lie. He didn’t believe it; he knew it. But feigning a vague memory about it seemed like the right move, especially because beside him, Gerald Abraham had the energy of a coiled spring.
“Hmm,” Abraham said, but that definitely wasn’t going to be the end of it. Will braced himself. “Did she happen to mention our recent date?”
Will opened his mouth, then closed it. Janine, please, he thought. Throw the coffee in my face, anything.
Janine did not look back at him.
“She did not mention a date, no. We only talked about my unit.” He thought of Nora and her recent laughing admission over this word, and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “My rental property, I mean.”
“Ah, yes. On our date,” Abraham said, really leaning into his preferred conversation topic, “Sally mentioned that it’s gone more smoothly for you recently.”
I can turn this around, Will thought, seizing on Donny’s apartment like it was a lifeline. The irony did not escape him. “Very smoothly. My next tenant is actually a fourth-year medical student from—”
“Sushi,” Abraham said. “That was Sally’s choice.”
Will suppressed a sigh. “Good idea, to let her choose.”
“I thought so. However.”
Janine had forsaken him entirely. Maybe she threw away his mug back there. He would never look at his telephone in line again.
“I have asked her to dinner tomorrow, and she said she’s still deciding.”
“Right, well—”
“Usually, when Sally says she is deciding something, she has already decided that the answer is no.”
Janine approached the counter with Will’s now-full mug, and he tried not to leap forward in relief. But when he turned back, Gerald Abraham was standing in the exact same spot, waiting.
And then he reached up and smoothed his lapel.
Damn, Will thought.
“Dr. Abraham,” he said quietly, though it wasn’t as if the volume of Abraham’s own voice indicated a desire for discretion on the matters of his of his marital problems. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to be talking to about this. I’ve never been married, and—”
“You will be,” said Abraham, because he never let Will finish a sentence. And also because he always interrupted him with deeply uncomfortable statements.
“No, I—”
“You’re the type people want to marry,” Abraham interrupted again. Still uncomfortably.
“Gerald,” Will said, taking a chance that this never-before-attempted first-name deployment would either prevent further interruptions or make his boss mad enough to end this conversation. “Given that you have in fact been married I’d say you’re the type, too.”
“Yes, but I’m divorced. The point is, even if you’re not married yet, I assume you date frequently.”
Will’s phone chimed in his pocket, and Abraham raised his eyebrows. If that was Nora, she had the worst timing in history. But his hand still twitched to check it.
“I don’t re—” he began, but honestly, this time, he was glad to be interrupted. What the hell was he going to say to Gerald Abraham about his dating history, which functionally did not exist? Had he . . . ever really been on a date? He shifted on his feet, that phone feeling suddenly heavier in his pocket.
“I believe I miscalculated, asking Sally to another dinner, even though sushi went well.”
Will stared. This tone. This was a let’s debrief the appendix removal situation tone. “Okay,” he said.
“I think there are two problems,” Abraham said, and then, in a familiar move, he turned to walk away, still talking. “The first is, during our marriage, I did not take Sally on dates.”
“Okay,” Will repeated, because now it was like he was in it, with this tone. It at least made him feel like he was on the job. “So you’re treating—” Jesus. He cleared his throat. “So you’re dealing with this by asking her on dates.”
“Yes, but this brings us to the second problem, which is that Sally has always felt I am too devoted to routines.”
Will cocked his head, nodding. He guessed that explained the white coat. The constant talk of protocol. The thing was, Gerald Abraham was a good doctor. What he lacked in bedside manner he absolutely made up for in precision, in the kind of careful, repetitive follow-through that meant he hardly ever missed a thing.
“Sally, as I am sure you have observed, prefers more spontaneity.” He looked sideways at Will. “And so in asking her to dinner again, what have I done?”
Will blinked. “I mean it’s only the sec—”
“Established a routine!” Abraham said, stopping.
Will stopped too, turning to face his . . . huh. Didn’t feel right to think of him as a boss right at this moment, even