Page 92 of The Love Operation

Benedict: Oof. Sorry to benefit from someone else’s misfortune, but I am happy for my dad.

Me: I’m happy for your dad too.

Benedict: You’re amazing. You know that, right?

Me: Save the compliments for after surgery.

Benedict: Will do, Dr. Wren. Will do.

Benedict: But just know, I’m rooting for you.

Me: Don’t know how I operated before now.

Benedict: A lot of people say that about me.

Me: ??

Me: That they don’t know how they operated before knowing you?

Benedict: I mean in general. I’m like a good luck charm.

Me: Well, I don’t need good luck. I have skill.

Benedict: Everyone needs good luck. Do you still collect four-leaf clovers?

I smile. I used to find them like crazy. Walking across campus, I’d look down, and there one would be, as if calling out to me. Many times, Benedict was with me. He could never find one.

Me: Not in years.

Benedict: Tragic. You were the Clover Whisperer.

Me: Not finding clovers isn’t tragic.

Benedict: Who are you to define the word tragic?

Me: Tragic (adjective) trag • ic ˈtra-jik. variants or less commonly tragical ˈtra-ji-kəl: regrettably serious or unpleasant: deplorable, lamentable

Benedict: Did you just quote the dictionary at me?

Me: Merriam-Webster, baby. So you’re saying the inability to find clovers is deplorable and lamentable?

Benedict: I stand by it.

Me: This conversation is tragic.

Benedict: Ouch. Aren’t you a doctor? Don’t you have patients to see or something?

Me: I can’t see patients before I’ve properly put someone in their place. (Someone who obviously needs it.)

Benedict: You will never change my mind. You not finding clovers = tragic.

Me: I’m done here.

Benedict: I’ve been done. Go, see your patients. Then get rest because you’re operating on my dad tomorrow.

Me: I could do this operation in my sleep.

Benedict: Good to know. Very efficient.