Like Real People Do - part eight

*I added something here / also mostly edited

“Where’s Liam? Her husband.”

“In the NICU with the baby.” You search for air in the room like a fish out of water, not surprised to find it lacking. “He’s been going back and forth.”

“Right.” There’s a patient in this bed, and it shouldn’t be your sister. Your sister, who was suddenly pre-eclamptic and had a massive pulmonary embolism, who delivered a tiny, twenty six week old baby who’s upstairs on a vent. “She um, has there been a neurological exam?” The nurse shakes her head sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“And they’re sure it was a PE?” PE, worst case scenario normally, but Tess’s was worse. The kind that kills you.

“They’re sure.” You eye the computer on the desk. You’ll absolutely lose your job if you pulled up her chart but the desire to comb through every single test, every single note, is burning under your skin. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.” She’s sweet. You don’t know how ICU nurses do it. You patch your patients up and send them on their way, either to another unit or out the door, while they watch theirs die half the time. “I’m just going to sit for a while.”

“Okay. Let me know.” She motions to the call button and you give her a weak smile, swallowing the nausea rising in your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Oh. Hi.” He regards you evenly, rhythm of the rocking chair never missing a beat.

“He was having trouble regulating his temperature.” The texture of your scrubs against your skin suddenly feels too scratchy, the room itself too warm.

Doctor Riley is shirtless. In your patients room. Shirtless.

“Right.” He nods, like it’s natural, like he’s not sitting in here, with your tiny patient cradled against his chest, Eli’s small arms and legs and feet and toes curled up on his forearm, the wide expanse of his palm pressed to his back. “I uh, I just need his blood pressure.” You weren’t even supposed to have this baby today, but Key asked you to switch, something about being overly attached and needing a break and now, you’re standing frozen in the doorway frozen with what you’re sure is a stupid, dumbstruck expression. He cocks his head.

“Daisy? You okay?” Yes. No. You don’t know. Your reaction to him is unsettling. It’s like an undertow, and  your arms are weak, your muscles are burning, and you’re trying so hard to swim against the current, to fight it.

But you’re losing.

And you never lose, you can’t lose. Not now. Not when you have Riley, or she has you, and you have everything on your fucking shoulders, dragging you down into the dirt.

“Daisy, hey.” Eli is back in his crib, Doctor Riley’s scrub top is on, and he’s standing in front of you, hand hovering at your elbow. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the heat of his skin, and the growing need inside you urges you to lean into it, into him. “What is it?” I’m tired, you want to confess, it’s too heavy, it’s crushing me.

“Nothing, sorry, just didn’t sleep super well.” Your patient squirms, and then lets out the smallest cry, interrupting the tightrope you’re standing on, and you give Doctor Riley an apologetic smile. “I should get him. He's uh, NPO for surgery later today, right?”

"That's right. Are you circulating?" You try to look away as he rolls his shoulder and his scrub top rides up his belly, exposing a sliver of skin just above his pants, but it's impossible not to linger on him. He clears his throat, and your cheeks flood when you realize he's also staring at you, waiting for a response. Jesus Christ.

"Oh, no. It'll be Isa." He frowns.

"I thought-"

"We switched." You shrug, trying to play it casual, and his relaxed demeanor changes, turns tense as his jaw hardens to stone.

"You what?" He looks pissed, and you scramble to try to explain it.

"Yeah, we, a few of us, switch sometimes. No big deal, we-"

"Daisy," Your name is heavy gravel echoing from his chest, low and full of warning, and you brace for his usual anger, or impatience but it doesn't come. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a very long, very deep breath, and rubs his face. "No more switching without my approval, do you understand?"

"I-" He cuts you off.

"Do you understand, Daisy?" In all the pieces of this man that you've seen, this one is the strangest. It's the firm yet tender one, the one that makes your knees weak and your head hurt. The one that ignites the flame, and every time he takes it with him, it leaves you alone. cold. Confused.

"Yes, I understand Doctor Riley."

The very pretty woman with the very cute toddler clinging to her legs is standing off to the side across from the nurses station.

“Do you need help?” Maybe she’s visiting a patient? Though kids aren’t usually allowed in the NICU. She gives you a smile, and ruffles the little boy’s hair.

“No, we’re okay. Thank you. Just waiting for-” The toddler giggles at something down the hall, and without even looking, you know.

It’s Doctor Riley. He’s wearing casual clothes, the second time you’ve seen him in them in a month, and a dark blue baseball cap, though it doesn’t do much to hide the crinkle of his eyes when he gets closer to the woman and her child. He looks good, he looks great, he looks-

like he could ruin you as he goes down on one knee and the little boy flings himself into his arms, his chest rumbling with a chuckle as he pretends to gnaw on him. They fit together, same sandy blonde-brown hair, same eyes, same stocky build. Reality crashes into you like a tidal wave, and you try to ignore the way your throat constricts. The reaction is completely illogical.

You try to appear busy as he stands with the boy and flings him over his shoulder, leaning in to give the woman a kiss on her cheek. “Get in alright?”

“No problems, yeah.” He tucks her into his side, the two of them shouldering the weight of the boy now, and he giggles.

“Should we get this hungry lad to dinner?” She nods agreeably, and he hitches the toddler onto his hip, his babbling and giggling still rolling even as he snuggles into Doctor Riley’s chest. You tear your eyes away and start clicking mindlessly through a chart, trying to ignore the weird tangle in your chest, a knot tugging tighter and tighter, compressing your rib cage.

What is wrong with you?

“Daisy.”

“Sorry? I was looking at these labs.” The toddler swings his legs and Doctor Riley stills him. The knot gets tighter.

“I said Karim is on call tonight, but if anything is urgent let me know too. Especially with Ellie.”

“Okay.” Ellie is straddling a thin line. Some days she’s great, some days she’s struggling, and it can all turn on a dime so fast your head spins. “We’ll let you know. Have a good night.” There’s a brief interlude, a moment of silence as he looks you over from head to toe, and then scoots the boy up higher on his side.

“You too.”

The HR woman looks like she’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

And she probably does.

You certainly wouldn’t want to be sitting behind a desk, staring at someone as they realize their loved one won’t have health insurance for a full calendar year.

“I don’t understand.” You keep trying to make it make sense, to fit the puzzle pieces together, but nothing clicks. “That… I wouldn’t do that. I’m careful, I’m so careful.”

“I understand this is difficult-”

“I have a medically vulnerable dependent. You don’t understand anything.” You shoot to your feet. “So what does this mean?”

“You’ll need to make arrangements for Riley’s health insurance after her current plan expires in three months.” You’re going to be sick all over this ugly office carpet. “You can look at plans on the marketplace, or apply for medicaid.” You laugh. It’s sharp and brittle, heavy with disbelief, anger. You don’t qualify for medicaid, you’ve tried. Your income level is above the threshold, even though your costs drain you dry. And looking for insurance on the marketplace is no better. Those plans start at eight hundred dollars a month.

“I chose this plan for her specifically, for what she might need if something happened. Why didn’t she just roll over onto the new plan with me? She’s been my dependent for years.”

“You have to enroll everyone individually when you change plans. The instructions are very clear.” This is all your fault. You did this. You were careless. You were stupid.

Your stomach flips and thrashes.

“Okay.”

“Any medical care you or Riley receive here will be heavily discounted.”

“That’s… that’s great. Thanks.” You’re speaking but you don’t know what you’re saying. Everything is numb except for your nausea, which is rapidly turning the contents in your stomach into a projectile. “I have to go.” You rush out, and before she can even answer, you’re down the hall, slamming into a bathroom and keeling over the toilet.

Fuck.

“Just get married.” You drop your spoon and it clatters on the table. Olivia looks unimpressed, but Ava can never be deterred.

“Ava.”

“What? Pick someone. You’re smart and kind and funny and beautiful. I’m sure someone around here would marry you in a heartbeat.” She’s so nonchalant about it, like this is a logical solution.

“And tell them by doing so they’re committing fraud with me?” Her sigh is exasperated.

“Oh come on. Have you never read a romance novel?”

“Sorry I don’t exactly have a lot of time to read.” She waves you off.

“It’s called marriage of convenience. Get married, stay married until you can enroll Riley in health insurance again and it kicks in, get divorced, or…”

“Or?”

“Maybe fall in love along the way?” You choke on your yogurt.

“You’re actually insane.”

“Uh-” Olivia whispers, but it’s too late. Doctor Price is looming over Ava’s shoulder.

“Hey girls. “Causin’ trouble over here?” He winks, and she beams up at him.

“Us? Never.”

“Well I-” His phone interrupts him with a shrill ring, and as he walks off, Ava turns to you, suddenly very serious.

“Except him. I call dibs.”

The day is bad but it’s nothing compared to the weight on your chest.

It has you pinned down, immobile, stuck behind the wheel of the truck, keys in the ignition, staring through the windshield at nothing. Maybe the crack of sunlight between the concrete barriers of the parking garage if you were forced to pick something, the tangerine pink shadows of the setting sun scrawling across the sky.

You keep replaying the conversation with the HR rep over and over and over, like a broken fucking record, a carousel you can’t get off. The sun sinks lower and you know you need to leave, you need to get home, but you can’t bring yourself to put your foot on the pedal.

Who are you going home to? The kid you’ve failed, again? This is far worse than a late school drop off or too much ice cream before bed or a momentary short straw of patience.

You’re so lost in your own head you don’t even hear the knock on your window, and it takes the metal creak of the door being tugged on to snap you to attention.

Doctor Riley.

Simon.

He’s holding the handle with an expectant look on his face, and you hit the unlock button.

You don’t know why you do it, why you sit there shock still as he reaches across you to turn the truck off and pull the keys from the ignition, why you turn in the seat to face him, immediately holding your breath.

He’s so confusing. The rough edges, his gritty accent and sharp, biting words are nowhere to be found sometimes, and what’s left in their place is this. This man. The one who watches you, who’s pushing you closer and closer to an edge like he already knows what will happen, like he’s waiting for it.

Like he wants to destroy your foundation, your armor, like he wants to shred your control.

All of it by design.

“What is it?” You shake your head. There’s nothing you can say, nothing to give him that would explain the direness of your situation, the depth of your failure. Your lungs are burning, but you can’t bring yourself to release the air the you’re holding in your chest. “Daisy. Let it out.” Your refusal is steadfast, but he outfoxes you, places his hand on your thigh and takes you by surprise, the reaction rippling through to force your exhale. “That’s it, good,” the praise feels better than it should, and oxygen comes easier. So does the next one, and his hand doesn’t move as he coaxes you. “You’re doing great.” Eventually, stasis returns as your breathing evens out, and you try to come up with something, anything to say.

“Doctor Ri-”

“Simon. Outside of work, that’s who I am to you. Simon.” You feel the urge to freeze your lungs all over again, but like he’s reading your mind, he squeezes your thigh and the pressure is thoroughly distracting. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“I had a bad day.” A shit summation but the only one you can offer. His chest expands with his own deep breath. “That’s all.”

“That’s all.” He echoes. “You had a bad day, so you’ve been sitting in the garage for a half an hour with your truck running, staring into space,” he reaches for your face, pad of his thumb lightly tracing the curve of your cheekbone, and now you’re holding your breath for an entirely different reason. “But that’s all.”

“I… yeah, that’s all.” He sighs. It’s long, and you think about what he’s carrying, the weight of all those little lives and their families too. Is he tired like you? Desperate for a reprieve even though he knows he can’t slip up, not even for a moment? There’s no comparison. In a world of the two of you, your weight is a feather and his is the world. Atlas carrying it all on his shoulders.

And that makes you burn.

His hand falls, and with a metallic chirp, your keys are pressed into your palm. “You should get home.”

“Right.” The acknowledgment sticks in your throat. “Yeah.” He cups your cheek. Cups it. Holds it like a treasure before his touch vanishes completely, leaving you cold. Confused.

“Goodnight Daisy.”

“Goodnight Simon.”