Arthur explained how dinner at the Four Seasons that night had begun awkwardly but had left him wanting to see Felicia again. And how they had their first kiss in front of the City Hall entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge and now would be going back to City Hall this week to marry.
“Wow, that was quick!” I was so thrilled I could barely contain myself.
“Quick?” Tomás fired back. “Felicia has been waiting for years!”
Arthur laughed, his eyes glistening with happiness. “Can I borrow him for an hour?”
“Of course!” I beamed. “As long as you let me help pick out her gift for your first anniversary.”
“Who else?” He smiled, adding, “And for my new assistant’s birthday as well.”
Score one for middle-aged ladies everywhere, I thought as the two went off to find the perfect suit.
CHAPTER 35
Curtain Call One
By Luke Siegel, M.D.
Of marrying age
As I ducked out of Exam One my phone buzzed again. It was getting harder and harder to ignore. The text messages were all variations on the same theme. Lucas, call me when you have a break. Call me between rounds. Call your bubbe back already, it’s not nice.
Oh, how I rue the day I taught my grandmother how to text. I thought it would be easier than the constant phone calls, but it was worse—even more constant. She had the tenacity of a seventeen-year-old girl looking for an AWOL boyfriend on prom night. I knew what she wanted. Tomorrow night was my Grandpa Morris’s retirement dinner. He’s been a garment center pattern-maker for seventy-five years. Seventy-five years: a big achievement—record-breaking, I believe. Of course my brother and I were going. But my brother was going with his wife and child, while I barely left the ER long enough for a date, let alone procreation. Becoming a doctor had once cemented my standing as star grandchild, but my M.D. was wearing out its luster with my grandmother. I was nearing thirty, and suddenly the lack of a Mrs. by my side rendered the initials by my name practically inconsequential. My lack of a wife, or even a girlfriend, or even a prospect of either, was the eternal thorn in my bubbe’s side, and reversing this travesty, as she referred to it, was the main purpose of her existence.
“I can’t die till my Lucas settles down,” she’d say.
To which I’d always respond, “If that’s the case, I never will!”
She would shake her head and declare in Yiddish, “Nor a shteyn zol zayn aleyn.” Translation: Only a stone should be alone. It didn’t make any sense to me in either language.
I entered Exam Two for my next patient. A restless young woman and her gum-chewing friend both sat, fully clothed, on the table. I reached out my hand.
“Hi. I’m Dr. Siegel. What and who is the problem?”
The gum-chewer answered for her friend. “We were out celebrating her birthday, and suddenly she couldn’t stop itching.”
Sure enough, the other girl was scratching everywhere she could reach.
“Okay. Put on this gown, open in the front, bra and underwear stay on. I’ll come back in a few minutes. Do you want your friend to stay for the exam?”
“Yes, please—she’s reading me Entertainment Weekly to distract me.”
I ducked outside the curtain and texted my grandmother. What’s up, Bubbe? I typed as the gum-chewing friend continued reading: “Engagements. Maybe you’ll be engaged by your next birthday! Seth got you such a nice gift for this one, and you’ve only been together a short time.”
“Don’t get carried away,” the patient replied. “I mean, it’s an awesome gift, but notice who’s sitting in the ER with me?”
“Good point,” the gum-chewer answered, and continued. “Engagements. Actor Jeremy Madison to wed Bloomingdale’s employee Natalie Canaras. The two got engaged on the R train in Queens after a flash mob he hired performed ‘Your Love Is Lifting Me Higher.’ Onlookers said he got down on one knee and proposed with a five-carat cushion-cut ring.”
“Are you ready?” I called through the curtain.
“She’s good,” the friend answered.
“I swear I think I’d rather have this original Max Hammer than a five-carat ring!” the itchy girl said as I entered the room.
“Ha, I thought I recognized your dress,” I butted in. I couldn’t help it. “My grandfather works for Max Hammer. Well, he did. He’s actually retiring tomorrow.”
“Wow, that’s my favorite designer. I’m getting my master’s in design at Parsons. My boyfriend bought me a dress of his for my birthday tonight,” she said as she pointed to it, neatly hanging on a hanger like a prize. “It’s, like, the dress of the season,” she gushed, momentarily forgetting her itchy agony.
I examined her. Her horrible rash looked like it was roughly in the pattern of the dress.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m afraid you won’t be wearing that dress again. You have contact dermatitis. There are two kinds, irritant and allergic.” I grabbed her chart as my phone buzzed. I took it out of my pocket just to make sure it wasn’t an emergency. It read, Are you bringing a date to Grandpa’s party?