“He’s not just my eye doctor.”
“Hannah. He’s literally your eye doctor.”
“I know.”
“Is he cute?”
“Lydia. How would I know?”
“Okay, fair. Does he sound cute?”
I thought about it.
“He sounds,” I said slowly, “like someone who’s been carrying something heavy for a long time.”
Lydia was quiet.
“That’s not cute,” she said. “That’s interesting.”
Eventually, he asked me to dinner.
It was a Thursday evening, after my last appointment of the day. The practice was nearly empty. I could hear the cleaning crew vacuuming somewhere down the hall.
He’d finished my exam. I was reaching for my cane.
“Hannah,” he said. “Wait.”
I stopped.
“I know this crosses a line,” he admitted. His voice was very quiet. “I know it does. And you can say no, and I’ll transfer your care to Dr. Lim tomorrow, and you’ll never hear another word about it. But I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t at least ask.”
