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“It’s not all that unusual,” I say, keeping my tone casual.
Karlene sits back and crosses her arms.
“The text or the fact that you shoved it in my face the second we sat down? Because—” she pretends to consider it, “—I can’t remember the last time you showed me a work text. Except maybe when that kooky new pharmacist was assigned to your last team—the one who would send you those really weird, rambling messages. I wonder what happened to her?
I’m pretty sure Karlene is missing the point.
“Obviously this is different.”
“Obviously.”
“Would you like to order?” the server says, approaching our table.
I’m quick, as usual, but Karlene orders like it’s her last supper, as if making the wrong choice might levy a death sentence.
“So why didn’t you answer?”
Is she serious? “We’ve been friends for how long? Are you kidding me right now?”
Her laugh attracts attention from passersby, who seem to be enjoying the midsummer sun despite its increasingly oppressive heat. I’ve always wished I had a laugh like hers, as if she doesn’t care who hears it.
“OK, OK. Just say . . .” She pauses.
“Exactly. If I say, ‘Actually, no,’ I’ll sound like a total lunatic for having told him it was no big deal. If I say, ‘Yes,’ then it’s like giving him carte blanche for all sorts of off-hours communication. Weekends. Nights. Hell, I might as well screw the guy and hand over my resignation now.”
Overly dramatic?
Maybe a little.
“Just say what you would to anyone else. You’ve never cared about the work/home line before.”
Some people are religious about work being work, personal time being personal time. But not me. I watched my dad get ahead by living and breathing science, and I’ve always done the same. Besides, I hate starting the week with a pile of administrative tasks. If I handle some of that stuff on my downtime, it frees me to do the real work. The fun stuff.
And she’s right. This is just another sponsor, or at least it should be. No big deal.
I grab my phone.
My last assignment as RPM was on a new drug that treated seizure clusters. The POC was the CEO of a pharma company that I’d worked with as a clinical investigator on a different drug. There are many differences between him and Hayden, namely thirty-five-ish years in age, but still. What would I have texted him?
Of course.
There. Done.
“What did you say?”
I show her my phone, but I am not digging her expression when she sees it.
“What? I just pretended he was Sam Kendall. That’s exactly what I would have said to him.”
“Really? You’re comparing Sam Kendall to Hayden Tanner?”
My jaw drops. “That’s exactly what you told me to do.”
I’m so going to kill her.
Karlene picks up a leaf that fell on our table from the tree above us.
“Because I can’t believe you like Hayden Tanner, of all people.”
