THE NEXT DAY
Dr. Jenny Friedman awakens to the single note that sounds from her smartphone signalling the arrival of a text message. She is startled to find herself atop the body of a man before remembering what had happened in the wee hours of the morning.
A smile lights up her face as the memory of making love with Rick surfaces.
As she struggles to awaken, the single note chimes again.
She snatches her cell phone from the bedside table. At the top of the message is the name Hannah Milstein. She is relieved that the message from the nurse says only, "When are you going to make rounds?"
It could have been much worse. She looks down at Rick and sees that he hasn't stirred. She feels safe for now.
She turns her head to look at the clock. The morning sun, low in the sky, shining through the blinds hits her eyes, making her squint. She then becomes aware of how much her head hurts, reminding her how much alcohol she consumed the night before. Memories of the sweetness of Chardonnay and Whiskey Sours nauseate her. She hopes not to vomit, something that surely would send her new lover back to Silicon Valley, where the girls either eat hardly at all or have honed the talent to throw up discreetly.
She thinks of the whirlwind courtship through which she has just been. Making love last night was the marriage ceremony, no clergyman or justice of the peace needed. Fucking each other's brains out has to be the best way to seal a commitment.
Jenny realizes that just looking gross while hungover won't undo the years of want and loneliness that now are just a distant memory. But she knows something that might.
She delicately removes herself from the bed. Rick does not stir. What a relief. But why hasn't he moved? Had she been too much for him? She watches his chest rise and fall. He's alive.
It's nice to hear him breathe. In fact, it makes her feel as good as when he made her climax last night, albeit in a different way.
She feels foolish to have thought their amorous encounter could have killed him. After all, he's a healthy young man who didn't drink to excess or use drugs last night. But it's her misgivings about being able to give herself fully to any one person that brings such thoughts to her mind.
She grabs her smartphone and takes it into the bathroom with her, hoping not to get any more texts that might cast light on the other side of her life. Maybe it would be best if they moved away. California, where Rick is living, is known for its tolerance of alternative lifestyles. So they might be better off there. And then she realizes she will take herself wherever she goes.
She is naked. What has happened to her? Never an exhibitionist, she doesn't remember ever walking around her house without at least wearing a robe. She guesses that now having known carnal pleasure, the prim and proper young professional woman is no longer, she having descended into the unwashed masses that comprise humanity.
As she sits on the toilet peeing, she looks at the messages she and Hannah have exchanged. This one no one better see, she decides, and deletes it. She does the same a dozen more times and, realizing there are dozens more, she is ready to highlight 'delete' to get rid of the whole thread.
Tears well up in her eyes. Hannah is dear to her. Deleting the messages would be like deleting the troubled woman from her life. She can't do it, especially after what her friend has just been through.
She quickly changes her password from 'phone' to a seemingly random sequence suggested by her mobile provider. Just not using her phone in front of Rick might be enough; at least that way there'll be less of a chance he'll see something he shouldn't.
But the computer will be more of a problem. So far Rick has only used his company's laptop during his visits. But as their lives intertwine, surely sometime he will find a need to use hers. Will she always remember to sign out of her email and social media accounts?
She bites her lower lip. Rick's going to find out sometime, she knows. And she doesn't know if she wants to be around when he does.
She silences her phone and turns on the water to shower. Before stepping behind the curtain, she grabs the phone, holds it away from the stream of hot water to keep it dry, and places it in the soap dish. She wants to enjoy her shower without worrying a text message that she doesn't want Rick to see will pop up unbeknownst to her.
She stands under the hot water and begins crying, trying not to whimper too loudly, hoping that the noise from the flowing water will hide her sobs. With Rick back in her life and Hannah absent, she had been certain the thoughts and urges that had bedeviled her since adolescence were gone, even though a therapist had explained there was and there should be no cure for what troubles her. But everything went back to square one when she saw Hannah's text.
That she may never be able to give her love to only one person exasperates her, for that is what she wants for herself.
Thinking about raising a family with Rick and how great their life as a married couple will be allows her to compose herself. After getting out of the shower, she wraps herself in a towel before blow drying her hair. And then she strides into the bedroom, retrieves a plain white bra and panties over which she throws a set of blue scrubs, and goes into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.
The caffeine eases her headache slightly. She checks the news on her phone. No wars have broken out. The federal government still is running a huge deficit that its legislators refuse to address but people are still willing to lend money to the United States, so things are status quo.
Everything is exactly the same as before she fucked Rick. Live in the moment. That's what her therapist tells her. Don't be a fortune teller. No sense fretting about a future over which she has little control. The world will go on, and the people who think she is their soulmate will have to accept her as the imperfect being that she is. That's what she is telling herself, just so she can see the handful of patients it is her duty to care for today.
But an incredible sense of foreboding continues to nag at her, because she wasn't forthcoming with Rick. But she doubts if he would have wanted her to be, for it seems his preference is to worship her as his goddess.
But the age of gods and goddesses is coming to an end. Even Rick will eventually become jaded. And no longer do people accept being a victim of fate or bad luck. People assume they are in control of their own destinies. And when they are wronged, they seek recompense from the guilty party. So when RIck tires of her feminine charms, this must end badly for her. And when it does, will Hannah have moved on?
Jenny's destiny will not be in her hands until she can banish certain thoughts from her mind. But how can a person not think of something? Intimate relationships, what gives meaning to life, are her curse, for they can never be fully consummated.
She remembers her car is still at the hospital so she summons Uber and stands out in the cold wearing a sweater, shivering. Clouds move in and obscure the sun, making her realize it will be another gray day. Then she remembers that the weather report calls for snow. It will be a nice evening to stay home and cuddle with Rick in front of the fireplace, where she will be safe from any interference from Hannah.
The Uber driver arrives and she gazes at the leafless trees as the Prius makes its way to the hospital. To reject Rick or Hannah is unthinkable. She briefly considers opening the passenger door and rolling onto the expressway, where she will certainly be run over and killed in the heavy traffic. But why should her loved ones have to endure grief from her passing? It would be better if all traces of her could be erased from the fabric of the universe.
She once read of a man who had two wives and families, completely unbeknownst to each other. If only such a thing were easy.
The driver deposits her in front of the hospital and she smiles at an old family practitioner leaving the hospital. Had the man seen her with Rick last night? Did he think his obstetrical colleague was a slut for drunkenly grinding on the man who would become her lover a couple of hours later?
She paces while waiting for the elevator to arrive. The door opens and she strides inside the car, thinking about what awaits her on the obstetrics unit.
Maybe Hannah will be down in the radiology department with a patient. But the women for whom she cares after having given birth or undergone gynecologic procedures are quite healthy and seldom need X rays.
The lights above the buttons alongside the elevator doors flash 1..., 2..., 3..., until the car arrives on the fourth floor where the mothers, the babies, and, in a separate ward, the postoperative patients wait for the on call doctor to make rounds. Jenny steels herself to face her life as it is.
The elevator doors open. Hannah's back is turned as she talks on the phone. At least Jenny will be able to sneak into a room and see the first patient before having to see the woman she has abandoned for Rick.
But Hannah hangs up the phone, turns around, and sees Jenny exit the elevator. The young doctor bites her lip and gets ready to confront her former lover.
Avoiding Hannah's eyes, Jenny stares at the floor as she walks into the nurses station.
"I heard you had a good time at the Christmas party last night," Hannah snears.
"Where did you hear that?" Jenny answers with mock surprise.
"Dr. Winters told us all about it," Hannah says smugly, referring to the gossipy anesthesiologist who follows the lives and loves of every good looking female who works at the hospital.
"I suppose it would be asking too much for you to say you're glad for me."
"No it wouldn't."
Tears well up in the corners of Jenny's eyes and then stream down her face. Hannah opens the door to the kitchen and motions for her ex-lover to follow her inside.
