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You reach for your phone as it vibrates against the table, picking it up without thought, glancing at the screen. Dana's name lights up the screen, and for a moment, you're back there again, drunk and heartbroken on cold pavement.
You almost don't answer– your thumb hovers over the decline button.
But you do. You can’t help yourself.
"Hello?" Your voice is steadier than you expected, bracing yourself for the potential emotions her voice will evoke.
You hear her sharp inhale, like she’s surprised you’d answered. “Hi.” She breathes, leaning against the wall outside the ambulance bay. She’s quit smoking now, but she still comes out here when she needs a break.
“Hi?” A crease forms between your brows as you set your pen down, locking your tablet. “What- Why- Is something wrong?” Of course, you jump to conclusions, a million medical diagnoses tumbling through your head as you spiral.
“No, no.” She inhales and exhales audibly. “I’m getting divorced. Signed the papers yesterday.”
You tense in an instant, your grip tightening on the phone. Your heart is racing, and you hate that it is. You hate that after all this time, after promising yourself you'd moved on, that Dana's voice still does this to you.
"Oh." It's all you can manage. Your mind is blank, reeling from her words. "I'm... are you okay?"
She laughs, but it’s short and mirthless. "I don't know. Maybe? It's been over for a while. We both knew it."
“I’m sorry.” You’re sincere, your heart aching for her.
Dana exhales through her nose, the muscle memory to take a drag from her cigarette almost kicking in as she raises her hand. “Yeah, me too.”
You don’t know what to say back, the silence stretching a moment too long.
“How are you?” Dana finally asks, desperate to break the tension.
The question is so casual you can’t help the feeling that you’ve missed something. “Fine… Is that all you wanted to tell me?” You don’t want to sound disdainful, but you were in the middle of a workday, and it had been over a year. Things were much, much different since that last phone call.
“I wanted to apologize.” Dana rasps, her voice low and cautious. “For everything. For hurting you.”
You stand, gathering your things as you try to think of what to say. “It’s fine. Really.”
The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unsaid. You can hear the distant wail of an ambulance on her end.
"Why are you calling me, Dana?" Your voice is quieter now, almost afraid of the answer.
"I don't know." She sounds exhausted. "I thought... the ink was barely dry and you were the first person I wanted to talk to. Isn't that fucked up?"
Despite yourself, you huff out a small laugh. "Yeah. Pretty fucked up."
"How is everything?" she asks, and you can hear the authenticity in her voice. "How's... how's married life?"
Your right hand instinctively touches your bare ring finger. "I wouldn't know."
"What?"
“I ended things. A few months before the wedding. I couldn’t go through with it.” You mumble, trying too hard not to think about why, not right now.
"Jesus." Dana's voice is barely a whisper. "Why didn't you tell-"
"Why would I?" You cut her off, sharper than intended. "You made it pretty clear we were done. That we had to be done." You let out a breath that deflates your chest, rubbing the bridge of your nose.
"That's not-" She stops herself. "You're right. I did."
Another silence. You close your eyes.
"So why are you calling?" you ask again.
"Because I'm a selfish asshole who can't leave well enough alone," Dana says, and you can hear the bitter smile in her voice. "Sound familiar?"
You can’t help but huff a laugh, some of the tension leaving your body. “God, we’re both pretty fucked up, aren’t we?”
“We are.” She agrees, a little bit of lightness back in her voice. She exhales again, fidgeting with the pack of gum in her pocket.
"I thought about you," you admit quietly, picking at a loose thread on your scrub pants. "When I called it off. I thought about that night outside Miller's."
Dana sucks in a breath, her heart stuttering in her chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I realized I was doing to Sasha what you did to Benji. Staying in something because it made sense on paper, not because..." You trail off, unable to finish.
"Not because you loved her the way you should," Dana finishes for you, her voice rough.
"She deserved better than someone who was always going to be half-present. Someone who wasn't in it one hundred percent." The irony isn't lost on either of you.
Dana lets out a shaky laugh. "Right."
You hear her shift, the rustle of fabric. You wonder what she looks like now. If she's changed. If she still wears that same perfume that used to cling to your clothes. You’re flung back into memories of days with her– memories you’ve tried to suppress. The days when Benji was working, and you both had the same day off, spending it tangled in the sheets.
You clear your throat, shaking your head of the thoughts. “I’m going to be at the Cleveland Clinic next month.” Your voice comes out hoarse, like your brain is trying to prevent your body from saying it.
Dana's breath catches audibly on the other end of the line. "Cleveland?"
"A conference. Cardiac innovation symposium." You're trying to sound casual, professional, but your heart is hammering against your ribs. "Three days. I'm presenting on a case study."
The silence stretches so long you think maybe the call dropped.
"That's... that's really close to Pittsburgh," Dana finally says, her voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah. I know." You're pacing now, unable to stand still. "I just thought... I don't know what I thought. Forget I mentioned it."
"No." Dana says it quickly, almost urgently. "Do you want me to…?” She trails off, afraid to ask if you brought it up for the reason she hopes.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Is it a bad idea to say yes?” You ask, pacing the lounge as you mull over the consequences in your head.
“Probably.” She laughs humorlessly and then sighs. “We should talk about this more. When we both have time to actually talk.”
“I’m off Friday?” You offer, tamping down the feeling of hope that bubbles up. This isn’t forgiveness, and you sure as hell won’t forget the last four years of suffering.
Dana presses her lips together, hearing the hesitation in your voice. “I’ll give you a call. I should get back inside. The ED never rests.”
You don’t want to hang up, but you laugh agreeably, barely audible. “Yeah, yeah. Go save lives. Tell everyone I said hi.”
“Will do, sweetheart. Bye.”
----------
Friday comes faster than you expected. You're curled up on your couch with a glass of wine, staring at your phone like it might explode. When it finally rings at 8pm sharp, you nearly drop it.
"Hey." You answer on the second ring, trying not to sound too eager.
"Hey, yourself." Dana's voice is softer than it was on Thursday, less guarded. You can hear the clink of ice in a glass on her end. There's a pause, then a soft exhale. "So. Cleveland."
You pull your knees up to your chest, your heart already racing. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to." You hate that you’re being so insecure, but everything feels like walking a tightrope right now.
"I want to." She says it quickly, then laughs at herself. "I think... we need to actually talk. No beating around the bush about all this shit.”
"Okay." You take a sip of wine, buying yourself time. "So talk."
"The age thing." Dana doesn't ease into it, just rips the band-aid off. "You were twenty-eight when we started. I was fifty-five. That's-"
"Twenty-seven years. Yeah, I know, Dana. I was there."
"Don't be cute." But there's no bite to it. "You're thirty-two now. I'm almost sixty. That gap doesn't get smaller."
"I'm aware of how math works." You set your wine down, pressing your palm against your forehead. "What's your point?"
"My point is that I'm going to be seventy when you're in your prime. I'm going to-"
"Age?" You cut her off, sharper than intended. "Jesus, Dana. We're all aging. That's kind of how time works."
"You know what I mean."
"No, I don't." You stand up, starting to pace. "You keep acting like this is some insurmountable obstacle, but all I hear is excuses."
"They're not excuses." Dana's voice rises slightly, defensive. "They're legitimate concerns. What happens when you want kids and I'm too old to-"
"I don't want kids." You cut in again, the truth falling from you unbidden as usual.
The silence that follows is deafening.
"You... what?"
"I don't want children, Dana. I never have. I thought you knew that." You laugh, but it's hollow. "Is that what this has all been about? You assuming what I want without actually asking me?"
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" You're starting to become exasperated, knowing this keeps going in circles. "You made every decision for both of us. You decided I deserved better. You decided it wouldn't work. You decided to end it. When do I get a say?"
Dana is quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is rough, strained. "You're right. I did. And I'd do it again because watching you waste your life on someone who can't give you everything you deserve will kill me."
"You still don't get it." You stop pacing, closing your eyes. "You were everything I wanted. Not some hypothetical future with kids and a white picket fence. You. I made that decision when we first started sleeping together. I wasn’t some innocent who got seduced and manipulated by an older woman, Dana. You don’t get to carry this burden like you were the only one who wanted it. How many times do I need to say it before you actually believe me?"
You hear nothing but silence, the clink of ice again as she takes a drink.
"The distance is still a problem," she says finally, quieter now.
"Yeah." You know the discussion from before isn't over– you're determined to make her see exactly what you do.
"You're in Chicago. I'm in Pittsburgh. That's not-"
"Five hundred miles. A ninety-minute flight." You sit back down, suddenly exhausted. "It's not insurmountable."
"No, but it's not sustainable either. Not long-term. One of us would have to-"
"Move. Yeah." You swallow hard. "I know."
Another silence, this one heavier.
"I can't ask you to leave Chicago," Dana says, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're building a career there. You're-" She trails off, exhaling so heavily you feel it like a weight on your chest.
"You're not asking. And I'm not making any promises I can't keep." You take a shaky breath, worrying your bottom lip. "But Dana... I need to see you. We need to have this conversation face-to-face, not over the phone."
"Cleveland," she breathes.
"Cleveland." You confirm. "Just... come for a day. We'll talk. Really talk. About all of it."
"And then what?"
"I don't know." It's the most honest you've been. "But I need to know if we're both still holding onto something real or if we're just... haunting each other."
Dana laughs, and it's almost genuine this time. "You always were too smart for your own good."
"Learned from the best." You allow yourself a small smile. "So? Will you come?"
You can practically hear her thinking, weighing everything.
"I'll come," she finally says. "But we need to set ground rules."
"Okay."
"I'm serious." Dana's voice shifts into that no-nonsense tone you remember so well. "We talk. That's it. No... nothing physical."
"That wasn’t even on my radar." You lie, and you know she can see right through it.
"Uh-huh." She sounds almost flustered. "If we do this, if we actually try to figure this out, it can't be because we fall into bed and decide that makes everything okay."
"Agreed." You're surprised by how much you mean it. "I don't want that either. Not yet. Not until we know what we're actually doing. I can’t do that again. Not yet.”
"Not yet," Dana repeats softly, and you can hear the hope threaded through it despite herself.
"So we're really doing this?" You ask, unable to help the smile that tilts your lips.
"We're talking," she clarifies. "That's all I'm committing to right now."
"Fair enough." You pick up your wine again, taking a long sip. "The conference is the weekend of the 15th. I'm presenting Friday morning, free Friday afternoon through Sunday."
"I'll drive up Saturday morning. We can get lunch, talk. I'll head back that night."
"You could stay." The offer is out before you can stop it. "I mean, I have a hotel room. Two beds, probably. Or I could get a different-"
"Let's just see how Saturday goes." Dana cuts you off gently. "One step at a time."
"Right. One step at a time." You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the couch. "Dana?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
The pet name still makes your chest ache. "I'm scared."
"Me too," she admits, her voice soft and vulnerable in a way that reminds you of all the reasons you fell in love with her in the first place. "But I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try. To actually face this instead of running from it."
"No running," you agree.
"No running," she echoes.
You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, just breathing together across the miles.
"I should let you go," Dana says eventually, though she doesn't sound like she wants to. "It's late."
"Yeah." You don't want to hang up either. "Dana?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. For calling. For agreeing to this."
"Don't thank me yet," she says with a soft laugh. "This might be the worst idea we've ever had."
"Maybe." You smile despite yourself. "But at least we'll finally know."
"Yeah. We'll finally know."
"Goodnight, Dana."
"Goodnight, honey."
The call ends, and you sit there in your apartment, wine glass in hand, heart hammering with equal parts terror and hope.
Cleveland is three weeks away.
You start counting down the days.