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I might as well agree with him and keep my head down.
I look around the beauty shop and notice that Carol is nowhere to be found—she probably snuck away into the break room so that she doesn’t catch any of Mervyn Doyle’s wrath.
I don’t blame her.
But just as Mr. Doyle finishes his rant, my phone vibrates loudly in my pocket.
There’s no doubt he just heard it—his face is turning red all over again. “Miss Williams!”
“I know, I know. How about I … go to the break room and … put the phone in my purse. How’s that?”
Luckily for me, he agrees, and I’m allowed to go.
This gives me a chance to read Evan’s messages.
Evan: Hey, Dolly! A nickname? That’s such a random question. But no, not that I can think of.
Evan: Well, you used to say that I looked like one of those skeletons for Halloween back when we were in high school. But that was before I got all big and strong.
I can’t help but laugh at his last message.
It’s true. Evan has changed a lot in the last ten years or so. He went from being a scrawny, lanky boy in high school to a muscular, athletic man—no doubt thanks to all the hours he spends at the gym. He’s barely recognizable.
Evan: Hey, where’s this question coming from, anyway?
Evan: FYI the hospital’s a little crazy today, so I’ll be working a double shift. Dinner tomorrow?
I simply cannot keep myself from smiling at the thought of seeing him tomorrow evening. Spending any amount of time with Evan makes my day.
In the break room, Carol is sipping her coffee and watching me text. “Did Evan answer you?”
I still find her interest in my relationship with Evan somewhat bizarre, but I don’t quite know how to bring it up with her. I mean, Carol is my best friend at work. For one thing, she’s my ally against Mr. Doyle, not to mention she’s what helps keep me sane on an everyday basis—apart from my texts with Evan, of course. But goodness, she can cross the line sometimes.
“Umm … yeah, he did. He’s really busy at the hospital.”
“Wow. The hospital?” she asks me, her eyes lighting up. “Is he a doctor or something?”
“He’s an emergency room doctor, here in downtown Boston. He typically treats patients that are brought in straight from the ambulance,” I explain.
“Gosh … that must be so difficult,” she says.
“It is. It’s very taxing. He often sees some of the worst-case scenarios. We’re talking car accident victims, gunshot wounds, and the like. I sometimes wonder how he does it all. He’s a superhero; that’s what I always say!” As I talk, I realize that, perhaps, I have had a nickname for Evan all along.
He’s been my real-life superhero.
And I’m his Dolly.
“That’s amazing. And does it pay well? I mean, I’m assuming Evan makes a lot of money?” she asks.
“Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean…” She winks and grins. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with where this conversation is going.
“I guess he does alright. He has a great apartment and an expensive car so…”
“That’s what I thought! I’ve seen him around here, picking you up in that Lamborghini! Gosh … a Lamborghini! Can you imagine? I mean, that’s the dream, isn’t it? To marry a rich doctor.”
“Maybe if you’re Rachel from Friends. But even she gave up that dream and married Ross,” I say, feeling increasingly irritated by this conversation.
