D o you know what February is when you work with the elderly in a semi-remote mountain town in the Northeast?
Pneumonia season. Bronchitis season. Wear-a-mask-and-rub-your-skin-raw-with-constant-washing season.
Flu season. After our initial conversation, I tell Minnie that I want to sit down over coffee (the closest I’ve ever gotten to actually asking her out) so that we can go over our fake love story in more detail.
Actually, I just want to know about her. In detail.
In detail... Every detail...
I mean important details that will make or break or charade at her family wedding, not physical details. Intimate details.
My cock twitches when I smell a hint of gardenias wafting down the hall. Don’t think about Minerva right now, Craig. Don’t imagine how she’d look in a bikini. Or with just a sprinkle of sand on her bottom and coconut oil on her skin.
I shake myself as Minnie rushes past my window, sneakers slapping the tile as she works a resuscitator mask over a patient’s face, running alongside the gurney that paramedics push towards the elevators.
Shame on you, Craig Macpherson. You were just imagining her in a skimpy swimsuit instead of wondering about what her favorite bands are, who her heroes are, what her favorite foods are... all the things a good boyfriend should know.
Maybe if I’m a really good fake boyfriend in Florida, I’ll come back to New York as the genuine article.
I could start laying the groundwork now.
Wait, is that sleazy? I consider the question as I take a quick call from a resident in pediatrics, asking me to send up someone to help a family whose little one needs to have a feeding tube placed.
I turn back around, and Minnie is walking past, pulling off a thick scarf-like headband that covers the front half of her hair. She pauses, and it's like every music video my horny teenage self ever watched.
She glistens with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. Those honey and best bitter curls bounce free and sway back as she closes her eyes and scoops her hair back into place.
“Oh, hey, Craig. I’m telling you, not enough people got their flu shot this year,” she pants. “Second patient this morning I had to bag on the fly.”
“Aye, I saw you savin’ that woman on the fly.
You looked like some angel of mercy, but not like those little delicate angels that wouldnae get their pretty wings dirty, but some sort of heroic one, sweeping across the dead and the dyin’ to heal them,” I babble, jaw hanging open at the end and my mostly-buried accent flying free.
Minnie stares at me, licking her lips (sweet Jesus), and her light brown cheeks seem to glow brighter.
“Are you kidding? I look like I had a hot flash or got caught in the rain.” She wipes her arm across her forehead, and I seriously have to control the wolfish instincts to go over and lick her arm to steal her scent.
“No. Ye dinnae look like any such thing. Besides... I’d best get used to seeing you wet.”
Minnie stares.
I stare.
I stammer. “I mean, in Florida, there’s going to be swimming at the resort and days on the beach, aren’t there?”
“Oh! Oh, yes.”
Sleaziness be damned, I’ve waited years to get my shot.
I don’t care if Minerva Johnson lives the rest of her life seeing me as a hairy bloke instead of an immaculately groomed wulver.
“An angel savin’ lives doesnae deserve to cook after all day on her feet.
You were saying you’d have to give me the family gossip before we head off on our ‘getaway.’ We’ve got three weeks left.
I’ll take you out to the River House tonight and you can spill the tea. ”
“That sounds sooo good. If I eat one more Lean Cuisine this month, I might not make it to Florida. But... I really want to lose ten pounds before the wedding. Maybe we shouldn’t...”
“You look perfect right now. And I thought you already got your dress?”
“I did, but it’s a little snug in some spots.” Minnie’s hand travels to her hip in an unconscious gesture.
“As your fictional boyfriend, can I tell you that any man lucky enough to date you would consider you in a snug dress an absolute bonus? A vision?”
“Flatterer...”
“Truth! I speak as a bachelor who would give my right arm to... to actually have a woman like you in my life. You know,” I clear my throat, “confident, beautiful, caring, a leader in your community... Ahem. So? Dinner?”
Minnie hesitates for a moment. The hospital cell phone in her pocket begins to beep, and I know she has to go.
“You’ve got to take care of things, I know. We can always take a raincheck,” I laugh, hoping I sound casual. Not in the slightest desperate.
“Tonight at 8? I know it’s late, but I don’t get off until seven.”
“Eight is great.” Good Lord. I’m rhyming.
Minnie doesn’t mind. She laughs and trots off. “You might want to take notes. I’ve got a lot of relatives.”
“I’ll bring my trusty legal pad.” I kid back, because it’s well known that even though we live in the digital age, I waste too much time taking down case notes by hand and then typing them up.
“It’s one of the things I like about you,” Minnie chuckles, glancing back over her shoulder. “You take the time to do things right.”
I’m so glad when she disappears through the doors to the general admissions ward. I practically collapse on my desk, moaning under my breath. “Oooh. You have no idea just how much time I’d take with you...”