Page 18 of Clinically Awkward

“It wasn’t.”

“Too late. Already interpreted. Can’t take it back now.”

Vivian opened her mouth, ready to shut me down. She was poised to say no—remind me that Saturday nights were for anything but awkward coworker outings, that she had plans, boundaries, sanity. Maybe even suggest I seek professional help. But the truth was, I could see the flicker of indecision in her eyes. She wasn’t just weighing my ridiculous invitation; she was weighing her own need for escape. The gnawing restlessness, the urge to not be alone with her thoughts, or worse—with her phone.

Then her phone buzzed, slicing through her hesitation like a scalpel.

She barely glanced at the screen before her entire demeanor changed. Whatever had lingered—frustration, uncertainty—crystallized into something colder. She sneered, and I didn’t need to ask who the message was from.

The Boyfriend—ruining Vivian’s day with the persistence of a mosquito that was somehow immune to bug spray.

Vivian caught my gaze, her grin sharp, not friendly. It was the kind of smile you gave before jumping off a cliff—not for the thrill, but because the view behind you was worse. I suspected I was about to become her distraction, her act of defiance.

“You know what?” she said, her voice laced with spite and relief. “Let’s go to that comedy club. I could use a laugh.”

“Really?” I tried not to sound stunned but probably failed. The idea that she’d say yes felt like winning a raffle for something I didn’t realize I wanted until I was holding the ticket.

“Just as friends,” she emphasized, shoving her phone back in her pocket with enough force to make me wince. “This isn’t a date.”

“Totally just friends,” I echoed, my nerves tap-dancing. “Colleagues, nachos, laughter. Platonic enough to scare off Cupids everywhere.”

She slammed her trunk for emphasis, then turned to face me. “Because I really don’t need any extra complications right now.”

“Complications are overrated,” I lied, already knowing I was knee-deep in them.

She eyed me, a half-smirk curling her lips. “Funny, your life seems like a complication starter kit.”

“That’s just circumstantial.” I shrugged. “Voluntary complications? I avoid those like contagious disease.”

“You’re a doctor. Maybe leave the plague metaphors to history books.”

“You’re a nurse. You should grade my metaphors, not enable them.”

“I’m not enabling anything. Just observing you’re an idiot.”

“Again with the idiot thing. You really ought to diversify your insults.”

“Moron works.”

“Still just synonyms.”

“Fine. Buffoon.”

“Better. Creative effort noted.”

She grabbed her purse, locked her car, and marched toward mine. “Let’s go laugh at other people’s problems. I need a break from mine.”

“Healthiest coping mechanism I’ve heard all week,” I said, matching her stride.

She snorted. “I’m a nurse. I know better. This isn’t healthy—it’s just necessary.”

“Necessary is my favorite kind of unhealthy.”

“We’re avoiding our problems.”

“Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to.”

“That’s not how that expression works.”