MACKENZIE: Hey, hope you slept well! This is Mack aka Mackenzie aka Dr. Carter. I’ll probably be busy the next couple of days if things keep going like they have been. But you can definitely text me if anything mate-related comes up and you need me. I’m totally down for any espionage-related matters. I forgot to tell you that my yoga session usually runs till noon on Saturdays, but there’s a cafe that I love close to the studio if you want to meet there this weekend. Here’s the address. Let me know if that works. Totally ready for our first scheming session.
I think for the dozenth time since somehow miraculously pulling off this whole charade that I could not have picked a worse partner in crime, getting the feeling that Mackenzie Carter is absolutely going to make this entire experience an insufferable one. She’s having entirely too much fun with it, that’s for sure. When I see her again, I should stress once more how detrimental this could be to my career if it goes south.
When I see her again.
I take a slow sip from my scotch glass, letting my phone drop to my lap as I watch the flames dance behind the closed door of the woodstove. I can’t yet rustle up any ideas as to who might have found me out, or why they would report it to the board; I’m not even sure what someone would have to gain from my being let go, but I have been thinking about it. It’s clear to me that it must be a personal matter, of that I am at least sure, which doesn’t narrow things down, given that the general consensus of me in the hospital is that I am intolerable outside of my work.
I take another sip from my glass, silently cursing my luck. Six years. Six whole years of managing to keep my secret while employed at the hospital, only to see it all dissipate with one email. More than that, if you count the years of residency and med school where I started really cracking down on keeping it under wraps. Utterly ridiculous.
I sigh as I pick my phone up, knowing that this is my bed now, and I have no choice but to lie in it—a thought that strangely brings me back to Mackenzie Carter. I read her text again, for the seventh time now, downing the rest of my glass before I set it on the side table.
ME: I know the place. Does 12:30 work? Does that give you enough time to finish up?
It takes her far less time to answer than it did for me to.
MACKENZIE: That works. How are you doing? Freaking out yet?
This takes me by surprise. Mostly because, like my texting habits, I can’t remember a time when anyone has worried about me in a way that wasn’t related to work or my mother.
ME: I’m fine. You?
MACKENZIE: Oh, you know. It isn’t like this is the first time I’ve had a fake mate boyfriend conspirator. No big deal. I’m an old pro.
My lips twitch.
ME: Right. I suppose it is a good thing that I am in such good hands for my first prevarication then.
MACKENZIE: I know I’m a doctor, but I’m still going to have to insist you use less words that I have to stop and Google.
ME: Noted. I’ll text you tomorrow to check in.
MACKENZIE: I’ll be waiting by the phone, lover.
I shake my head as I let my phone drop to my lap, covering my mouth for absolutely no reason, given that I am alone in my house.
It’s not as if Mackenzie is here to catch me smiling.
* * *
?The feeling in my chest is a new one, that’s for sure. Or at the very least, one I can’t remember the last time I’ve experienced. It’s an odd fluttering, like nerves, but for what I can’t pin down. Am I nervous about the agreement I’ve entered into, what it will mean if we can’t pull it off? Or am I nervous to see Mackenzie again, knowing how much of my career rests in her hands?
Either way, I’m watching the door as I hold a table at the little café. I check the clock again, noticing the time, frowning when I realize it’s five minutes past our agreed meeting time. Has she changed her mind? I know I could text her, but part of me worries she actually has, and then where will I be?
I haven’t seen her again in the days since I scented her outside of the hospital—an experience I’ll not soon forget. In fact, I’ve been mostly uncomfortable since the incident, seeing as I stopped taking my suppressants that very night, feeling antsy in a way I don’t ever remember feeling. I’ve been placating myself with the knowledge that it’s most likely unease that comes from our strange partnership. Her texts have helped, at least. Each one has assured me that she hasn’t changed her mind. At least not yet.
I’m saved from my growing worry when the glass door swings open at the entrance of the café, the little bell dinging above it to signal her arrival as she walks through the front door. Oddly enough, I smell her before I fully recognize her, her scent still clinging to me as much as I’d meant for mine to cling to her. It hasn’t left me since that morning in the bushes, if I’m being honest, and now that she’s nearby, it’s considerably more potent.