of peanut butter chocolate bonbons, blankets, Kit Kat wrappers, a paper plate from the Toaster Strudel I ate for lunch, and two of Nicholas’s watches. I’ve been gradually removing their links to make the fit tighter but forgot to put them back in his room.
“All day!” he exclaims. “The phone rings but I can’t swipe on calls. My mom can’t reach me on my cell anymore, so who do you suppose she calls next?”
“Hold on, let me guess.”
He doesn’t let me guess. Rude. “The office! And not my personal extension, either, since I have my phone set to voicemail. She’s been calling the front desk nonstop over every goddamn thought that wanders into her head. Wasn’t so bad when I had a working cell phone, because I could send her to voicemail and text back my replies. Short and simple. But no! Instead I get Ashley running in to interrupt me every five minutes, crying because she knows she’s not supposed to interrupt me for unimportant crap like this but my mom won’t give her a choice. ‘Dr. Rose, your mother wants me to send her a PDF of your calendar so she can mark down what time you’re taking her shopping this Saturday.’ ‘Dr. Rose, your mother’s on the line again. She needs you to come by after work and tell your father he has to see a doctor about a cyst on his back.’ ‘Dr. Rose, your mother wants to know if you’ll have time on your lunch break to go find those walnuts you brought to her Christmas party in 2011. Her friend Joyce needs them ASAP.’”
“Sounds like a busy day for Dr. Rose,” I snigger.
“I looked unprofessional in front of everyone! I could lose patients over this.”
“And yet you’re blowing up at me instead of, say, the person who’s been calling your office all day?” I pop a bonbon in my mouth and give him a look like Yeah, I make way more sense than you.
“I expect you to be the bigger person! You know Mom doesn’t understand. I tried to tell her she couldn’t call the front desk unless it was an emergency, but everything’s an emergency to my mother.”
He growls, messing up his hair. He’s wearing his navy blazer today and wow, the effect is quite something. His eyes are demon-black, and I’m not hating the whole day’s-worth-of-scruff thing he’s got going on. Nicholas has a very nice jaw; when it’s lightly shadowed like it is now, coupled with the slate-gray frames of his glasses, he reminds me of a tormented English literature professor who’s just hit rock bottom.
I am learning at this very moment in time that tormented English literature professor who’s just hit rock bottom is my specific type. He doesn’t even notice me checking him out because he’s busy hunting for my phone amid a sea of candy wrappers.
The inappropriate timing of my epiphany is classic Naomi Westfield. If Nicholas knew what I was thinking right now he’d get so frustrated with me that he’d probably get on an airplane and leave the country.
“Your first mistake was expecting me to be the bigger person,” I reply. “Deborah gives you shit twenty-four-seven and you shower her with attention. It gets results! You know what doesn’t get results? Being understanding all the time and saying ‘Whatever you need, babe. Walk all over me! Forget I’m even here.’ Being the bigger person gives you permission to put my feelings second every time. I have to be understanding. I have to be patient, and keep my mouth shut while you coddle her. So I’m going to change tactics, because continuing to do what I’ve been doing while expecting different results is stupid. Debbie’s playbook works. Being a whiny pain in the ass works. Maybe I should start calling the front desk, too.”
Look at how well I’ve turned this around on him. Some of my best improv! I think all this fresh forest air and uninterrupted hours for plotting his ruination has beefed up my capacity for evil. I feel divine. Living in the wilderness is truly a form of self-care.
His mouth opens, ready for a retort, but he’s interrupted by a low buzz. My phone’s on silent but I’ve just gotten a notification. We both glance at the mantel where my phone’s plugged into a charger. We both dive.
I’m swaddled in blankets, and the two beats it takes me to detangle are crucial. He’s at the mantel by the time I’m free, and his hand