Page 43 of Hold the Pickle
He lifts the IV bag, which is almost empty. “Good. We’ll get you out of here. Your discharge instructions are plenty of fluids and rest, and maybe no dive bars for a while.” His gaze flicks over to Dalton and his eyebrows lift.
“Got it.”
When he leaves, I turn to Dalton. “You know him, don’t you?”
“Not well. He’s an attending, but not my direct supervisor.”
The thought that I could get Dalton in trouble for being here with me sends a spike of anxiety through me. “Is it okay that you’re here? Max can take me home.”
Dalton doesn’t get a chance to answer, because a new nurse in pink scrubs comes in, cute and perky despite the hour. “I have discharge papers. Oh!” She spots Dalton. “You’re here!”
I look between them. They seem more familiar than him and the doctor.
“This is my roommate,” he says.
“Roommate, huh?” She passes a clipboard to me.
I don’t want to say anything. It’s bad enough that Dalton thinks I’m a lush, but now other people who know him will think it, too.
I scribble my name on the pages and thrust the clipboard back at her.
“I didn’t know you lived with someone,” the nurse says to Dalton. It’s like I’m not there. Something is happening here.
I watch Dalton to see how he’s managing this conversation, if this situation is affecting a burgeoning romance.
“We got a place about a month ago.”
She presses the clipboard to her chest. “Known each other long?”
“A while,” he says. “Is someone going to remove the IV? I don’t think I have clearance to do it off hours.”
She huffs. “I’ll send someone in.” She spins on her heels, her blond ponytail swinging.
Now it’s Dalton who stares at the curtains.
“Love interest?” I ask.
“No.”
“I think she’s interested. Or was.” I pick at my white tank. It’s tight and revealing all by itself. The red cardigan will have to be hosed down. I might toss it after this.
“Maybe.” He rubs his neck. He’s bound to be exhausted, coming off a long shift only to end up back here.
“I’m sorry if I screwed things up for you.”
That gets his attention. “With Sonya? No. Don’t worry about that. Or do you mean sleeping?”
“I mean all the things. I meant to call Camryn. I couldn’t stop puking long enough to look at my phone.”
“I’m glad you called.”
“Were you off shift?”
“I was home.”
The word seems to hang in the curtained space. I have a home with him. I’ve had roommates before, but this feels different. We collaborate on how we set it up. We make meals together.
We’re grownups, not college students.
