Page 11 of Choosing Us

“That’s a great name, and I love a good lip stain. Will you send me a link for it?”

I nod. “Of course, and they had a ton of colors, too.”

“Perfect. Uh … just one more thing and I’ll let you get to that stack of work I’m sure is looming over your evening...” Aisha looks down before glancing back up, giving me a small smile.

“What’s up?”

“Do you remember that colleague of mine from four or five years ago that kept the whiteboard tally count of wins in his office?” She bites her lip and waits for my response.

I nod, clearly remembering the bane of her existence for the year that Dr. Edmund Allen was working at Massachusetts General Hospital on an international fellowship from London. She would complain about him almost every time we talked.

“Well, we … we kept in touch, professionally speaking, but in the last six months, the emails have evolved.”

“Six months? I didn’t even know you were still in contact with him. Why am I just hearing about this now?” I try not to sound shocked, but it’s uncharacteristic of my friend to keep something like this from me.

“It wasn’t a big deal at first … and I think telling you would have made it feel more substantial than it was initially.”

“And now?”

“Now, I think it’s a big deal.” Aisha goes on to tell me how Eddie—not Dr. Edmund Allen, which he previously has always been referred to as—asked if he could fly her to London for a proper date, and my practical, even-keeled, logical friend said yes.

“So, you’re flying to London to go on a date with a man that you previously had considered an archnemesis?” I tilt my head, trying to follow the logic here.

“I have discovered that the old saying, ‘there is a thin line between love and hate’ is, in fact, quite true.”

I can’t even try to hide the shocked gasp that escapes me. “Aisha, are you in love with the whiteboard tally guy?”

She shrugs, but her face lights up, and she is radiant. “I might be. I think we will know more when I go see him next week.”

“Next week?!” I squeak. “When were you going to tell me?”

She giggles. “Well, he just asked me yesterday.”

“Oh my goodness. You’re going to come back married!”

At least I get to live vicariously through my friend.

Aisha laughs and waves me off. “No, no, I don’t … well, I guess, I don’t think that will happen.” She’s going to be forty in a few months, and I know the approaching milestone had her reevaluating things, but this is more than a little out of character for her.

This sounds like something out of my romance novels, and I’m not jealous of my friend, but the romantic at my core can’t help but wonder what that would be like—however unlikely it is for my own life.

“Can you help me catch up with what changed? I thought you hated this man, and now you’re flying across the Atlantic to go on a—and I quote—proper date?” I raise an eyebrow at my friend.

“I don’t know when it changed exactly. It just … do you remember when you were a child on the playground and a boy might pull your pigtails and run away?” I nod, but I actually have no personal reference for something like that. My mother thought pigtails were unbecoming, and I rarely was given the time to play just for fun as a child. “I think it’s the same concept. To him, it was a flirtatious game that I took too seriously, and now…” She shrugs.

“And now you’re flying across the Atlantic to go on a date with him,” I reiterate.

“Yeah … and Harlow? I’m really excited about it too, like I really think this might be something.” My friend is giddy and it’s impossible not to share her enthusiasm.

“Well, then I will wish only the best on your adventure, and it has to beat trying to find a decent date on the apps.” We both blow a raspberry and make a thumbs down gesture in unison; our feelings on dating apps are well-established.

After a few more minutes of visiting about her upcoming trip, I glance at the clock and realize my evening is slipping away from me, so I begrudgingly say goodbye to my dearest friend—who apparently may be in love with the man that was once her archnemesis.

I suppose fate has a funny way of showing up when you least expect it, or at least, that’s what someone would think if they believed in fate and that sort of thing.

Going to college so young, then straight to medical school, and eventually FBI training left very little room for typical experiences. During my forensic psychiatry fellowship at Yale, I decided to write some of my own story. There was minimal—but present—chemistry with another fellow in the program. Chris and I went on a few dates. Eventually, we slept together. It was … fine. I wanted to be able to say I chose when and where I had sex for the first time.

Chris was a handsome, intelligent, and nice guy, but neither of us pretended it was that serious. We were both so focused on our careers and didn’t have the capacity for anything else. We parted as friends, something I suspect was all we ever were, and last I heard, he was married with kids in upstate New York.