Perfect Alignment

I am thinking it’s a sign

That the freckles in our eyes

Are mirror images

And when we kiss they’re perfectly aligned

—The Postal Service, “Such Great Heights”

WEDNESDAY – JANUARY 8, 2025

She shouldn’t be here.

The waiting room at Empire Dental Care smelled like mint and some vaguely floral. Lavender? Whatever it was, it made Opal feel guilty as she sat there, spine perfectly straight with her leather bag perched on her lap. Her phone screen glowed with a list of emails from her colleagues. Subject lines bled into another in an endless scroll of urgency.

Opal checked the time again. 2:19 PM. Her appointment was supposed to start at 2:00.

Nineteen minutes. She just lost nineteen minutes of precious time (thirty-nine if she accounted for the subway ride and walk here).

And her managing director, Michelle Hartford, was expecting the CoreSync financial models by the end of the day. She still had an integration assessment that she needed to edit because her VP, Andrew Silverman, ripped her roadmap apart during his initial review. Between all of that, she also had to review the new analyst’s DCF and pitchbook slides.

God.

Opal exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to calm the mounting anxiety in her chest.

This was a mistake. She should have done this on a Saturday.

Except, she worked most Saturdays too, and on the rare occasion that she didn’t, she was catching up on sleep, chores, or her workout routine. The last one was important. Each minute at the gym or her Pilates classes meant that she maintained the body that had somehow, inexplicably, made her more visible to her colleagues than two years of exemplary work performance.

The receptionist—a pleasant woman in her forties with bright red lipstick and matching red glasses—looked up from her computer and smiled. “Dr. Merrill will be right with you, hon. He’s just finishing up some paperwork.”

Opal nodded and managed a tight smile. “Thank you.”

She then returned to her emails. Her thumbs flew across the screen. Yes, I’ll get it to you EOD. We need to ask about their valuation. Can we reschedule a call for tomorrow morning?

Her teeth. She had stepped away from work to fix her teeth.

It seemed so frivolous. Opal was sitting there with a blazer from Theory and boots from Louboutin (the ones she’d saved up for two months to buy), waiting to address a cosmetic concern that hadn’t bothered her for the first twenty-four years of her life.

Yet here she was.

Because Ryan from LevFin had made that joke about six months ago. And then Tyler from ECM had laughed. And then he said something at the happy hour, loud enough for the summer analysts to hear.

“Mailo’s got that shark smile, boys. All bite.”

Everyone laughed. She laughed too because how else could she respond?

Then, a few weeks ago, Kevin from Wealth Management, made a comment at a company celebration. He was three years her senior, a Wharton MBA, and suspiciously friendly after his third old fashioned.

“You know, Mailo, you’d be so pretty if you didn’t have that gap in your teeth.”

Later, alone in her studio apartment in the Lower East Side, she had stood in front of her tiny bathroom’s mirror for twenty minutes and just looked. Yeah, her incisors were slightly crooked, and she had a gap in between them. It had never bothered her before. Those features had been part of her smile since she was in elementary school. Her mother had the same gap. Her lola—her grandmother—had one too, back in the Philippines. That gap-toothed smile appeared in faded photographs. Her mother said that she had a gap in her teeth because she had been “kissed by angels.”

Her mother would have said that she was being ridiculous. That she was beautiful as God had made her. That the Mailo smile had always been perfectly fine for three generations of Filipinos, and they didn’t need some dentist to fix what wasn’t broken.

But her mother and her lola didn’t work in M&A at Goldman, where every aspect of their presentation was scrutinized. Where being taken seriously could mean conforming to expectations that you didn’t realize existed (or consented to) until someone pointed them out.

Every woman at Goldman in a position of power, whether it was partner, managing director, or even vice president, were polished to a certain uniformity. Yes, Opal checked their LinkedIn headshots. All had perfect makeup, stylish highlights, tasteful jewelry, and straight white teeth.

Meanwhile, Opal kept pressing her tongue against the slight gap between her front teeth. It was a horrible habit that she developed only after becoming hyperaware of its existence. Funny how something could be invisible for her entire life until someone pointed it out. Now she couldn’t stop noticing.

“Opal Mailo?”

She looked up. The door to the inner office was open. A woman in dark blue scrubs was smiling warmly. “We’re ready for you,” she said.

Opal quickly grabbed her bag and followed her down a hallway lined with office art and pictures of people with perfect smiles. Testimonials, Opal assumed. She had done her research, of course. This was one of the top dentist groups in Manhattan, staffed by experienced dentists and specialists.

The examination room was bright and modern; it had a window and a nice view of Midtown below. She sat in the dental chair in the middle.

Clara—the hygienist, as she had introduced herself—gave her a light mouthwash and chatted pleasantly about the winter holidays and her New Year’s resolutions. Opal tried to engage but found herself trying to check her phone again.

“The doctor will be with you shortly,” Clara said once she had finished.

Opal was alone in the room now, sitting upright as she scrolled through her emails. She was in the middle of replying to one when the door opened. Opal glanced up from her phone reflexively.

Then she did something that she never did. She looked again. Did a literal double-take.

The man walking toward her was objectively the most attractive person she had seen outside of a magazine. Tall, maybe around six-two or six-three, with broad shoulders that filled out his white coat in a way that seemed engineered to cause cardiac distress. How on Earth did he manage to make a doctor’s coat look tailored? His hair was golden blond—sunshine-y and styled in a perfectly tousled way that suggested an expensive barber or divine intervention. Maybe both. Probably both.

When he turned toward her, she caught the full force of his face: sharp jawline, straight nose, and perfect symmetry. The kind of handsomeness that belonged in cologne advertisements plastered all over Times Square.

Then he smiled.

Oh.

Oh no.

Opal felt her stomach flip. Like a stupid pancake.

Dimples. He had actual, honest-to-God dimples. They carved parentheses into his cheeks, framing a smile so perfect that it should have required a warning label. His teeth were perfect. White, but not in a jarring, unnatural way. And straight. Obviously. He was a dentist.

And his eyes were blue. The kind of blue that reminded Opal of tropical postcards and vast swathes of ocean.

“Ms. Mailo?” His voice was warm and friendly. “I’m Dr. Merrill. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He extended his hand, and Opal reached out too quickly. Her phone slid off her lap and hit the floor with a thump. Heat flooded her face, and she scrambled to retrieve it at the exact same moment that he did. Their hands collided.

“I’ve got it,” they said simultaneously.

Dr. Merrill chuckled and stepped back, like whole situation was charming rather than mortifyingly awkward.

“Sorry,” Opal muttered as she grabbed her phone and placed it back in her lap. She glanced at it again. The screen was glowing with two unread emails.

“Busy day?” he asked, nodding towards the phone.

“Always,” Opal answered. She sounded breathless and for what? She had pitched to C-suite executives without breaking a sweat, but one smile from this absurdly handsome doctor had her stammering. “Investment banking,” she tried to explain. “Mergers and acquisitions. Everything’s urgent.”

“I can imagine. It seems challenging,” Dr. Merrill said without judgement. “Well, I promise to make this as efficient as possible.”

He moved towards the counter in the room to disinfect his hands. He then pulled on a fresh pair of blue gloves that Opal ogled at because they were tight.

“So, Opal—can I call you Opal?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Great,” he remarked as he sat on a wheeled stool. “My name’s Apollo, by the way. And I know, I know—trust me, I’ve heard all the Greek god jokes. You can call me Dr. Merrill if you’re more comfortable with that, or just Apollo. Whatever feels right.”

Apollo. His name was actually Apollo. Apparently, being devastatingly handsome with perfect teeth and dimples wasn’t enough. He also needed a name straight out of mythology.

“Dr. Merrill is fine,” Opal said before her mind could be more traitorous.

“Dr. Merrill it is then.” His blue eyes fixed on her face as he settled across from her. “So Opal—beautiful name, by the way—your intake form said you were interested in orthodontic treatment. Tell me about what you’re hoping to achieve.”

Opal folded her hands together. This part was easy. This was basically a business meeting. In her short career, she had conducted dozens of business meetings in front of handsome and high-powered men. Well, some of them were handsome. None of them were quite this handsome, but still.

“I’d like to straighten my teeth,” Opal said in a steady voice. “They’re a little crooked. Some crowding and some gaps. I was thinking those clear aligners would work? I know they’re popular now.”

Of course, she didn’t mention Ryan or Tyler or Kevin or the way she started covering her smile with her hand, or how two years of transforming her body—morning runs, evening Pilates, calorie counting—hadn’t been enough to silence the tiny voice in her head that whispered it still wasn’t enough.

Dr. Merrill only nodded as his expression shifted to something professional. “Absolutely. Clear aligners are a great option for many people. Can I take a look before we discuss in more detail?”

“Of course.”

Dr. Merrill pressed something with his foot that reclined the dental chair backwards. Opal held her breath and tried to remain comfortable. Dr. Merrill then adjusted the overhead lighting, angling it towards her face.

“Alright,” Dr. Merrill said. His voice was gentle yet authoritative and nothing like the partners at Goldman. It was a doctor voice. Soothing and commanding at once. “Go ahead and open for me.”

Opal opened her mouth and tried not to think about his voice or his hands or his proximity or about anything. He was leaning in close. Too close. She could see his pores. The way his eyelashes were light brown and how they casted shadows on his cheeks. Even the small scar by his left eyebrow.

Dr. Merrill’s gloved fingers were gentle. In her periphery, Opal saw him grab a small mirror to check inside her mouth. Occasionally, he asked her to move her jaw. When she didn’t move in the exact way he asked, he used a gentle hand to move her head slightly.

It was perfectly normal, but Opal couldn’t just block out her five senses. And right now, she could smell his cologne, and it was… citrusy and woodsy. Pleasant. And definitely not helping the current situation. His eyes, concentrating intently, were only inches from her face.

“Your teeth and gums are very healthy,” Dr. Merrill said as he continued to examine her. “Good enamel.” Opal felt a gentle pressure of the mirror against her molars. “You’ve got excellent oral health. I can tell you take care of your teeth. Overall bone structure is great. And you’ve got good teeth shape.”

Opal felt a flicker of pride upon hearing that. As a child, her mother had taught her to be diligent with brushing and flossing. They couldn’t afford special dentist appointments if something went wrong, so Opal always made sure she kept her teeth in top shape. It was nice to have it acknowledged.

“I can see what you mean by the alignment, though,” Dr. Merrill continued. “Slight crowding on your bottom teeth. A bit of overlap. But nothing dramatic. Definitely nothing that would cause you problems with function.”

He moved over to her front teeth.

“The gap between your central incisors is also minimal. Maybe two millimeters.” He paused. “Very slight. Honestly, some people would say that this adds character. But if you want it corrected, it’s absolutely doable.” Dr. Merrill withdrew the mirror and set it aside. “You can close now.”

Opal closed her mouth. She waited as Dr. Merrill pressed a button and allowed the dental chair to rise back to its upright position.

“So you can fix it?” Opal hated how hopeful she sounded. “How long would it take?”

“Well, given that you’ve already got pretty decent alignment, I’d estimate anywhere from six to twelve months with clear aligners.” Dr. Merrill pulled off his gloves.

Opal tried to steal a glance at his left hand, but his body was turned, and he crossed his arms immediately after disposing of the gloves. With his arms crossed, it only accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and chest.

“The gap in your front teeth would close up fairly quickly,” Dr. Merrill explained. “The crowding on the bottom would take a bit longer, though.”

Six to twelve months. She could do that. She survived two and a half years as an analyst. The ninety-hour weeks. The scolding from the VPs. And the Bloomberg terminal glowing at three in the morning. She could survive wearing clear trays in her mouth.

“Braces would be faster,” Dr. Merrill continued. “Maybe around four to eight months, but I think you’re a good candidate for clear aligners. Again, I’d estimate six to twelve months with those. Could be on the shorter end if your teeth are cooperative.”

Dr. Merrill grinned, his dimples reappearing. “Some teeth have strong opinions about where they want to be.”

Opal smiled back despite herself. “My teeth have very strong opinions about everything.”

A laugh escaped him. Genuine and warm—like he wasn’t just being polite. “I like that,” Dr. Merrill remarked. “Okay, Opal. Do you have any questions so far?”

“What’s the maintenance like?” she asked.

“Wear them for at least twenty to twenty-two hours a day, take them out for eating and drinking anything that’s not water. Brush them, brush your teeth, and then pop them back in.” Dr. Merrill shrugged like it was easy, and it did sound that way. “The biggest thing is usually remembering them to put them back in after meals. I have one patient who keeps a timer on her phone so she doesn’t forget.” He grinned, and Opal’s stomach flipped again. “Very Type A.”

“I can relate,” Opal admitted. She was already categorizing this as another system to implement. She was good at systems.

Dr. Merrill continued to walk her through the process. They used digital impressions made with a scanner instead of the traditional molds. With a 3D model of her teeth, they’d create a custom treatment plan that would show the projected movements of each tooth. She’d then get a series of custom trays that she would have to wear every day and change them out every week or two as her teeth gradually shifted into position.

Opal nodded along as Dr. Merrill grabbed a tablet and showed her diagrams and testimonials. Her attention was quick to focus on his hands. He had long fingers with neatly trimmed nails and no wedding ring. Not that she was looking. (Yes, she was.) He spoke in an animated way, smiling and nodding and raising his brows every now and then.

“And how much would this cost? Based on what you’ve seen and your estimated timeline?” Opal queried.

“For you, maybe around five to seven thousand. Your insurance might cover a portion. And we have financing options too, so you don’t have to worry about paying all at once.”

Opal had a range in mind while researching, but the number Dr. Merrill gave was better than she thought. She could afford it.

“Honestly, the shape of your teeth is lovely,” Dr. Merrill continued. He sat the tablet aside on the counter. “You have a beautiful smile. The aligners will just refine what you already have.”

Heat crept up into Opal’s cheeks. She looked down at her phone, which had a very timely email notification. “Thanks,” she murmured.

When Opal looked up, Dr. Merrill was watching her with his head tilted to the side. She couldn’t quite read his expression. It was different. Softer. Maybe amused? Curious?

“Investment banking, huh?” he said. “Sounds intense. Looks intense, based on how many times you’ve checked your phone. How’d you get into that?”

“Um.” Opal blanked for a second. She didn’t expect her dentist of all people to start asking about her job. “I studied finance at NYU. Got an internship, and they extended a full-time offer after I graduated. It’s been…interesting.”

“Yeah, I bet. Do you like it?”

“I do,” Opal said, and it was as much of the truth as it was a lie. She had a love-hate relationship with her profession. “It’s challenging. Fast-paced. Lots of unknowns and pressure. Dealing with different personalities and circumstances. It’s like solving a complicated puzzle. Figuring out how to make two companies fit together in a way that creates value.” She smiled sheepishly; this all probably sounded boring to him. “I like accomplishing big things.”

“Definitely sounds challenging.” Dr. Merrill smiled back. “Orthodontics is quite the opposite. More routine and predictability. Every patient’s unique, though. And I like that I get to build relationships with them over time. I like knowing that I’ve improved someone’s confidence or oral health in a measurable way.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Opal asked.

“I finished my residency at Columbia last July. Still a newbie.” Dr. Merrill grinned in a self-deprecating way. “I did my undergrad at UPenn. Dental school at Harvard. Then the residency all consecutively. I joined Empire Dental after I was certified and licensed. The other orthodontist here—Dr. Yang—is semi-retired now, and they need someone to take over her patient load. You’re one of my first adult cases, actually. I mostly see teenagers getting their braces off.”

“Oh, so I’m a guinea pig.”

Dr. Merrill laughed at that, and something warm bloomed in Opal’s chest.

“Not at all! I did plenty of adult cases during my residency. You’re in good hands, I promise.” Dr. Merrill then stood and moved to the nearby computer on the counter.

Opal studied him as he navigated the computer system. There was an easy confidence about him in his movements. Genuine enthusiasm. He was probably around her age, maybe a little bit older since he had so many educational degrees and experiences. Speaking of which, he either had substantial family resources or had no issues with signing off on hundreds of thousands of student loans. UPenn, Harvard, and Columbia were all private university powerhouses. Ivy League, too.

Despite it all, Opal found no arrogance in him that was all too common with her colleagues. Dr. Merril just had a warmth that made her want to keep talking to him.

“So what do you think?” he asked. “Want to move forward? The next step would be to make a 3D scan of your teeth. It would take maybe twenty minutes at most.”

Opal glanced down at her phone. 3:02 PM. She was supposed to be on the way back approximately twenty-two minutes ago. Andrew was probably wondering where the updated integration assessment was. She had at least several more hours of work waiting for her.

But Dr. Merrill was looking at her with earnest blue eyes…

“I’d like to move forward,” Opal replied, “but can we schedule it later this week? I just really need to get back to work.”

“That’s completely fine.” Dr. Merrill shook his head and pulled up a scheduling interface on the computer. “I can get you set up for digital impressions as early as tomorrow so I can work on your treatment plan. What works for you?”

“Uh, does Thursday work? Maybe in the afternoon around 2? I know that’s tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. I’m still building my patient base, so I have a lot of openings.” Dr. Merrill’s face lit up with a smile. “So next steps. Tomorrow, we can do your digital impressions and a full X-ray. You can schedule another appointment a week after that. I’ll need about a week to work with the lab and create a treatment plan. Once I have that, we’ll go over everything in detail. You’ll be able to see a digital simulation of how your teeth will move. If you’re happy with it, we can get started right away. Does that sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Merrill typed something and then smiled at her. “All set. Kathryn out front will get you checked out and give you an appointment card.”

Opal stood and gathered her things. She was going to be late getting back to the office, but it was fine. Dr. Merrill walked her back to the reception area where the receptionist—Kathryn—smiled at her brightly before handing her an appointment card. Opal was all too aware of the handsome orthodontist beside her. He was just so nice that it was unnerving.

“It was nice to meet you, Opal.” Dr. Merrill extended his hand, and she shook it. His grip was cool and steady. “I’m looking forward to working with you. I think we’ll get great results.”

“Thank you, Dr. Merrill.”

“You can really call me Apollo,” he said with a dimpled grin. “Or at least think about it. ‘Dr. Merrill’ makes me feel like my grandfather.”

Opal laughed. “I’ll consider it.”

“And that’s all I ask.”

Opal turned towards the door. She exited the dental offices and headed down the hallway to the elevators. The spell broke slightly by the time she entered. Dr. Merrill and his perfect dimples were out of sight and out of mind. Her phone buzzed insistently in her hand. New emails, undoubtedly.

She was back in the real world, but she caught her reflection in the polished steel of the elevator and found herself smiling an actual smile.

The kind of smile that showed the gap between her front teeth. The smile that had been mocked, that had been called beautiful.

For a moment, riding down ten floors towards the street below, Opal felt something that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Giddy.

Like, stupid, silly, giddy.

Opal stepped out into the January cold and pulled her coat tightly around her body. She walked as fast as she could in boots with heels. When she got back, someone would probably say something about her disappearing for an hour.

But she was still smiling.