Inconclusive.
“Fuck,” I huff beneath my breath. Now I know why Doctor Aldrin didn’t update me. There was nothing to say. Bad news sucks, but inconclusive is the actual worst, because all we can do is keep trying without knowing exactly where to turn or what to do next, and every day we don't have answers puts our patients at more risk.
“Doc Walk?” Noah’s groggy voice alerts me that I definitely cursed too loudly. “Did you say a bad word?”
Crap. “Never!” I lie. “I’m not even here. You’re dreaming. I’m going to turn into a hippopotamus any second now.”
Noah giggles. He’s tired, sure, just waking up, but I can tell he’s more naturally fatigued and weaker than when I last saw him, and that was only a week and a half ago.
“Where’s Zappy?” he asks, as I return the chart and move up by his pillow.
“Ah, shoot, I forgot him,” I admit. I hadn’t planned on coming here today, so Zappy is still where I moved him beside my alarm clock. Not that it’s a better location than the kitchen island to avoid scarring the stuffie while seeing my nightly activities, but it’s nice having some company in there.
“It’s okay,” Noah says. “You can keep him for a little longer.” He has Doctor Hoot cuddled to his chest, while the usual array of other stuffies surround him.
“I’ll be sure to give him back to you before you’re out of here.”
“That could be a while,” he says with a pout. “Feels like I’ve been here forever.”
“You’ll be out of here sooner than you think.” I really don’t want that to be a lie, but he needs to keep his spirits up at least. Succumbing to despair is when the panic sets in, and nothing gets better after that. “Hey, you go back to sleep for now and keep resting, okay? You’ll need it the next time you play your sister at Pokémon.”
“Nah, I can beat her easy,” he says but it’s missing the usual energy.
“Rest anyway, kiddo.”
He doesn’t fight me after that, and his eyes are already fluttering closed before I’ve finished retreating to the door. I make it out of the hospital without any Doctor Aldrin run-ins either, but now I need an afternoon pick-me-up. And possibly a valium later. Between wacko thoughts about Trey and Noah’s worsening condition, I feel beyond fried. At least I made sure to grab my inhaler on my way out of the apartment, because spiked anxiety is not good for claustrophobic asthmatics.
There are two Starbucks within a block or two of the hospital, which is also pretty close to my apartment, but there is thankfully a local fair trade coffee shop three blocks down. The extra walk is always worth it.
I choose a matcha matte, not only because of Mr. Zappy but because they are delicious and slightly less caffeinated than a normal latte. I’m three sips into the iced concoction and heading home when someone calls out to me.
“Walker, is it? Curtis’s boyfriend?”
My blood freezes, and not because of any ice headache.
I slowly turn around to see a pair I vaguely recognize from the few of Curtis’s work events I attended as his date, a man and a woman who I think are also dating or maybe just coworkers with benefits. I do not remember either of their names.
“Hey. Yeah. But no.”
They stare at me blankly as they walk over, apparently having been about to enter the coffee shop as I exited.
“Yes, I’m Walker,” I correct. “No, I’m not Curtis’s boyfriend. Not anymore.”
“Oh, shit. Sorry to hear that,” the woman says, touching my arm but only barely with just the tips of bright red nails. “He didn’t mention that the other night. But it is so good to run into you. Everyone is freaked that he is MIA.”
“He ditched on this hugely important sales call yesterday,” the man pipes in. “Up until this point, we weren’t too worried. I mean, he was just coming off of the… um…”
“Go on, Trent, you can call it what it is if they’re not together anymore,” the woman dismisses how Trent trailed off. She leans closer to me and mock whispers, “They call it the Coitus Convention. Total bone town. But Curtis missing that call has him on thin ice. But also, like, has us concerned. He parties hard, sure, but he never misses a call.”
“He once took a conference call after an all-nighter at our holiday party while lying on the floor of the break room,” Trent adds.
Yep, sounds like Curtis.
“So, have you heard anything since you two split?” the woman asks, and then gets this sort of flat look on her face like someone scrutinizing an annoying fly buzzing around their head that they’re about to squash. “When did you two split? Recently?”
“Um, just the other week.” I stay vague, because if normal people can be hard for me to read, then sales people are impossible. They’re built to read between the lines and color in their own with a thick, glossy veneer, even if she’s not trying to trap me into admitting something.
I don’t have anything to admit!
