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Kim hated overdoses. She really did. By this point in her career, she’d begun to resent the patients, feel like it was their own damn fault and they shouldn’t be taking up her time and the public’s resources.

Christmas was mostly drunk driving accidents, minor burns, and heart attacks. But this year her last call of the night on Christmas Eve had been an OD.

The girl had only been sixteen, and it broke her heart. She’d been concerned that the mother might be having some kind of drug-induced psychotic episode herself with how she’d been acting, but the boy, that little boy, had taken control of the room and spoken for everybody.

He’d said the mother was always like that and to just ignore her. Then he confirmed that the patient, the young girl, had taken cocaine. He said that the batch wasn’t tainted, in fact it was quite pure – more pure than the girl was used to, apparently – and she’d taken too much, started having heart palpitations, and then passed out in the shower.

He’d explained that she didn’t do drugs very often, just ‘little bits’ three or four times a week. It made Kim feel a little sick, hearing a pre-teen talk about a multiple-time-per-week cocaine habit as ‘a little bit’, but it was what it was.

It had been a miserable Christmas.

The only bright spot of the holiday for her was bumping into Mr. Brad Pitt the Apple Thief in the hospital. She’d been slumped on one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs around 6:00am, peeling open a stale Coffee Crisp, when he’d appeared in a hallway looking as exhausted as she felt, wearing a t-shirt that said Your Mom is My Cardio.

She’d held the chocolate bar out to him.

“Here,” she’d said, “you look like you need it more than me.”

He’d smiled ruefully at her, splitting it in half and handing her back the wrapped portion.

“Rough night?” she’d asked.

“Rough life,” he’d responded.

“Anything I can do?”

He’d eyed her in a way that made her squirm, but he shook his head. “Sister’s sick. She’ll be fine. But thanks.”

Kim had been debating whether or not to give him her number (despite the insane level of inappropriateness given he was obviously spending time with a sick family member on Christmas Day) when a twenty-foot tall Indian woman in ridiculously high heels and an expensive looking knee-length pea coat burst in, snow in her shiny dark waves, and threw her arms around him.

“Oh my God, Cary! I’ve been having a heart attack! You didn’t come back home, and when I called the house your mom said that you were at the hospital and I thought – ”

He’d silenced her with a look.

“Well… I’d better be going…” Kim had said, feeling awkward. Clearly the supermodel had a supermodel girlfriend.

The girl had glared at her, but the guy – Cary – gave her a cheeky wink.

“Merry Christmas,” he’d said, and she’d felt his eyes on her as she walked away, just like last time.

She sighed to herself, feeling pathetic that her plans for the day, the first day of the new year, were a bag of Cheetos and a date with her vibrator.

There was a knock on her apartment door, and she heaved herself up off her couch. She opened the door while wiping her orange fingers on her sweatpants, staining them a little, and froze.

“Hi,” Cary said.

She blinked, totally confused. Am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep at the hospital on Christmas and I’m dreaming that this blonde God just showed up at my doorstep?

“Um… hi?” she said, realizing with embarrassment that her fingers were still covered in Cheeto dust.

“Hope you don’t mind my coming by… I might have sweet-talked one of your coworkers into giving me your address. Susan, I think her name was?”

She made a mental note to buy Susan an epic birthday present this year.

“Um… no, I don’t mind…” She flushed, not sure what to do with herself. “Can I… help you?”

He held up a brown paper bag. “I brought sandwiches. And Coffee Crisp.”

She opened the door to let him in, feeling increasingly self-conscious about her dirty sweats and all the dishes piled up in the sink.

He put the bag down on her kitchen table but didn’t even glance at her dirty counters, just stepped right into her personal space and reached for her hair, pulling the scrunchie out and watching her light brown waves fall around her face.

“How’s your sister?” she squeaked.

“I don’t want to talk about my sister right now,” he said, and then he kissed her.

The meatball subs were ice cold by the time they got to them, and she didn’t care one bit.