“So I’d see you leave with it,” I said.
He didn’t deny that either.
It landed right where he knew it would.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Nate.”
“Seven months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked at me.
His eyes were red.
“Because I wanted to fix it first.”
“Fix what?”
“All of it.”
“I wanted to walk in the door one night and say, here’s what happened.”
“And here’s what’s next.”
“And it’s already handled.”
“So you’d never have to worry.”
“Not for one day.”
“That’s not your call,” I said.
“Whether I worry isn’t your call.”
He reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a folded packet of papers.
He set it on top of the scrubs.
I didn’t touch it.
“What is that?”
“What’s next,” he said.
I unfolded it.
Bramble Point Regional Medical Center.
Bramble Point, Oregon.
Offer of Employment.
Staff General Surgeon.
Start date: November 18.
My eyes went to the bottom.
His signature.
Dated two weeks ago.
Under it was a second page.
A lease.
A three-bedroom house on Juniper Street.
Deposit paid.
I read it twice.
Then I set it down very carefully.
Like it might go off.
“Oregon,” I said.
“It’s beautiful, Laur.”
“There’s a school four blocks from the house.”
“The hours are human.”
“No overnight call.”
“I’d be home by six every single night.”
“Oregon,” I said again.
“When did you apply?”
“June.”
“When did you interview?”
“July.”
“In person?”
“I told you I was at a conference in Denver.”
“When did they offer?”
“September.”
“When did you accept?”
“The twenty-second.”
“When did you sign a lease on a house I’ve never seen?”
He didn’t answer.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Thanksgiving.”
I laughed.
I actually laughed.
“Thanksgiving.”
“I thought—”
“You thought you’d carve the turkey and hand me a moving date.”
“I thought you’d see it was already done.”
“And you’d see I was trying.”
“And you’d say yes.”
I stood up.
My chair scraped the floor.
“You didn’t want my answer, Nate.”
“You wanted my signature.”
He flinched like I’d hit him.
“My business is here,” I said.
