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“It’s Maggie.”
“Yes. Maggie.” He adjusts his napkin. “As I was saying, the contractual structure creates a specific care environment, and in cases like this—”
“She’s a medical student,” I say.
Maggie’s head snaps toward me.
The table goes quiet again, but this time with soft murmurs following it.
I continue because I’ve already stepped into it. “Second year. She understands more than you’re giving her credit for.”
Maggie glares at me. Then, without moving her mouth much, she mouths, You ruined all the fun.
I nearly laugh. It’s dangerous how close I come.
Baines looks uncomfortable. “I wasn’t suggesting she lacks intelligence.”
“No,” Maggie says sweetly. “Just that I lack interpretation privileges.”
The nutritionist covers a cough.
The genetic counselor smiles into her wine.
Maggie turns back to Baines. “And for the record, I know enough to understand I don’t know everything. That’s why I ask questions. Not because I’m difficult.” She pauses. Then adds, “Well. Not only because I’m difficult.”
This time the genetic counselor does laugh.
Baines gives up, which is wise of him.
The next course arrives, and with it, a temporary ceasefire. Plates are set down. Water is refilled. Someone asks about call schedules. Dr. Lawrence pivots into a safer conversation about hospital staffing.
Maggie picks at her food. I watch her pretend to eat. She catches me. I lower my eyes to my own plate.
My phone buzzes on the table. I glance down.
Maggie: Stop monitoring my fork.
I look across at her. She’s looking down at her plate, face innocent.
I type under the table.
Me: Eat something.
Her reply comes quickly.
Maggie: I am eating.
I watch her move one pea from one side of the plate to the other.
Me: Moving food is not eating.
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile.
Maggie: You are ruining my deception.
Me: Would you be happy if I apologize?
She makes a face at me. At the same time, Baines turns to look at her and accidentally catches her gaze. She changes her expression into a grimace.
