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Authors: Sarah Mayberry
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stubborn.”
She walked to where Will was waiting, a disgruntled expression on his face.
“Come on, then, grumpy pants. Let’s do this.” She gestured with her head.
She started walking and after a few seconds he fell in beside her, matching his stride to hers.
“You this pushy with all your patients?” he asked.
“Most of them don’t need to be pushed. They know what’s good for them.”
“Sure they do.”
She glanced at him and saw that he was frowning, his breathing a little labored. She slowed her pace, barely resisting the urge to take his arm. She knew without asking that that wouldn’t go down well.
“I’ve always wondered, what is the whole macho thing with being sick?” she asked as they turned the corner.
The pharmacy was ahead, its blue-and-white sign swinging in the mild spring breeze.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do. The I’ll-drop-dead-on-my-feet-rather-than-ask-for-help thing.”
“I ask for help when I need it. Anyway, I thought women were always complaining about men overexaggerating man-flu.”
“Man-flu is a whole other phenomenon.”
“So, what? We can’t win? We don’t ask for help when we need it but when we do ask for help we’re pathetic and whiny?”
She pretended to consider his question for a moment. “You’re asking me as a medical professional, right?”
He simply cocked an eyebrow.
“Then the answer is yes. You can’t win. Which is why most of the leaders of the free world are men. We women have totally got you guys whipped.”
He smiled appreciatively. She gestured for him to precede her into the pharmacy.
They stood to one side while they waited for the pharmacist to dispense the script.
“So, whose birthday? And were those your parents?”
She waved vaguely. “Just a friend. And yes, those were my parents.”
“Scary mum in the flesh.”
“Yep.”
She felt him looking at her and glanced at him. “What?”
“Happy birthday, Leah.”
She shuffled her feet a little. She would have preferred for him not to guess that today was her birthday. She wasn’t sure why. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
“How old?”
She made a rude noise. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you never to ask a woman that?”
“You are not even close to old enough to worry about your age yet.”
“I’m practicing for when I need to worry. What have you been doing for food while you’re sick?”
“I’ve been managing.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “That had better not mean pizza.”
“Honestly? I haven’t been that interested in food, but the supermarket around the corner delivers, so I’ve been choking down some soup and the occasional bowl of cereal.”
“Okay. That’s acceptable.”
“Glad you approve, Dr. Mathews.”
“William Jones?” the pharmacist called.
Will stepped forward to collect his medication. Leah waited by the door for him, and they fell into step as they made their way to the apartment building.
“I’d like it noted for the record that we’re almost at the apartment and I haven’t dropped dead or keeled over in any way, shape or form,” Will said.
“Oh, yes, you’re a picture of health. It’s a wonder the sports commission isn’t chasing you down, begging you to represent Australia in every sport known to man.”
He laughed, the sound devolving into a dry cough.
“I rest my case,” she said.
“I’m much better than I was.”
“You know what the best way of getting a secondary infection is? Pushing yourself when you’re not up to it. Take your medicine. Eat something green. Go to bed. Okay?” She reached into her handbag and slipped a card from the side pocket. “And if you need anything, call me—the number on the bottom. I’m more than happy to grab some food for you or whatever you need.”
He took the card, studying it briefly. “Pretty cool way to slip me your number, Dr. Mathews.”
She blushed, even though she knew he was only teasing her. “I was trying to be a
She walked to where Will was waiting, a disgruntled expression on his face.
“Come on, then, grumpy pants. Let’s do this.” She gestured with her head.
She started walking and after a few seconds he fell in beside her, matching his stride to hers.
“You this pushy with all your patients?” he asked.
“Most of them don’t need to be pushed. They know what’s good for them.”
“Sure they do.”
She glanced at him and saw that he was frowning, his breathing a little labored. She slowed her pace, barely resisting the urge to take his arm. She knew without asking that that wouldn’t go down well.
“I’ve always wondered, what is the whole macho thing with being sick?” she asked as they turned the corner.
The pharmacy was ahead, its blue-and-white sign swinging in the mild spring breeze.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you do. The I’ll-drop-dead-on-my-feet-rather-than-ask-for-help thing.”
“I ask for help when I need it. Anyway, I thought women were always complaining about men overexaggerating man-flu.”
“Man-flu is a whole other phenomenon.”
“So, what? We can’t win? We don’t ask for help when we need it but when we do ask for help we’re pathetic and whiny?”
She pretended to consider his question for a moment. “You’re asking me as a medical professional, right?”
He simply cocked an eyebrow.
“Then the answer is yes. You can’t win. Which is why most of the leaders of the free world are men. We women have totally got you guys whipped.”
He smiled appreciatively. She gestured for him to precede her into the pharmacy.
They stood to one side while they waited for the pharmacist to dispense the script.
“So, whose birthday? And were those your parents?”
She waved vaguely. “Just a friend. And yes, those were my parents.”
“Scary mum in the flesh.”
“Yep.”
She felt him looking at her and glanced at him. “What?”
“Happy birthday, Leah.”
She shuffled her feet a little. She would have preferred for him not to guess that today was her birthday. She wasn’t sure why. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
“How old?”
She made a rude noise. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you never to ask a woman that?”
“You are not even close to old enough to worry about your age yet.”
“I’m practicing for when I need to worry. What have you been doing for food while you’re sick?”
“I’ve been managing.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “That had better not mean pizza.”
“Honestly? I haven’t been that interested in food, but the supermarket around the corner delivers, so I’ve been choking down some soup and the occasional bowl of cereal.”
“Okay. That’s acceptable.”
“Glad you approve, Dr. Mathews.”
“William Jones?” the pharmacist called.
Will stepped forward to collect his medication. Leah waited by the door for him, and they fell into step as they made their way to the apartment building.
“I’d like it noted for the record that we’re almost at the apartment and I haven’t dropped dead or keeled over in any way, shape or form,” Will said.
“Oh, yes, you’re a picture of health. It’s a wonder the sports commission isn’t chasing you down, begging you to represent Australia in every sport known to man.”
He laughed, the sound devolving into a dry cough.
“I rest my case,” she said.
“I’m much better than I was.”
“You know what the best way of getting a secondary infection is? Pushing yourself when you’re not up to it. Take your medicine. Eat something green. Go to bed. Okay?” She reached into her handbag and slipped a card from the side pocket. “And if you need anything, call me—the number on the bottom. I’m more than happy to grab some food for you or whatever you need.”
He took the card, studying it briefly. “Pretty cool way to slip me your number, Dr. Mathews.”
She blushed, even though she knew he was only teasing her. “I was trying to be a
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