It's clear from his grim expression that he's in pain, even though he won't admit it.
"Let me do it." Without waiting for his permission, I take the paperwork from him. "Name please?"
Seth rolls his eyes and says, "Seth Lewis Conrad."
"It asks for a nickname/likes to be called. I'm going with Schmoops, is that okay?"
"Andie..." he says in a warning tone.
I tap the clipboard with the pen like I'm a very busy person. "Address?"
Seth groans and makes a grab for the clipboard with his one good hand.
"You know where I live, and I can write with one hand."
"Although I'm sure you're very good with one hand—" I waggle my eyebrows suggestively "—I just saw you wince when you reached over here. Let me help you. This is a great 'get to know you' activity anyway. Now let's see, next question: do you have both testicles?"
"What the hell?" He lunges to take the form from me.
"Okay, maybe that question isn't on there," I admit, holding the clipboard out of his reach. "I was just curious about that one. I'll be good now. Promise."
I follow the form exactly as written, and Seth grudgingly gives me the relevant information. I insist on writing myself down as his emergency contact in case something happens while we're here. A nurse calls Seth back a few minutes later to get his vital signs, then sends him back out to wait until a doctor is available to suture him. He has a proper bandage over his hand now instead of the bloody gauze, which is a relief.
"So what did you learn about me from filling out that form?" Seth asks.
"Well, I still don't know how many testicles you have.” I give him a disappointed pout. "But I do know that you're not pregnant or menstruating so that's good."
"I didn't know you were so curious about my genitals," he says, checking the tape on his bandage.
I shudder then frown at him. "Please never use the word genitals again. I seriously hate that word."
"Okay, I'll only use it when I'm mad at you then," he says. "Like, Andie, you're really getting on my genitals."
We start cracking up like two obnoxious middle schoolers, and a woman across the room gives us a disapproving look.
I pinch his arm, noting that it’s all muscle. "Shhh, behave yourself.”
His totally unexpected response is, "You look cute with your hair up."
Because I need to hide the fact that I'm blushing, I grab a women's magazine off a side table and flip through it.
"You must have lost a lot of blood to be giving me compliments," I tell him. "And it's very cheeky of you to be checking out my bun in public."
We both pause to listen as they call someone's name, but it isn't Seth's.
An elderly man in our row of chairs stands up slowly and maneuvers his wife's wheelchair past us. Seth moves his long legs aside and the man thanks him before pausing to pull up the blanket that has slipped off his wife's legs. Then he gently places her hands on top of it. The compassion implicit in his movements brings tears to my eyes. Seth is watching them, too, and I wonder what he's thinking.
He waits a few minutes, then asks me, "How come we haven't talked about the fact that we kissed?"
There's no teasing in his voice now. He's staring up at a television set that's bolted high up on the wall in front of us.Jeopardyis playing with the sound off, which seems rather pointless.
"I don't know." I close the magazine and lay it on my lap. "What is there to say? I'm leaving in two days."
"So that's it then," he says grimly.
"I guess so. What's the point of starting something that can't go anywhere?"
I'm holding my breath, waiting for an answer because I really want there to be one, even though it's an impossible ask.
