Page 102 of The Love Operation

Regrettably, I call Benedict next.

“I’m really sorry,” I say after explaining the situation. “This case . . . it’s going to take a while. We’ll be here late.”

“Don’t be sorry. You can’t help it. But will you eat?”

“I’ll grab something from the lounge. There’s cereal, leftover bagels, maybe some mayo.”

“You’re going to eat mayo for dinner?”

“What I eat for dinner isn’t your business.”

“Just promise me it’s not mayo.”

“Fine. I won’t eat mayo.”

“Good. Because if you did, it would be tragic.”

“You have problems.”

“At least not mayo-related ones.”

“I have to go. Tell your dad I’m sorry he’s stuck with you tonight.”

“If you come in tomorrow and he’s got a pillow over my face, it’ll be your fault.”

“Technically, it’ll be Dr. Tenpenny’s fault. Or the surgical maniac who installed this lady’s hardware. Honestly, I wouldn’t let him operate on a stuffed animal.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think I should laugh at that.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s not funny. You’re a horrible person.”

“Go clean out your patient’s spine, Dr. Wren. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again soon.”

We hang up.

I shoot Delenn a quick text, promising we’ll work through whatever she wants this weekend. I don’t let myself dwell on what the double dose might be doing to me. I need to stay focused. I’ll unpack that later.

Then I call Isaac.

His sigh is one of relief. For one ridiculous second, I wonder if he infected this woman’s hardware himself to keep me occupied tonight. I laugh the thought off. He’s not devious.

“I hope it goes well,” he says, and I head to the OR.

It doesn’t.

At 11 p.m., I drag myself out of the OR, peel off my surgical gear, and wilt in the hallway. The case was long and involved but straightforward. The most concerning thing about it was when I was convinced I smelled blueberry pie halfway through the operation. No one else smelled it, which means it was a throwback moment to my initial memory study experience when Delenn first applied the electrical current.

Now I’m almost certain: The double dose is doing something to me. And I’m not sure what to do about it. I do know that I can’t tell Delenn because then I’d have to admit that I knowingly let her give me a double dose of treatment when I could still memory dive. I also know that worrying about it will only make things worse. And right now, I’m too exhausted and starving to worry.

I glance at my phone. One message.

Benedict: Text me when you get done. Don’t care how late it is.

I hesitate, but not for long. Decorum saw Mrs. Hubert’s MRI and packed its bags, so I don’t overthink what’s appropriate. I don’t trust myself to.

Me: I’m beginning to think you put a curse on this four-leaf clover.

Benedict: Are you done? Still at the hospital?