Chapter 10: Williamsburg Diner
After chatting for a while, they realized it was getting late.
Caroline lifted her bandaged hand and waved it slightly. "So what do we owe you?"
Ethan shook his head. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Perfect," Max jumped in immediately. "Next time we'll bring you cupcakes as payment."
"No, Max," Caroline frowned. "I'm not freeloading off him. We're paying."
Max rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh please, put away the last shreds of your debutante dignity—what's that even worth these days? Like, three dollars?"
"Still more than your broken oven is worth."
Ethan watched their banter with amusement. "Tell you what—buy me dinner sometime and we'll call it even for the consultation."
"Of course! Absolutely!" Caroline agreed enthusiastically.
Max shot him a knowing grin. "Aha, I see what's happening—he just asked you out on a dinner date."
"Shut up, Max!" Caroline turned back to Ethan, all business. "We work at the Williamsburg Diner—come by anytime. My treat!"
Ethan nodded. "Got it. I know where it is, just never actually been inside."
They exchanged phone numbers, then Caroline and Max headed out of the clinic. The evening air still carried faint traces of antiseptic and a hint of Max's perfume.
Around the corner, Caroline immediately leaned toward Max with sparkling eyes.
Max anticipated it. "Whatever you're about to say, this is all your fault, Caroline!"
Caroline blinked innocently. "My fault? What did I do?"
Max declared, "Thanks to your stupid burn, I just got emotionally flash-burned back to my past."
"Max, I swear to God—your ex looks like Ryan Gosling decided to go to med school!"
"Please," Max scoffed. "Ryan Gosling doesn't practice sutures on dead turkeys while whispering incantations at them. What the hell was he even doing in there?"
"Completely irrelevant!" Caroline refused to be deterred. "What matters is—how did you two get together? I need details. All the details!"
Max sighed heavily. "Can we please talk about something less painful, like 'Why does every medical appointment come with a side order of ex-boyfriend awkwardness?'"
"Don't change the subject! How long did you date? Was he all white-coat-and-stethoscope charming back then?"
"We just hooked up a bunch of times," Max said dismissively. "Okay, maybe like a dozen times—honestly can't remember. We were both broke and bored; it was literally the cheapest form of entertainment available in New York."
"That sounds incredibly hot! So how did you even meet?"
"I worked in the hospital cafeteria. He'd buy one coffee and camp out there until closing," Max chewed her gum thoughtfully. "Claimed he was studying, but I'm pretty sure he had a crush on the other waitress initially."
"And then he noticed you and you both fell madly in love!" Caroline's eyes gleamed. "That's so romantic—like something out of a rom-com!"
"Romantic?" Max snorted. "You didn't see him two nights before his medical licensing exam—hair looking like overcooked ramen noodles, dragging around a backpack held together with duct tape. I genuinely thought he was a homeless grad student squatting in the library."
"And you still fell for him?"
"I thought he was legitimately poor," Max stared at the cracked sidewalk. "Turns out he was just drowning in student debt. You know the difference? Poor people have accepted their reality; people in debt still think they have a shot at a future."
"So... were you two happy together?"
"Emotionally or physically?" Max flashed a wicked grin.
"Stick to the emotional narrative!" Caroline said earnestly. "Like, your first time together—"
"Stop right there!" Max cut her off. "That information is protected under doctor-patient confidentiality. Or ex-girlfriend confidentiality. Whichever sounds more official."
Once Caroline and Max left, the clinic fell silent again.
Ethan leaned against the doorframe, watching their silhouettes disappear around the corner, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Their retreating figures stirred something strangely nostalgic inside him.
He couldn't help replaying fragments of his time with Max—
Not particularly long, but not insignificant either.
His memory of her was straightforward:
That striking jet-black hair, and the way she'd often kiss him awake from sleep after his overnight shifts.
She'd once sprawled across his narrow dorm bed, grinning mischievously: "Your kisses work faster than propofol."
Only now did it fully register—this sarcastic, raven-haired, impossibly curvy woman was Max Black from 2 Broke Girls, and he... hadn't made the connection at all during their relationship.
Evening arrived. Ethan locked up the clinic and flagged down a cab.
He'd initially planned to head straight home, but hunger struck. After two seconds of deliberation, he gave the driver the address of the Williamsburg Diner in Brooklyn.
The streets of Brooklyn maintained their usual chaotic energy—sickly yellow streetlights, graffiti-covered walls, loitering addicts, and scantily-clad sex workers comprised the city's most honest aesthetic.
A curvy woman in a leopard-print miniskirt approached, wearing a smile she'd perfected through countless transactions. She dragged two fingers across Ethan's suit jacket and purred, "Hey baby, first one's on the house tonight."
Ethan took a polite step backward, his expression pleasant. "Thanks for the offer, but I just had a circumcision revision. Doctor's orders—no extracurricular activities for at least a month."
He paused, then added helpfully, "My hands are completely free though, if you're interested."
The woman blinked, processed that information, rolled her eyes, and strutted off to find another prospect.
Ethan smiled to himself. "Brooklyn romance—always refreshingly direct."
The diner door swung open with a cheerful jingle of bells.
Behind the cash register, the elderly Black cashier lifted his headphone-covered head. The moment he spotted Ethan, he hollered enthusiastically:
"Damn! Look who just walked in—too fine for this neighborhood! If I were ten years younger and two bottles of Jack Daniels deep, I'd go straight for you! Well, un-straight technically!"
Ethan grinned at the compliment and offered a fist bump. "Hey, man. I'm Ethan."
"Earl. Cashier and former underground rapper." The old man flashed a gold-toothed grin and returned the fist bump. "Bit of friendly advice—grab that corner booth. The new blonde waitress still can't tell French fries from potato chips."
"Already met your blonde bombshell earlier today," Ethan replied, smiling. "But thanks for the warning."
Max emerged from the kitchen carrying menus, casually chewing gum. She hadn't looked up yet, but the familiar voice made her freeze mid-step.
Ethan greeted her warmly. "Hey."
Max raised her gaze, feigning complete nonchalance. "Oh look—it's Caroline's new BFF. What can I get you? Today's special is the Awkward-Ex-Boyfriend Salad, served with a side of My-Roommate-Won't-Stop-Meddling dressing."
Ethan suppressed a laugh. "Sounds delicious."
"It absolutely is!" Max cocked her head. "Tastes like stale diner coffee—lingers unpleasantly and haunts you later."
She slapped the menu down on the table and leaned in slightly. "The usual? Black coffee, no sugar? Or... something sweet this time? I hear sugar helps you forget painful memories from your past."
Ethan picked up the menu. "You actually remember my coffee order."
Max snorted. "I remember the beverage preferences of every man who's wasted my bedsheets."
Ethan countered, "Then I'll try to redeem myself with an excellent tip."
Max replied, "Please do. Order whatever you want—Caroline's treating, but the tip is completely non-negotiable."
"I'll have a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a Diet Coke, please."
Max observed, "You order like a regular customer. Don't tell me you've been sneaking in here without saying hi."
"Just didn't want to waste mental energy on meal decisions." Ethan smiled. "Besides, the sweetest thing on the menu is already standing right in front of me."
"Whoa!" Max raised an eyebrow. "Look at you, suddenly all smooth. Medical school really does teach you things."
She spun on her heel toward the kitchen, slapped the order ticket on the counter in front of the perpetually-leering Oleg, and called out, "Caroline! Your benefactor has arrived!"
Caroline peeked out from the back and squealed, "Oh my God, he's even hotter without the doctor coat!"
She rushed over enthusiastically. "Do you want anything else? Seriously, it's completely on me!"
"Then I'll try whatever dessert you'd recommend," Ethan said. "I heard it's your specialty."
"Absolutely," Caroline beamed. "Max's cupcakes are legitimately the best in all of Brooklyn."
In the back kitchen, Max stood staring into space.
"Stop zoning out!" Caroline teased, tying her apron strings. "Go serve your ex-boyfriend properly."
"What, you want me to serve him topless?!"
"Not quite—but a little strategic visual impact never hurts our tips." Caroline tugged Max's uniform neckline approximately two centimeters lower. "Go get him! I'm counting on that tip money so we can afford the organic carrots for Chestnut."
"I eat those carrots first, then Chestnut gets the leftovers!"
"Ew, gross—"
Oleg poked his head through the kitchen window. "Wait, that guy's Max's actual ex-boyfriend? I genuinely thought he was a fictional character she invented. What's he do for a living?"
Caroline answered proudly, "He's a doctor. Owns his own clinic."
"A doctor? Classy. Think he'd be willing to examine me? I've been feeling kinda... underperforming lately."
Max rolled her eyes. "Your only legitimate medical condition is chronic perversion."
In the end, Ethan wisely didn't touch the innocent-looking burger sitting in front of him.
Who knew whether Oleg had bothered washing whatever questionable substances were on his hands before cooking.
Soon enough, the diner closed for the night. Max and Caroline cheerfully divided up the evening's tips—especially Ethan's notably generous contribution—then enthusiastically led him back to their decidedly sketchy apartment building.
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