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Andrew’s sneaker pushed off the desk, rocking his chair back and forth as he reached for another rubberband to add to the forming ball in his hands.
Next to him, Renee spoke quietly into the phone. He listened to spare parts of her conversation as he idly stretched a band around his fingers. Across the waiting room, a cooking competition played on the tv. The night’s schedule was free of patients, the parking lot free of cars, and Andrew’s mind free of anything remotely interesting.
Palmetto Optical didn’t have a doctor on Monday nights, but according to the boss, there always needed to be a receptionist, optician, and technician on hand.
Renee had been working there for about a year. She had a gentle demeanor but knew how to turn away rude patients or be firm when someone wanted to be cheap with their copay.
Kevin, the optician, stuck to the optical lab in the back. Usually, Andrew would sit in there with him, but tonight Kevin was cutting orders, and the smell of burning lenses was never pleasant to be around.
That left Andrew. As the technician on duty, his job was to close charts, refill medications, and answer messages, but there would be plenty of time to do that later. They’d had a busy day of patients. With two hours until close, now was time to mistreat office supplies and be in Renee’s company.
Speaking of, the girl sighed. “I’m sorry? Yes, June eleventh at ten thirty. Can I help you with anything else? Okay, see you then. Have a great night.”
Renee hung up the phone and finished setting up the appointment before leaning back in her chair. As she reached for a paper clip to add to her sculpture, she asked, “Where were we?”
“They had just left the school,” Andrew said. Working with Renee meant listening to recounts of the most recent book she had finished, which meant Andrew stayed caught up on society’s necessary reading without actually having done so.
“Right. But remember, they have to stay hidden from the military. So they’re running through the forest, trying not to get caught—”
She was interrupted by the front door opening. Andrew had just pulled a rubberband taut, but when he looked up, it snapped against his fingers. A young man around his age walked in, looking around uncertainly before landing his eyes on the front desk. When he saw Andrew and Renee, he walked over.
Renee welcomed him. “Hi, how can I help you?”
“Uh, do you guys fill contact lens prescriptions?”
Renee got quiet and turned to Andrew, allowing him to answer, but Andrew didn’t look at her because he knew she was giving him the eyes. The eyes meant, “Hey, look, a handsome man. You’re a guy that’s into handsome men.”
And yeah, right off the bat, Andrew thought the guy was hot. He was. He had bored eyes and deep brunette hair. A nice nose. A full mouth. The only issue was the headband that pushed his hair back, because it was orange. Orange and damp and way too obnoxious for the blank face beneath it. And the blank face—Andrew could immediately tell there was something off with contact-lens-guy, but he couldn’t place what. Still, he wasn’t one for seeking out trouble, so Andrew only did his job and answered, “Yes. Do you have it on you?”
“Yes.” The boy reached into the duffel bag hanging at his side. He was wearing an oversized, dark grey hoodie. Andrew couldn’t make out his frame, but he could still tell he was slim. Andrew deduced that he was an athlete with the headband and the gym bag, and his brain supplied him with the fact that the nearby university—the one Andrew attended—had black and orange colors, but he ignored it.
Contact-lens-guy handed Andrew a blue slip from a doctor’s pad. Naturally, the first place Andrew’s eyes went was the name. Neil Josten, Date of Birth 3/31/1997. Andrew was a year older. Ha. The address under the physician’s name was from an out-of-state office—far out of state, as in Arizona—and the brand of lenses were ones they didn’t carry. Most significantly, it was from last January.
Andrew hated the medical field and its stupid money-making rules, especially when he had to explain them to families that couldn’t afford treatment or the elderly or attractive gym-goers named Neil. “Contact lens prescriptions are only good for a year,” he said, in a way that probably could have been nicer. “This is expired.”
Neil took it back. “Oh, okay. Well, can I get another one?”
“If you make an appointment for an eye exam, I can go over the contact lens fitting process with you.”
“Alright. Can I be seen today?”
Andrew also hated the practice owner for their stupid money-making rules. “There’s no doctor working tonight.”
Neil tapped his finger on the strap of his bag. “Okay… can I set up an appointment?”
Cue the receptionist. Renee said, “Yeah, sure. Have you been here before?”
Neil turned his head towards her before his eyes left Andrew. He sucked his teeth. “No.”
Andrew noted the restraint in his voice, though he wasn’t sure what the issue was. Renee, though, ignored it. “Alright, cool, I’ll set up a chart for you. Can I have your name?”
Neil did a slow blink. “Neil.”
Again, Renee didn’t seem phased. “N-e-i-l?”
Andrew leaned back in his chair, snapping the rubber band against the ball. Neil looked at it and narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Great. Last name?” Renee asked. Andrew caught her overly-pleasant-front-desk tone and raised an eyebrow at Neil.
“Josten. J-o-s-t-e-n.”
“J-o-s-t-e…” Renee said, typing, “N? As in Nancy?”
Neil clenched his jaw. “Yes.”
Andrew knew he would be talking to Renee about Neil Josten, with an N as in Nancy, for a very long time. The girl hummed as her fingers clicked against the keyboard. Then, when she asked for his date of birth, Andrew supplied, “March 31, 1997.”
Renee looked at Neil. Neil squinted at Andrew. Andrew let the corner of his mouth tilt up and added, “Right?”
“Right.”
“Gotcha,” Renee said, not skipping a beat. “Address?”
The more Neil got bothered by Renee’s very innocent, very understandable questions regarding his phone number and email, the more Andrew observed him. He had an orange lanyard—to match the bandana, with a key on the chain. His fingers clenched his duffel’s strap tightly, and they were long. Neil kept looking at him, catching the weight of his stare and shifting.
Renee finally asked, “Okay. Which insurance do you have?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Oh, okay. Well, self-pay for a new patient exam is two-hundred. Is that okay?”
Neil nodded. If anything, the price was the only part he didn’t seem irritated by. “Yes. Do you want that now?”
Renee smiled. “No, we’ll take it after your appointment. Is there a date or time that works best for you?”
“Um. Nights, I guess. But not on Tuesdays or Thursdays. I have class.”
Andrew, who had begun to bounce the ball on the desk, looked to Renee and said, “Put him on for this Wednesday.”
As loyal as she was, Renee pulled up the schedule, knowing full well it was already double booked until six-thirty. Andrew leaned in, pretending to consider all the available slots, and said, “Does seven work?”
Neil Josten must know his schedule by heart. He simply said, “Sure.”
“Alright. This Wednesday at seven, then,” Andrew said dismissively.
But Renee was too polite. “Do you need a card?”
Neil looked at Andrew. “No, thanks.”
And then he was out the door, as quick as he had come.
Renee finalized his appointment and then turned to Andrew. “Dr. Dobson is going to kill you for that. Any reason you want to add him to this Wednesday’s already packed schedule, or?”
Andrew shrugged, knowing she knew exactly why.
Wednesday came quick because Andrew opened on Tuesday after closing on Monday, which meant he never left work. Tuesday afternoon consisted of a gym session, a night class, dinner with his brother, and then swiping aimlessly on dating apps. Wednesday morning brought another class, and soon Andrew was getting ready for his closing shift at work. Due in at noon, he took a little bit longer to get ready. To avoid any sense of disappointment because, no, he was not looking forward to seeing a particular patient today, Andrew told himself it was just because it was hump day.
Andrew walked in with his black scrubs, lab coat, and a thermos of coffee, ready to get through another day. The office manager, Abby Winfield, sat at her desk behind him. As the head technician, Andrew was less often with a patient and more often the backbone of the office, completing supply orders, talking to reps, and training new employees, so he had to have his own space to work. A pile of messages from the morning was already waiting for him, the top one with a familiar patient’s name written in Renee’s looping script.
“I’ve sent her records over fifty times now,” Andrew said, promptly trashing the message before even sitting down. He shouldered off his jacket and pulled on his lab coat as Renee shrugged.
“Maybe if her new office decided to check their fax machine….”
“Or answer the phone,” Andrew added.
Renee laughed, turning in her swivel chair.
“Hey, Andrew,” Abby said. “Dr. Wymack needs you to scribe for the afternoon.”
Andrew still had not sat down. “Is Dan suddenly unable?”
Abby smiled down at the schedule she was writing. “She has a doctor’s appointment.”
Dan was in the final trimester of her pregnancy, which meant the entire office was pregnant. Andrew didn’t hate it, though. He’d organized a shower with Renee last month. He just disliked having to do two jobs.
And soon, it may even be three if you consider that when she finally gives birth, Matt from Retina will be out, too.
“Can we hire her replacement before she goes on leave?” Andrew drawled, finally sitting and turning on his monitor.
“I’m trying. The last candidate came into their interview wearing jeans and a crop top, though, so.”
Andrew sighed. He needed a raise.
After about thirty minutes of checking his voicemail, clearing his messages, and looking over the night’s schedule, Dr. Wymack walked in from the back.
“Am I going to get a scribe any time soon?”
“Are you going to learn an Electronic Medical Records system any time soon?” Andrew said, not even looking up from his computer.
Dr. Wymack looked at Abby. Abby, who had her phone to her ear, shook her head. Dr. Wymack sighed, “Does Robin know how to scribe yet?”
Andrew signed the chart he was working on and stood before following Dr. Wymack to room three. “No. She’s fresh out of high school, and it’s her second week.”
The other man said, “No attitude in front of my patients.”
Andrew grabbed the clipboard hanging on the door and quickly scanned over the patient’s information. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Andrew was a good scribe. Better than good—every doctor fought over having him assist in rooms. He documented all of their notes, interpreted tests, and was quick at administering numbing and dilating drops. Before the patient even left, he had everything coded and ready to send to billing.
His brother Aaron worked at Palmetto Optical as a freshman, recommending Andrew to start there, too. Coming in as a new tech, he didn’t need any medical experience, and the field was a good place to work for benefits and a stable income. It didn’t hurt on resumes, either. After being with them for a few years, he’d quickly made his way up, gaining experience in every department and finally being promoted to head technician.
It didn't hurt to stay. Andrew had a place nearby, was finishing school, and enjoyed his coworkers. The patients could be pains in the ass, but overall, it wasn’t tough work. Room four was a routine eye exam; room three was an office call for pink eye; room two was another annual visit; and room one was a post-op. The day continued, with lulls during the time slots for patients who decided not to show. Andrew passed the minutes by annoying the optical department or visiting the specialists across the hall.
Matt must have accompanied Dan to her doctor's appointment, so Jeremy was covering for him. Andrew’s polar opposite—seriously, when patients call to complain about a blond, Abby usually asks if it was the one in all black scrubs or the one in light blue—was doing a topography on a patient, so thankfully, Andrew didn’t have to speak to him. Instead, he leaned on the counter by the receptionist—yet another blonde—and checked his phone.
“Does Dr. Wymack know you’re over here violating HIPAA guidelines?” Allison asked.
Andrew looked over her monitor to find the girl scrolling on her phone, too. He rolled his eyes before texting back to his cousin.
“How’s primary care today?” Allison continued.
“Boring, obviously, since I’m here, stuck with nothing better to do than visit you guys," Andrew drawled.
“By all means, feel free to keep your grumpiness over there with Dr. Wymack.”
“Yeah, because Dr. Moreau is nothing but sunshine,” Andrew said.
“I heard that,” Dr. Moreau mumbled, walking a patient up to Allison to check out. “Six months for a follow-up.”
“Got it,” she said, taking the clipboard.
Andrew moved out of the way, heading to leave before he could get sucked into the vortex that was cataract specialist Dr. Moreau or a conversation with the chatty elderly patient he was escorting. Back in his own domain, Renee was highlighting a pile of forms. Andrew decided he might finish more work before his lunch break, so he sat at his desk next to her and pulled open his email.
“Looking forward to seeing eighteen more patients tonight?” Renee asked. “Or should I say, nineteen?”
“Maybe don’t talk to me,” Andrew said. Renee snickered. Checking the time, it was almost three hours until Neil Josten’s appointment and thirty minutes until Dr. Dobson came in.
Dr. Dobson was Andrew’s favorite doctor because apart from being brilliant, she was thorough, kind, and worked well with kids. But, like Andrew, she hated the owners, wishing they’d stop cramming in back-to-back patients so she could spend more time with them. Because of that, she wouldn’t be happy with tonight’s schedule. Or Andrew’s last-minute addition to it.
A patient walked in, checking in for an appointment with Renee. Andrew let their conversation fade from his mind as he read an email from a drug rep to arrange an office lunch.
“Why do I have to fill this out?” The patient suddenly barked. “I was just here last year.”
Andrew’s desk was behind a divider, so they couldn’t see him sitting next to Renee. He looked over at the girl, gauging her body language. Renee looked comfortable and, if anything, quite bored with dealing with the same issue multiple times a day.
“Yes, I see that. July fourteenth,” she said, smiling. “The billing department requires these every year, though.”
“Why?” The patient demanded, “None of my information has changed.”
Renee clicked something on her computer before asking, “Is your address still 32 Chestnut Avenue?”
“Uh, no, I moved.”
“And I see you have a new insurance that just became active in January, correct?”
“Yes, but–”
“Okay, so if you could include that information on the updated registration form, that'd be great. Thank you.” Renee said, laughing as though the patient was a silly friend. Andrew saw the patient’s hand snatch the clipboard from her before they walked away. Renee met his eyes, to which Andrew slowly blinked. She seemed to get the message and responded with a snort.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Then, finally, Dr. Dobson came in, getting the night’s schedule from Renee and gasping at the volume of patients on it.
“Blame this one,” Renee said, inclining her chin at Andrew.
“It wasn’t me,” Andrew said. “I think the office is haunted. Some ghost keeps triple-booking.”
Dr. Dobson ignored him in favor of questioning Renee. "Why?" The girl leaned forward and tapped the bottom of the page. “Ah. Is he cute?”
Renee giggled, “Adorable.”
Dr. Dobson turned a look of disbelief on Andrew. He met it with a blank stare. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re scribing with me all night.”
“Fine,” Andrew said, turning back to his work.
“Ridiculous. Just like my son. Did I tell you about the time he…” Dr. Dobson said, turning to Renee. Andrew zoned out, as he’s heard the entire office’s stories about a dozen times, and finished prepping the charts for the night. Then, after downing the last of his coffee, he got up to help Robin with testing.
The office workers, surgery center, and administrative staff all left at five, but primary care stayed open until eight for late workers and kids in school. After five, Andrew always felt a bit more relaxed, the after-hours vibe of the practice setting in. During a pause in patients, he went up to the optical department. Kevin was sitting at a table completing a sale for the patient Andrew had just seen. He walked over to the rows of glasses, taking his tortoiseshell frames off and trying on a pair of gold-metal ones. They clashed with his eyes and hair. Next, he put on classic Raybans. In the mirror’s reflection, Kevin caught his eye, looking annoyed. Andrew put them back where they didn’t belong and left.
It was six forty-five. Andrew needed an update on Renee’s reading but didn’t want to be at the front desk when Neil arrived, so he relieved Robin for a break and waited for Renee to check him in. When Neil's name finally popped up in the Waiting Room box on the testing room’s monitor, Andrew stuffed his phone in his lab coat and walked up front.
Renee handed him Neil’s chart, and Andrew called, “Josten.”
An older woman was dilating, two people were waiting to pick up glasses, and Neil sat slumped in a chair. Resting his head in his hand, he scrolled on his phone. Then, at the call of his name, he sat up and walked over to Andrew.
They were around the same height.
“Hi,” Andrew said, following protocol in an incredibly monotone voice. “My name is Andrew. I’m going to get you ready for the doctor.”
“Okay,” Neil said, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. Andrew motioned him through the door and looked heavily at Renee behind Neil’s back.
She gave him an “OK!” hand sign.
“Follow me,” Andrew said, leading Neil to the testing room. “Take a seat there.”
Neil sat in front of one of the many buzzing machines, propping an ankle on his knee and shaking it. Andrew went over to the computer and opened his chart.
“I’m going to go over your medical history. Any diagnosis we should be aware of?”
“No.”
“Any surgeries?”
Neil blew out a breath, considering. “Uh…”
Andrew gave him a few seconds before saying. “Major. Recent.”
“Oh,” Neil said. “No.”
As much as Andrew wanted to poke and prod, he didn’t know Neil’s deal. And he was a medical professional, or whatever. “Do you take any medications?”
“No.”
“Any allergies to any medications?”
“No.”
Neil spoke in a very interesting way. Andrew swallowed. Medical professional. “Latex?”
“Never tried it.”
Andrew breathed in very slowly. “Does anyone in your family have any ocular diseases? Glaucoma? Diabetes?”
“I didn’t think to ask, sorry.”
Andrew looked up at Neil. He looked quite at home in the swivel chair.
“Have you ever smoked tobacco?”
“Only once or twice. But I do inhale it a lot.”
Andrew was going to lose his mind. He spoke aloud as he typed, “Patient has not. Ever seen. A cigarette. In their life.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Do you use any eyedrops?” Andrew asked.
“Yes, for redness.” Neil nodded. When Andrew narrowed his eyes at him, he added, “I don’t smoke weed, either.”
“I’m just shocked you know the word ‘yes.’”
“I guess my mom taught me ‘no’ first.”
“She sounds like a delight.”
Neil scoffed. “I don’t think you would’ve liked her.”
Andrew only mentally documented that before asking the final question. “Any concerns you want the doctor to address today?”
“About my eyes?”
When Andrew didn’t reply, Neil smirked, “No. Just need new contacts.”
“How’s your vision without them?”
“Fine.”
“Do you have them in now?”
Neil blinked his big, brown eyes at him. “Yes.”
Andrew sort of had a stroke about it. “Okay. I’m going to take your anterior segment and fundus photos, check your vision, and then once you take out your contacts, we’ll do an auto-refraction.”
Neil took a deep breath, squeezing his knees. “I have no idea what that means, but okay.”
It took a moment for Andrew to enter his information into the two machines—a moment filled with Neil tracking his movements and Andrew very aware of them—and then he said, “Alright. Chin on the chinrest.”
Neil had a nice chin. And jaw. And he followed Andrew’s instructions. Looking down at the monitor, Andrew adjusted the anterior camera—a machine used to capture the outside of the eye—to line up with Neil’s right. Brown eyes typically held incredibly intricate patterns in the iris, but Neil’s were quite plain. Andrew could hardly make out any designs in the negative imagery of black-and-white. He could, though, see Neil’s eyelashes in all their glory. They were stupid long and annoyingly curled and blinking all dumb and nervously.
Andrew had a crush on his patient.
He cleared his throat, turning off the lights. “Look at the lens. Good. There’s going to be a flash.”
Click.
Neil didn’t flinch.
Andrew moved the machine over to the other eye. “One more.”
Click.
Neil sat back, bouncing his knee again as Andrew observed the photos. He’d admit, looking at them, he was stumped for half a second. But then he figured two things out.
One, Neil wore colored contacts.
With his eyes on display on the monitor, Andrew could faintly see the ring of a contact lens around his iris, and it was brown. Another ring surrounded it, something light enough to be green or blue.
Two, Neil had red hair.
In all their stupid beauty, his eyelashes were auburn under the flash. Andrew flicked back on the lights, causing Neil to squint at the sudden brightness. Under the office’s horrendous fluorescence, Andrew could see Neil’s chocolate-brown hair, free of any red hues. As though it’d been dyed.
Interesting.
Andrew flicked off the light. “Go over to that machine.”
After taking Neil’s fundus photos—pictures of the back of the eye, which were impeccable, by the way, Neil should be proud of his optic nerves—Andrew saved everything and asked Neil to follow him into an exam room.
“Have a seat there,” Andrew said, gesturing to the large chair in the center. On the computer, he pulled up Neil’s information and imaging.
Neil climbed into the chair and sighed. “So, how long have you been working here?”
“Three years,” Andrew answered. “Why do you dye your hair?”
Neil’s eyes widened. “Sorry?”
“Oh, I thought we were getting personal,” Andrew said, handing Neil an occluder.
Neil took it and answered, “Um, habit, I guess. I’ve been doing it for a while.”
Andrew accepted that answer, using a remote to display a line of letters on a screen in front of Neil. “Hold that over your left eye. Okay, can you read that line?”
“A-P-E-O-F,” Neil said.
“And this one?”
“O-H-L-C-T.”
Andrew skipped to the bottom.
Neil read it perfectly. “T-H-Z-P-E.”
After reading 20/20 with both eyes, Andrew documented it in Neil's chart. “Do you know what prescription is in your contacts?”
“There isn’t one,” Neil said, handing him the occluder back.
Andrew turned to him. “There isn’t one?”
“No.”
Andrew wished, for a moment, that he was a GP or psychologist so that he could pick apart every bit of Neil Josten from the inside out. “So you wear colored contacts with no script for fun?”
Neil shrugged. “Habit.”
“You do know how you’re coming across, right?”
“How’s that?”
“Strange.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m very aware.”
The contact lens fitting process was long and stupid, but Andrew explained it. They'd give Neil a trial pair, check how they fit his eyes, and ensure he could put them in and take them out before confirming the prescription. Andrew told him he’d have to change brands to one they carried, which Neil was fine with, and that he’d need to try them for a week before returning to confirm they worked well. It would be an additional $150, but Neil didn’t seem to care about that.
“That’s fine,” he said.
Andrew blinked. “Alright. Do you need a mirror to take them out?”
Neil said, “No. I should probably throw them out, anyway. They’re pretty old.”
Andrew didn’t want to ask, but he did. “How old?”
“Almost two months, maybe?”
Andrew almost flicked him. “You could go blind from that.”
Neil tilted his head to the side. It was stupid looking. Moron-like. “Really?”
“No. But don’t do that again,” Andrew said. “The colored contacts we carry are monthly lenses. Do not extend their wear. And that’s a month after opening, not thirty wears. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Neil said.
“Don’t do that either.”
Neil leaned forward, pinching out his contacts and tossing them in the trash can. When he sat back up, Andrew’s heart spasmed in his chest like a wild creature.
Because Neil’s eyes were blue.
And not a dull, greyish-blue, but one incredibly icy and vibrant. Like spearmint. Andrew almost wanted to shove Neil’s face away because, with eyes like those and a face like that, it was almost inappropriate for Andrew to be his technician.
“You—” Andrew sighed. “Okay. Come with me.”
They did one more test, the auto-refraction, to get an estimate of Neil’s prescription—which, yes, was fucking nothing, Andrew and his -3.00s were very upset about it—and then went back in the room.
Neil sat quietly in the chair while Andrew set the phoropter (the device with which all the doctors do their classic one or two). He was not a fan of awkwardly standing in front of patients during this part, but with Neil, he didn’t mind it.
“I know it’s weird. The contacts and dying my hair,” Neil said, suddenly. When Andrew stayed quiet, he continued, “It’s just familiar, I guess.”
Andrew hummed, thinking about his words. Neil showed significant signs of restraint. He had something inside that he wanted out—as all athletes did—but he kept it hidden, all down to the magnificence of his features. Andrew had thought he was attractive even before, but naturally? Neil Josten would be ridiculous. Dangerously hot. So attention-grabbing with his looks and attention-keeping with his wit that Andrew's skin itched at the mere thought of it.
He’d picked up that Neil had no parents. That he was from out of state. That he went to the university nearby. Andrew flicked his eyes from setting the lens down to Neil, who looked up at him as though under a spotlight.
It’s just familiar.
Andrew didn’t know what to say, but maybe he wouldn’t have to say anything at all. As though casually adjusting, he pulled up the sleeves of his lab coat and the long-sleeved shirt beneath his scrubs before he continued setting the phoropter. As he twisted the gears—to clear the lenses of any cylinder and reset the axis to zero—Neil stared at his forearms and the ink that covered them. Heavy black designs with grey shading coated Andrew from wrists to shoulders. And faintly, beneath them, there were lines and lines of scars, all for Neil to see. Andrew no longer hid his past, but he didn’t often have his tattoos and scars out for just anyone to look at. Now, Neil wasn’t the only one in the room feeling exposed.
After he finished, Andrew dropped his arms, his sleeves falling back down. “Stay here for a second,” he said, “I’m going to see if we have the trials in stock.”
Neil swallowed. “Okay.”
Andrew left the room and passed Robin, who was testing the dilator. Dr. Dobson sat in the doctor’s lounge, on the phone with what had to be a difficult patient. The older woman pinched the bridge of her nose as Andrew walked by. In the contact lens closet, Andrew grabbed the entire tray of colored lenses and brought it back to room three.
Neil’s eyes widened at his entrance. Andrew shut the door and rolled the doctor’s stool before Neil, setting the tray on top.
“Here,” Andrew said. “Choose.”
Neil leaned forward, his eyes flicking across the colors. They skimmed right over brilliant blue and sterling grey but slowed over gemstone green, hazel, honey, and brown. Slowly, Neil grabbed a case of plano trial lenses in brown and sat back.
“Pocket those,” Andrew said.
“What?”
“There’re six in there. You’ll be good for half a year. If they don’t feel right, just call and ask for me, but you should be okay.”
Neil hesitated. “This feels very illegal.”
It probably was. “They’re non-prescription trials. They’re free for practices and I can order as many as I want. Take them.”
Neil looked at Andrew, his eyes holding much more depth now that Andrew could actually appreciate them, and then put them in his hoodie pocket. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Andrew asked, leaving to put the tray back. “I’ll be right back with the doctor.”
Dr. Dobson was outside, looking over the dilator’s testing with Robin. By the time Andrew finished putting the contacts away and popping by the front desk to stare intensely at Renee, Dr. Dobson was about to walk into Neil’s room.
“What’s his vision?”
“20/20.”
“And his chart said he’s a contact lens wearer?”
“He said he’s going to order elsewhere.”
Dr. Dobson usually would have been more suspicious, but they were about to close, and the woman looked tired. “Okie dokie.”
They walked back in together. “Hi Neil, I’m Dr. Dobson. It’s nice to meet you.”
Neil didn’t seem to like Dr. Dobson’s presence, but lucky for him, he didn’t have to stay in it for long. First, Dr. Dobson verified that his uncorrected vision was 20/20 (again, the good old-fashioned one or two? ) before she explained that they were going to numb him.
“We’re going to administer some drops to check your ocular pressure. You’ll be numb for about ten minutes.”
“Okay,” Neil said, voice wavering.
Dr. Dobson laughed. “I’ll admit, they sting for a few seconds. Just blink and then hold your eyes shut. I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Andrew grabbed a fluorescein strip and a bottle of tetracaine as Dr. Dobson left, likely to finish up with the dilator. Neil relaxed a little, perhaps because it was Andrew, and not Dr. Dobson, who'd be giving them.
“Tilt your chin back,” Andrew said quietly once he approached him.
Neil did as he was told, his throat bobbing on a swallow. Andrew tore his gaze from his neck, but Neil's eyes weren’t any better. “Look up.”
Though almost everyone else complained, Neil had nothing to say about the drops. A minute later, he was blinking wet eyelashes and holding his lids low. “This feels weird.”
Numbing drops made your eyes feel relaxed and heavy. Andrew hated it.
“How’re we feeling?” Dr. Dobson said, walking back in.
“Fine,” Neil said.
Dr. Dobson checked his pressures—which were within normal limits—and confirmed the cup-to-disc ratio of his optic nerve was, in fact, very nice. With no issues, Neil was then ready to leave. Dr. Dobson said goodbye, and Andrew walked Neil to check out.
“He’s good for the year,” Andrew said, handing his chart back to Renee.
“I’m sure he is,” Renee mumbled under her breath. Andrew was going to put a sticky note beneath her mouse.
“Call if you have any problems,” Andrew said.
“Got it. Thank you.” Neil responded.
They stared at one another for a moment.
Then, Renee interrupted, “That’ll be $200.”
Andrew sent her a glare.
“Right, sorry,” Neil said. He sent Andrew a small smile and then awarded Renee all of his attention. Andrew stole one final look before he went to the back to finish closing the charts for the day. When Neil left, Renee turned in her chair to face him, just as Robin approached his desk.
Andrew ignored them both.
“He was cute,” Robin said.
Renee nodded in Andrew’s peripheral. “For a guy.”
“I do not enjoy working with either of you,” Andrew said.
It was the following Monday.
Andrew had thought of Neil every day since his appointment, but he’d never risk making a patient uncomfortable, so he did absolutely nothing. He’d seen his share of attractive people pass through his job before, but even though he told himself Neil was a perfectly normal circumstance, his brain could not accept that. Every time he would remember Neil’s eyes looking up at him, his heart would accelerate. Andrew sighed, blowing dust over the thoughts that had once again settled in his mind—hypotheses about Neil that would never be solved—and continued the prior authorization he was working on.
“Andrew?” Renee asked, a hand on her phone. “You have a patient asking for you. Can I transfer them?”
Andrew dragged his eyes to her. “If it’s that patient from yesterday, no. I sent her drops in three times. She needs to call her pharmacy.”
“It’s not.”
“Well, who is it?”
“They didn’t say.”
Andrew rubbed at his temples, pulling up his email. “Fine. Transfer.”
Renee smiled, dialing his extension—103—into her phone. Andrew’s rang a second later.
He picked it up, “This is Andrew. How can I help you?”
“Hi, it's Neil.”
Andrew furrowed his eyebrows at Renee, whose smug expression confirmed it. He turned away from her.
“I just wanted to thank you for last week," Neil continued. "The contacts feel fine.”
“Okay." Andrew cleared his throat. Neil’s voice sounded deeper on the phone. It was a lot to handle.
Probably expecting Andrew to say more, Neil hesitated and began, “Uh, well–”
“Is there anything else?”
Something hit Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew looked to the floor to find a row of staples laying there. He sent a middle finger Renee’s way.
“Yeah, actually,” Neil said, suddenly sounding more confident. “I think I need another appointment.”
Andrew ignored his rising pulse. “For…?”
“I, uh, have an eyelash in my eye.”
Andrew huffed, and though the sign of weakness would generally be quiet, it was right into the receiver.
“I’m serious,” Neil said, sounding not at all serious.
“Renee is going to charge you $150 for an eyelash.”
Neil didn’t hesitate. “That’s okay.”
“Alright,” Andrew said, not pulling up the next day's fully-booked schedule. “How’s tomorrow night?”
“Fine. Does seven work?” Neil asked.
Andrew swallowed. “Yes.”
“Cool. It’s a date.”