After moving in with my boyfriend, I got used to being woken by the things he said in his sleep.
"Phyllis… hemostat…"
"Phyllis, you take the lead on this one…"
Tonight made a hundred. A hundred nights lying beside him, listening to him say Phyllis Pruitt's name into the dark.
Never once mine, even though I was the anesthesiologist standing at the same table.
In the morning he looked at the dark circles under my eyes and said, all apology, "Couldn't sleep again? Maybe you should see a therapist, get something to take. I'll go with you."
So he'd known all along. Knew I was depressed. Knew I wasn't sleeping.
I didn't ask again why someone else lived in his dreams. I just held out a glass of warm water.
"You called out all night. Soothe your throat."
He froze for a second, then set the glass down hard, frowning.
"It's not like I was having some sex dream. What are you imagining now?"
He went looking for tape, irritated.
"Fine, you can tape my mouth shut when I sleep. Happy?"
I smiled, took the tape from him, and started packing.
……
Ray Delgado finished making breakfast before he noticed my suitcase.
"You're going somewhere for work? Why didn't I know about it?"
He took my hand, sweet and reluctant to let go, eyes full of how much he'd miss me.
As if nothing had happened half an hour ago.
I said nothing.
The department schedule had gone out days ago.
He just cared more about whether Phyllis would be operating with him.
When I stayed quiet, Ray decided I was still upset about the dream. He laughed and pulled me to the table.
"All right, still angry? I spent all night dreaming about surgery and still got up to make you breakfast. Don't I get any sympathy?"
"I promise I'll dream about you next time, okay?"
He'd promised that a thousand times. Not once had he dreamed of me.
He thought I'd do what I always did, sit and look at the lovingly made eggs and tuck all the hurt and the unease away.
He didn't know that hidden long enough, hidden deep enough, even my love for him had thinned out across all those sleepless nights.
At first, when he dreamed of Phyllis, I'd wake him and demand an answer.
His excuse started as too many surgeries in the day, too tired.
Then it became I'd woken him too early, before he got the chance to dream me into the scene.
Later it became that he'd just been about to talk to the dream version of me when I shook him awake.
It took three months to go from believing him completely, blaming myself for picking fights with a dream, to no longer waking him at all.
And a hundred sleepless nights to understand what it means that what fills the day fills the night.
A hundred nights of him calling Phyllis's name until dawn.
Not one of them mine.
Nearly a thousand surgeries side by side, and I'd never once made it into his dreams.
He had no idea how I got through it.
Got through it until something in me was simply dead, until I could look at his lovingly made eggs and feel nothing at all.
I drew my hand back and stood up to get the door key.
"Let's break up—"
His phone rang. One glance at the screen and he answered before it finished.
"Yes, I know. Ten minutes!"
He hung up, yanked off the apron, and grabbed the key out of my hand on his way past.
"Something went wrong in Phyllis's surgery. I have to go. I'll be with you when I'm done."
He never heard the breakup. Never noticed he'd taken the wrong key.
A life was on the line. I picked up the car key from the entry table and went after him.
When I stepped off the elevator, he was right there, eyes bloodshot, jabbing at the call button.
Phone to his ear, his voice gone gentle for whoever was on the other end.
"Tell Phyllis not to be scared. The sky can fall and I'll hold it up…"
I let it wash over me and held out the car key.
"You want my help in there?"
Ray snatched it, hand cupped over the receiver as he snapped at me.
"Did you hand me the wrong one on purpose? If anything happens to that patient, you and I are finished!"
