12. Clementine

Clementine

Finally.

“Have a good Thursday, everyone!”

I moved around the nurses’ station, phone in hand, ready to run and gather my things to prepare for my date with Leyland on Saturday. He fueled my excitement throughout the week asking random questions that made my mind wonder what he’d do with the answers.

All I knew was I needed to have three outfits planned.

“Thank you again, Dr. Moore, for switching off days with me,” I said, stopping beside him.

He nodded, his olive skin darker than usual today.

“You’re doing me a favor too,” he said, perfect teeth on display as he smiled. “If you ever want to switch my Friday for your Sunday again, let me know.”

I chuckled and nodded.

Our off days changed by the week. Who knew when either of us would have weekends to trade for again? Maybe when we were properly staffed. But for now, I was grateful I could spend the day before my date preparing instead of in scrubs.

“Wait! Dr. Warren, can I have a moment of your time?”

I glanced in the direction the voice had come from and smiled as Dr. Kayla Lang walked toward me with our new group of resident interns.

It was that time of year again, and my favorite doctor was back to help me see the newbies through what will be one of the most mentally and physically draining parts of their journey.

“Dr. Lang, you got here just in time,” I mused, gaze meeting the eyes of every intern before I turned to her. “My forty-eight hours off start in five minutes.”

She tossed me a knowing smirk and said, “Thank you for allowing us to use up some of that time. Meet the new blood.”

Dr. Lang stepped to the left, and I tipped my head, wondering who might drop out after the first few weeks. It always happened, but not if we paid close attention from day one and gave them the correct tools to survive.

This year we took on six new interns, and each had that fearful look in their eyes I expected, except one.

“What’s your name?” I asked, pointing to the dark-skinned beauty on the end.

She stepped forward, a tiny smile pulling at her lips.

“I’m Majorie Knoll,” she replied, her raspy voice bringing a grin to my face.

With a nod, I closed a little of the distance between us.

“Where’d you go to school?”

Immediately, I noticed the shift in her demeanor—the way her eyes bounced to her fellow interns before returning to me. She more than likely thought her school of choice didn’t stand well next to the other’s, but I found that the smaller schools birthed some of the best and brightest.

“Wayne State University,” she said. “I’m from Detroit.”

I smiled.

“A Midwest girl taking on big ole Texas,” I sang, eyes briefly meeting Kayla’s.

She wasn’t the person we were looking for, the one who’d find this program too much to handle. But Kayla and I were two of four Black doctors at St. Mercy’s and Majorie had immediately become ours the moment she stepped into this hospital.

Call it what you want; we would make sure she excelled for many reasons, but especially that one. This profession needed more of us around.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Knoll…” I held my hand out, and she took it. “I’m Dr. Clementine Warren and I went to the University of Michigan.”

The expression in her eyes said she’d done her research, that she’d possibly chosen St. Mercy for her residency because of me and Kayla, who had also gone to UofM, where we met and became fast friends.

I moved on, working my way down the row, shaking their hands and asking the same questions I’d asked Majorie. What I noticed immediately is she was amongst hospital legacies—four of the other five had parents or someone close to them on St. Mercy’s current roster of doctors. And the last had come from the east coast—a John’s Hopkins graduate from Philadelphia.

He was the one we had to watch, the one who might burn out too quickly; there was a story in his eyes, one that brought him far from home.

“You six will get to spend more time with me on Sunday, but for now, Dr. Lang is your point woman. Watch her every move; there’s something in all she does you can learn from, but especially the body language…” I turned to my friend and colleague and murmured for only her to hear, “Keep your eyes on Ameer Strong. I’ll keep you posted on everything else. Don’t forget about breakfast before our shift on Sunday.”

She squeezed my arm, a silent response, and we parted without a word.

I got home not long after and immediately my mood changed; all of James’ things were scattered around the living room. He’d been moving out slowly, but with the double shifts, I hadn’t expected it to be any faster.

Deep down, I knew he’d been waiting to talk for when we were both off.

“James,” I called out, kicking a box out of my path and heading upstairs, where I could hear him rummaging around. “What are you doing?”

His back was to me as he dug through the nightstand on what used to be his side of the bed.

“Nothing,” he replied, shutting the drawer and turning. “I was hoping to see you before I left.”

As our eyes met, I noticed the sadness dancing in his and felt my shoulders drop. He was clearly having a hard time, and it showed in his usual well-kept persona.

“I figured,” I mumbled, stepping out of my sneakers and leaning into the door frame. “I know you heard my conversation with—”

“You mean, I heard you agree to go on a date with a patient,” he cut in, a little too much bass in his voice. “I’m processing what’s happened between us and you’re setting up dates. That shit hurts, Clem.”

He took a step forward, his gaze so intense I wanted to retreat.

“I’m sorry for choosing that moment to have that conversation. I’m sorry for hurting you in the process. Those aren’t my intentions.”

I tried my best to keep a steady voice, but I could tell he sensed my apprehension.

“Clementine,” he started, closing more of the distance between us. “When I said we needed a break, what do you think I meant?” He shook his head. “Don’t answer that. Just tell me you understand I meant exactly what I proposed. A break doesn’t mean the end.”

“But it feels like the end,” I said, frowning. “You’re packing everything you own, except half of the house itself. Instead of fighting for us, the first thing you suggested—like always—was for us to slow down, to take a break, to push it off to another time. And now that I’ve agreed, unlike before, you’re scrambling.”

My voice grew louder in my head as I spoke to him.

“You never actually put in the work unless it has to do with slicing into flesh,” I went on. “This relationship isn’t surgery. You don’t get to cut into me and see my thoughts and feelings. I’m not your patient.”

“I asked what you needed from me.”

“No, you wanted me to tell you exactly what to do and I want someone who’ll figure it out by learning who I am.”

“And Leyland knows who you are, huh?”

I blinked, and he was right in front of me, damn near nose to nose.

“Is that what you’re telling me? That a man who hasn’t known you as long as I have somehow knows you better?”

I stared up at him and realized it was stress in his dark eyes, not exactly sadness.

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I know about him waking up and thinking you were his wife,” he admitted, something I had guessed already, with a frown. “He’s confused, Clem. And when he snaps out of it, you’ll be the one hurt in the end.”

I dipped beneath his arm, needing to put space between us.

“You won’t understand,” I said with my back turned. “I barely understand, and I’m aware of the consequences if things don’t work out. But I have to see it through. I need to…” I spun around. “I need to know if the connection between him and I is real. And I’m sorry that hurts you, but I can’t deny what I’m feeling.”

James regarded me from the door, a retort seemingly on the tip of his tongue, but then he shook his head and walked away. Shocked by his dismissal, I followed him downstairs.

“Are you done with this conversation?” I asked. “If you have something to say—”

“I’m going to let you get him out of your system,” he said over his shoulder while zipping a suitcase. “And when you’re ready to come back to me, we can have that talk.”

I scoffed.

“Get him out of my system? What is that supposed to mean?”

He turned and walked toward me, his steps measured.

“It means I refuse to give up that easily. It means you still belong to me and I’m allowing you to see the grass isn’t greener on the other side. It means, when you’re done with this mid-life crisis, we’ll get married and stick to the plan we agreed on.”

Allowing me?

Every word that left his mouth made me feel icky from the inside out. Is that what this was to him? A hurdle for me to face while he does nothing but wait around for it to be over.

Did he think I couldn’t live this life alone?

Because I’d been doing it for a long time before he showed up and I had no problem doing it again.

“No…” I shook my head, disgusted with his presence. “Let’s get a few things straight from my mouth to your ears. We aren’t on a break, we’re done. I’m not happy with you as anything other than my colleague and if I find the grass isn’t greener on the other side, then I’ll find a new lawn to stand on, but what I won’t do is come back to you.”

My hands shook with anger.

“Furthermore, fuck you!” I snapped, my thoughts spilling from my lips in a rush. “Fuck for you for not understanding. For thinking of this as some clinical research project instead of seeing it for what it is. We don’t belong together. I’m done with this conversation, so can you please—”

He pounced, and his lips met mine in a forceful kiss that felt all kinds of wrong before I could process it.

I shoved him away and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Really! Now you want to shut me up with kisses I didn’t ask for? What the fuck has gotten into you?”

I didn’t recognize the man standing before me with a guilty expression in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Clem…” He brushed a hand over his fresh haircut. “That was inappropriate and there’s no excuse. I just… I didn’t want to end things between us. I thought it was what I had to do and now I’m regretting it.”

My eyes burned as they filled with tears and fell in droves down my face.

Nothing about his response helped.

“I can’t be with you,” I said softly. “Even if Leyland is a chapter that quickly closes, I can’t choose you. Especially after today. Please, leave. We can talk about selling the house later. I’ll start looking for a place of my own.”

He lingered for a moment and then retreated with his suitcase, leaving the living room and my heart in shambles.

I raced upstairs and washed my face, scrubbing my lips over and over until they felt raw. Then I got into the shower and did the same to my body.

Why did I feel gross? Like he’d violated me in every way possible when it’d just been a kiss?

It was unwanted, Clementine.

The thought echoed in my mind and no matter how hard I tried, the tears wouldn’t stop.

What had I turned him into?