He smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners like I’ve never seen them do before, and starts mindlessly scrolling through Netflix. “What? You don’t want to admit you have an engine? You know, it’s not something you have to be embarrassed—”
“OH MY GOSH, DR. STUCK-UP, please stop! No one likes it when you turn into a gynecologist in the living room.” I chuck a pillow at his head, feeling a new weightlessness between us. It’s making me high.
He only laughs harder, still not meeting my eyes as he continues on. “No need to be squeamish, Oscar. If you’d like, I’ve got some pamphlets at the office that shed invaluable light on this particular topic.”
I’m pelting him with popcorn one by one. They are tiny buttery canons. Drew pulls his hood up to protect his face and scrunches his body into a ball. His laugh is incredible. I’m submerged like I’ve jumped into warm lake water in the summer. I float on my back and smile up at the blue sky.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. It’s just too easy. My female friends are always so weirded out by my profession.”
I force myself to swallow a piece of popcorn and then choke out a laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s because it’s sort of weird that you’re a young, h—” The word hot dies on the tip of my tongue. Drew definitely heard where that was going though because his brows rise in conceited question. “Hhhhhappenin’ kind of guy.”
He frowns and meets my gaze, the lightheartedness from a moment ago dimming. “So because I’m young and happenin’ I’m not allowed to care about women’s health? Like I went through all those years of undergrad, medical school, and residency all so I could look at women’s bodies whenever I want?”
Well, I guess when he puts it like that…
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before blowing out a breath and shaking his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to jump down your throat about that. I guess sometimes I just get sick of the stigma, the idea that I’m a creep for going into gynecology—but it’s fair. I get it that it’s uncomfortable to some people.” Why do I get the feeling there’s so much more going on under the surface of this conversation?
I shift in my seat, pulling my legs up under me just to have something to do. “So, why did you choose this career then?”
Drew’s eyes snag on mine, and his brows pull low. Not in an angry way, just skeptical. Like he can’t believe I actually care. “When I was doing my rotations early on in medical school, the labor and delivery unit was where I felt the most joy. Honestly, so much of the medical field is doom and gloom, death and dying, prescribing and fixing. But women’s health deals mostly in preventative measures, and it revolves so much around life and family. From the first birth I attended, I’ve thought it was the most incredible experience to get to be a part of, and for me, it’s the greatest honor to work alongside women to bring their babies into the world.” He pauses and shrugs. “This is the only field of medicine I’ve ever felt so much hope in.”
Hearing the conviction in his voice, the sincerity and gentleness—I completely believe him. More than that, I feel like I know him in a new way. I can see the vulnerability behind his eyes, and it tugs at me.
“Okay,” I say simply with a quiet smile. “You’ve won me over. I mean, you’ll never be my OB-GYN because that would just be a very odd boundary to cross for roommates, but you’ve made me feel more comfortable with your occupation.”
“Really?” It’s cute the way his brow crinkles.
“Yeah.” And I mean it. His reasons hit home with me, and I think it was probably unfair and ignorant of me to assume he had any other motives. “Is that why you’re single? I mean other than your severe and crippling obnoxiousness? Are women not comfortable dating you since you’re an OB?”
I give a taunting grin and he mimics it, shifting so he sinks a little further into the armchair. He looks oddly relaxed. We’ve never let our guards down this much around each other before, and I have to admit, I like seeing him like this. I like knowing he wears this black hoodie any time he can. It’s so worn out the white logo on the front is peeling and cracking.
“It’s definitely been an issue.”
“How much of an issue?”
“Like I rarely get a second date kind of issue.” His finger runs along the seam of the armchair, and his eyes track its journey. “Over my last dinner date, I finally told the woman I was a gynecologist, and she did a spit take with her water. It was dramatic, but I also sort of understand the reaction.”
“I’m sorry. That must really suck to devote your life to women’s healthcare and then not have a relationship because of it.”
He shrugs. “Eh, not a big deal. I’m busy a lot, so I don’t have much time to sit and care about it. I figure my career won’t bother the right woman. She’ll trust me.”
Something pokes me in the chest saying I’m not really bothered by his career, but I choose not to give it attention. Instead I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Wow, would you look at that? We’ve gone ten minutes without fighting. I think that’s a record.” My voice sounds too much like I belong on The Truman Show and am trying to act natural.
“And your flush has finally worn off.” He just had to go and mention that.
I touch my fingers to my cheeks, begging them to behave. “Yep. Told you—nothing to worry about.”
He’s silent a minute. Staring. His eyes softly blink, and his mouth is resting in a neutral line. He looks like he’d be comfortable to stay like this forever. I need him to look away.
“I’m sorry about overreacting earlier,” he tells me. “I—uh—had a tough day at work, so I guess worst-case scenarios were fresh on my mind.”
This moment is so tender, and quiet. I’m scared to speak too loudly. It’ll pop whatever this is, and the vulnerability I see in Drew will be gone.
“It’s okay. I imagine it’s difficult knowing you’re responsible for so many people.”
His eyes are still connected with mine, zeroed in, ignoring any sign of life around us. He nods slowly. “Oddly though, I’ve always felt that way. Even before becoming a doctor, my family, friends, Lucy…they all look to me for assistance, or guidance, or protection. It’s just been my role in life.” He says it and I hear what he’s not saying: Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. I feel for him. I’ve never been the one who seems to have it all together, so I can only imagine how hard it would be to carry the responsibility of being dependable. “Everyone except you, that is.”
“Except me?” My heart rate increases. My palms sweat. I’m afraid he can see right through me.