stupid punishment you're enduring with Stremmel.
Sara: Well…I have a few questionable decisions of my own.
Alex: Name one.
Sara: Sebastian Stremmel.
Alex: I snorted. I actually snorted.
Sara: I bet.
Alex: There's liquor in my nose. Thanks.
Sara: Enjoy your drinks and apps. Say hi to Andy for me. I have to put myself back together now.
Alex: You're funny. You know that? You're really fucking funny, Shap.
Sara: That's a strange way of pronouncing self-destructive.
Alex: You are not self-destructive! You are fierce! You are a fucking badass surgeon and you take zero shit from the shit sellers!
Sara: Except on the occasions when I take all their shit and can't even stop myself from enjoying it.
Alex: I know you and I know you don't do that! What are you even talking about? Heresy, that's what this is.
Sara: Honey, are you in the OR tomorrow? Because this might be the time to switch over to water if you are.
Alex: Nope!
Sara: Carry on, then.
Chapter 8
Sara
I was an expert at pretending nothing was wrong. It was my oldest and most convincing trick. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to see here. Definitely no catastrophic sex mistakes.
Nope. None of that.
After a full—and blessedly distracting—morning of surgery, I finally had a break and wanted to use this time to walk the Thoreau Path in the West End neighborhood that bracketed the hospital complex. I felt better when I went outside and put my face in front of the sun every day. Even better if I burned off some nervous energy in the process. It wouldn't erase any of yesterday's catastrophes but it would help chase away the worst-case scenarios chilling out in the forefront of my mind.