He can’t remember the last time he’s felt like this. Felt so completely enthralled with another human being with such swift intensity. He’s studying every expression, mulling over every word, as if he’s never had a conversation before. She is the most fascinating person he’s ever met. He’s sure of it. And for some reason – some unknown, other worldly reason – she’s sitting here, at this hole in the wall diner at three in the morning talking to him.
His fork is absently pushing at the food on his plate, his focus too intent as she talked about her job and the blog she was starting to get off the ground to allow him time to take a bite. “What do you do?” The question throws him off balance. He’s been so content listening to her talk that he’s almost forgotten he was going to have to speak himself at some point and he hadn’t been prepared for the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation. He pauses awkwardly, his fork dropping to his plate, the rattle so loud in his own ears that he cringes. “Well … I work at a hospital…” His fingers are twitching, anxious for something – anything – to do. They reach out for the coffee cup sitting by his elbow, nearly sending it toppling off the edge of the table into his lap. He manages to catch it at the last moment, his face growing hot as he cleans up what had sloshed out the sides with a napkin. “I work at McLean?” His voice twists up, reading her face for any recognition. “I’m a patient advocate and a therapist there.” It was times like this he wished he’d finished medical school. It would have sounded so much better if he’d said I’m a doctor. But that opportunity had come and gone. He was what he was.
“It’s a living…” He doesn’t want to talk about himself any more. “Are you from Boston?” He’s anxious to push the focus back to her. He wants to hear her voice again. It reminds him of a song he hasn’t learned the words to just yet.
His fork is absently pushing at the food on his plate, his focus too intent as she talked about her job and the blog she was starting to get off the ground to allow him time to take a bite. “What do you do?” The question throws him off balance. He’s been so content listening to her talk that he’s almost forgotten he was going to have to speak himself at some point and he hadn’t been prepared for the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation. He pauses awkwardly, his fork dropping to his plate, the rattle so loud in his own ears that he cringes. “Well … I work at a hospital…” His fingers are twitching, anxious for something – anything – to do. They reach out for the coffee cup sitting by his elbow, nearly sending it toppling off the edge of the table into his lap. He manages to catch it at the last moment, his face growing hot as he cleans up what had sloshed out the sides with a napkin. “I work at McLean?” His voice twists up, reading her face for any recognition. “I’m a patient advocate and a therapist there.” It was times like this he wished he’d finished medical school. It would have sounded so much better if he’d said I’m a doctor. But that opportunity had come and gone. He was what he was.
“It’s a living…” He doesn’t want to talk about himself any more. “Are you from Boston?” He’s anxious to push the focus back to her. He wants to hear her voice again. It reminds him of a song he hasn’t learned the words to just yet.
They’ve passed him over. They’ve passed him over again and he can’t bring himself to pack up his things and go home. He can’t bring himself to return to her a failure. Again. So instead he sits in his office, the contents of his briefcase still spread across the desk like a hurricane had just blown through, as it grows darker and darker outside. He can hear his phone buzzing against the cheap pressboard drawer but he doesn’t bother to answer. He just stares at the wall where his degree hangs in a cheap frame his mother had bought for him at a garage sale. The frame was probably worth more than the fucking piece of paper. If he’d just stuck with it. If he’d just pulled himself together he’d have been running this damn place by now. But no one was going to trust a man without a medical degree in a hospital.
His back is to the door when it swings open, but he didn’t need to turn around to recognize the familiar footsteps crossing the sagging floor to his side. "Didn't get it." He doesn't look up, but moves his arms, letting her slide into his lap. He lets out a long slow stream of breath, his fingers curling into the arms of the chair in frustration for a tense few seconds before he lets his head drop to rest in the hollow of her shoulder. He’s growing so weary of this fight. Maybe it's time to move on, find a new place to practice. Or hell - open his own office. But that would take money. Money they don't have.
Her fingers are curled against the back of his neck, playing with his hair, and the simple point of contact is the only thing keeping his heart from dropping into the pit of his stomach for good. His hand drops to her knee, his thumb tracing over the curve of it as she presses her lips to the top of his head, her cheek resting there as she sits with him. The room is silent outside of the faint sound of her heartbeat in his ear. In that moment her presence is enough, no words are needed.
His back is to the door when it swings open, but he didn’t need to turn around to recognize the familiar footsteps crossing the sagging floor to his side. "Didn't get it." He doesn't look up, but moves his arms, letting her slide into his lap. He lets out a long slow stream of breath, his fingers curling into the arms of the chair in frustration for a tense few seconds before he lets his head drop to rest in the hollow of her shoulder. He’s growing so weary of this fight. Maybe it's time to move on, find a new place to practice. Or hell - open his own office. But that would take money. Money they don't have.
Her fingers are curled against the back of his neck, playing with his hair, and the simple point of contact is the only thing keeping his heart from dropping into the pit of his stomach for good. His hand drops to her knee, his thumb tracing over the curve of it as she presses her lips to the top of his head, her cheek resting there as she sits with him. The room is silent outside of the faint sound of her heartbeat in his ear. In that moment her presence is enough, no words are needed.
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