Page 88 of Crash

TESSA

Blake: Answer my call. We need to talk.

Me: On my way to watch a bride try on Vera Wang. Rain check.

Blake: It’s about your health.

Me: I assumed as much. If you wanted to talk about, you know, other things, you’d have done so before fleeing in the dark of night.

Oof. Turned out, my hurt feelings were gripping the wheel and accelerating the bitchy pedal. But seriously, I woke up, discovering he’d already left without a word. Evidently having no problem getting through his day with no closure.

Blake: I didn’t flee. I’m at WORK. And you need to come here. Now.

Me: I have four appointments in the next three hours. Afraid it will have to wait.

Blake: It’s urgent.

Me: Define urgent. Is it “aliens have invaded my bloodstream” urgent or “Blake needs to avoid an awkward conversation” urgent?

Blake: Something’s come up.

Me: Unless my lab results have shown I need a medication in the next ten minutes or else my soul will permanently detach from my body, I’m afraid it’ll have to wait.

Blake: Please come to the hospital. There, see? I said PLEASE.

Me: Slow clap. I know that word has eluded your vocabulary for quite a while.

Blake: This is serious.

Me: So am I. I’m seriously looking at $3,000/hour photographers after this fitting.

Blake: This wasn’t our agreement. Our agreement was you’d come in for testing when I said so.

Me: A) So, this is just about more testing. *eye roll emoji* Got it. B) Never agreed to “when you said so.” Check the terms and conditions.

Blake: If I’m right, you could be in danger, Tessa.

Me: From what? Whiplash from your constant mood changes or my medical condition?

Blake: You won’t let me explain this request in person, WILL YOU?

Me: NO. P.S. I KNOW HOW TO USE THE CAPS TOO. SEE? THIS IS ALL CAPS.

Blake: Tessa.

Me: Dr. Morrison.

Blake: You want to be mad at me? Fine. But you need to take this seriously.

Me: Got it. Thanks for the mansplaining.

Blake: Tessa.

Me: Now, as for said testing, I’m happy to come in tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.

Blake: I won’t be here tomorrow at eight.

Me: Darn. I’m sure someone else knows how to jab needles into my flesh. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to run.