Page 379 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Nick: Hmm… Yes. I’m 100% positive. :)

Me: Hmm… okay.

Nick: LOL. Are you always this persistent with your clients?

Me: Probably not.

Nick: Well, I guess I feel special, then.

Me: You should. Well, not as special as Fleetwood Mac’s Sex Pants, but still. ;)

Nick: I’m in the middle of a meeting, and I actually laughed out loud at that one. My peers are looking at me like I’m nuts right now.

Me: You're texting me in the middle of a meeting? That seems unprofessional, Dr. Raines.

Nick: It's nothing too important. Just the usual shit. Brain surgery and stuff like that.

Me: Hahaha I'm sure your patients would love to know the doc performing surgery on their heads refers to it as “the usual shit.”

Nick: LOL.

Me: Enjoy your meeting, Dr. Raines

Nick: Enjoy your day, Ms. Hollis.

Sigh. Yeah. It was official. I had a big old crush on a brain surgeon.

The red-and-white checkered tablecloth grabbed at the back of my hand as I slid it out from under my paper plate. It’d been freshly wiped, and a little of the moisture from the rag still clung to the rubberlike material.

But it wasn’t something that you grumbled about at Vinito’s, and if you were smart, it wasn’t even something you thought about complaining about on a Friday night.

The line had been out the door when we’d gotten here thirty minutes ago, and that was just to order at the counter and wait patiently for a slice of heaven. With their combination of melted cheese and perfectly seasoned sauce, Vinito’s had some of the best pizza in Manhattan, and if you were a New Yorker, you’d know that was really saying something.

It’d taken another ten minutes to actually procure a slice and another two to hunt and peck out a table. But Lexi was the best at stalking people, studying their weaknesses, and waiting to make them break. It was in her nature to be analytical, but she’d also been practicing every other Friday night for the last year and a half.

The first year and a half after I moved back, I’d spent all my time convincing Winnie Winslow that I could be a real father to our daughter. I showed up at all of Lexi’s football games, remembered all of the important dates, and called her every night before bed. I was in her life, for good, and I had to prove that to Winnie, Lexi, and truthfully, myself.

I could do it. I could be the father she wanted and needed, and I could give up anything that stood in the way.

It’d actually been surprisingly easy. Lexi was a brilliant force of nature. She liked you or she didn’t, and despite my mistakes, she’d sniffed out something in me she believed in.

I clung to that on the days I doubted myself.

After a long road of building trust, Winnie had finally admitted to the change she saw in me. And so, she’d given in. Selflessly, and without past repercussion, Winnie had put her daughter first, at the very front of the line, and given her alone time with me on a regular basis.

Every other weekend, Lexi came to me on Friday evening and went home Sunday. And every Friday, we came to Vinito’s.

It might seem like a cop-out to take her to the exact same restaurant every Friday, but Lexi, diagnosed as high-functioning on the autism spectrum, lived for routine and planning. Vinito’s was known, it was comfortable, and honest to God, the pizza really was heaven.

“My slice has forty-two crumbles of sausage, but yours has fifty-three. Peculiar,” Lexi observed keenly, and if I wasn’t mistaken, with a little ire. Her spatial reasoning was superhuman, and her love for sausage pizza was a close second.

“Would you like to switch?” I offered.

Instead of answering, she reached forward, grabbed the edge of my plate, and slid it toward herself. She compared the two pieces closely while they were side by side, and I chuckled when she didn’t slide one back.

“Lex.”

“Mine has approximately two percent more cheese than yours, and the sauce ratio is nearly one to one.”