“Will! What was that tonight? I can’t believe you—”

“Me? What's wrong with me? You’re the one who ambushed me and invited all these people when I explicitly asked you out and said there was something important—”

“You know what? Just forget it.” Poppy sat down on Will’s tufted gray couch that perfectly matched the striped lounge chair while also complementing the brass-trimmed coffee table. It looked like it was out of a magazine on how to be an uptight jerk. Or from the guy’s place in Fight Club.

Yeah. Probably more like that. She had a headache. She knew she should have stopped at her usual one glass of wine, but sometimes Will had a way of making her want a second just to numb his incessant nagging.

“I’m not going to forget it,” Will said. Of course you won’t. “And do you want to know why?” No. “Come on, ask me why, Poppy.”

“Okay, why, Will?” Maybe if she appeased him he’d shut up.

“Because you’re in love with that asshole, that’s why.” She stiffened at the word “asshole.” She hated that word; it sounded like something her father would say.

“Who are you talking about?” she asked.

“My God, Ryan, Poppy, who else do you think I’m talking about? The waiter?”

She was dumbstruck. “Ryan? You’re jealous of Ryan? You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” he said. He shook his head and sat down in the chair, clutching a glass of scotch. “And honestly? I can’t even be surprised. It’s impossible to compete with that much history.”

“We met when we were kids,” she said. Why was she having to justify herself to him? Justify her friendship? “We’ve barely seen each other as adults. What with my being in med school and him in the SEALs—”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Will said as he took a swallow of the amber liquid. “The whole badass, ‘I’m a Navy SEAL, don’t fuck with me’ thing he’s got going on.” Poppy cringed. Some words stung her like a wasp.

“It’s not like that,” she said. “He doesn’t even talk about the war unless—”

“Oh my God, war,” Will said. “His whole beatdown, underdog hero shtick is disgusting. Straight out of a crap screenplay if I ever saw it. And you,” he said as he took another drink. “You just lap it all up.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Invited him to our dinner, for starters! Drug along poor, plain Penny so it didn’t look so obvious. That shy girl was in way over her head thanks to you.”

Poppy hadn’t even thought about that. She supposed maybe she had used Penny to try and soften the dinner a little bit. Make it not so awkward. But she'd thought Penny would be grateful! Everyone thought Ryan was hot. Penny didn’t seem like the type to go on many dates, after all. “Maybe you’re right,” she said slowly.

“What was that?” Will leaned back in his chair. A smile played at his lips.

“I said maybe you’re right. But I—I wasn’t thinking of it like that. It’s not like it was some mastermind plot or anything.”

“I didn’t think you had some major strategy to play with everyone’s emotions,” Will said. “But if you’d just stop and think for once, about anyone besides yourself… like me for example…”

“Will, I’m sorry,” she said. “Truly. I didn’t—I guess I’ve been kind of selfish lately.”

“And it’s not just about Ryan. It’s work, too. You’re always either at work, talking about work, or sleeping because you’re too tired from work. Honestly Poppy, it’s like you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Will. Seriously. It’s just—I don’t know. I’ll try to do better.” She caught herself before she could say it was work that was stressing her out. She didn’t get it. All throughout med school, he’d acted like he was so proud of her. When did he change? Or is it me?

He sighed. “I’d like to believe you,” he said. “I’ll try, but it’s hard when it’s been like this for so long.”

For so long? She hadn’t even been an intern for six months yet. “I know,” she said carefully. “I’m putting work before everything else.”

He shrugged and looked out the window. Childish. But at least he seems to have gotten off the Ryan kick.

“So, tell me now,” she said.

“Tell you what?”

She sighed. I guess I’ll have to drag it out of him. “About your big news. I want to hear it.”

“Oh, do you, now?”

“Will, please,” she said.

“Alright, alright, if you insist. Remember that script I wrote two years ago? The one about the lesbian teens in Iran? It’s been optioned by Netflix.” He sank back into his chair like it was no big deal.

“Oh my gosh! Will, that’s awesome! Amazing! I’m so proud of you.” She jumped up from the couch and sat on the armchair beside him. His hands, the ones that had been all over her at dinner all night, didn’t move from his glass.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he said. “It’s just an option, not a guarantee or anything. Probably nothing will come of it.”

If it’s not that big a deal, and nothing will probably come of it, then why are you throwing such a hissy fit? “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m sure it’ll work out. Your work is incredible.”

“Poppy,” he said slowly. The ice cubes clinked in the crystal tumbler. “Do you even know what getting optioned means?”

She didn’t, and she hated being tested. Do you know what chronic atypical neutrophilic dermatosis with lipodystrophy and elevated temperature syndrome is? she wanted to ask. He talked to her like she was an idiot. She was the doctor, not him. “Not exactly…”

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Jesus, Poppy, you get all excitable over the stupidest things, and you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Will, I don’t know what you want me to say. Do you want me to be happy about this, or…”

“What do I want you to say? To feel? I want you to take an interest in my work for once,” he said. He set the sweaty glass down on the table without even using a coaster. “I don’t want my girlfriend to feel like she needs directions on how to act when I tell her things about my work.”

“Well I’m sorry! I’m sorry I don’t know what an option is. You acted like it was this big deal, and then—”

“You certainly don’t act sorry,” he said as he cut her off. “I’m tired. I have to take an early flight to LA to meet about all of this.”

“You’re leaving? Oh, okay. Well, I guess…”

“Are you going to be here when I get back later this week? Or are you going to stay at your place?”

She had no desire to stay at his place with the idyllic, curated bookshelves and the dark wooden floors that magically never showed a speck of dust. Still, she was never certain what he wanted her to do. Sometimes it seemed like he wanted her to stay, and they’d doze off on the couch together. Other times, it was like he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. It was a guessing game, and she was too tired to try to win.

“I’m not sure…”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, if you stay, it’s really important that you keep everything as it is. I know you like to sprawl out when you’re back from a shift, but it’s vital to my creative process that my space is—”

“I think I’ll go home,” she said.

“Are you sure?” It wasn’t really a question.

“I’m sure,” she said.

“Great, see you at the end of the week.” He didn’t lean up for a kiss, and she certainly wasn’t going to offer.

“Okay. Sorry. Again. For everything,” she said as she stood up and pulled on her jacket.

“Make sure you shut the door all the way.”

As Poppy walked toward the elevator, her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.

You okay? Put Mr. Cranky Pants to bed? Her face lit up immediately. Ryan had always had a knack for doing that. At least there was one man that wouldn’t be mad at her, no matter what. She wished Will got her like that.

I’m okay. He’s pouting and drinking. I’m heading home.

It’s late. You okay driving? Want me to come get you?

She let out a laugh as the elevator brought her to the private garage. Only Ryan would think it was safer to take her home at midnight on a motorcycle rather than her driving her little sedan twenty minutes home.

I’m good, she replied. Just wanna get home so I can wake up for 5:00 rounds.

5??? You doctors are crazy. She liked how Ryan would regularly squeeze in the fact she was a doctor. She certainly didn’t feel like it at the hospital. Interns were at the bottom of the totem pole. She got why, and there were doctors who had been at the hospital for decades. But nothing made her feel like all those years of schooling were pointless like standing around an annoyed patient and having a sixty-year-old doctor shoot questions at their cohort in an old school Socratic method.

Good thing we have mental therapists on call then, she texted to Ryan before she started home.