"Coffee and the news," IP says abruptly.
He's referring to my previous email in which I inquired about his morning routine. I asked about coffee. I was so embarrassed about that after I hit the send button.
Morning routine? Who am I to ask about his private life? He's my doctor! But there he was, the following day, sitting with one empty chair between us, answering my question. I moved closer to him in the conference room, mostly because with my hearing loss, I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything he'd say, and I was losing words sitting across the table with the masks being on everyone. So, I went around and then sat next to him on the other side. "I like it!" he commented on the change of chairs.
I was wondering if he went to the gym to catch an early morning workout or fucked his girlfriend before work. I pictured him showering. I hated these thoughts, but they came anyway. I wondered if he wondered if I was having them. He wasn't stupid. My latest book called them romantic transference. Easy, simple. Erase with one broad stroke. Gone forever. A little crush. We can work through this.
Somehow having an email between us opened a lot of doors. We chatted.
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