Date: February 26
Subject: Confession
Here's my confession for today: I know it's not about sex. I was being bratty when I said that, and I'm sorry.
This expedition has been exhausting and I'm behind on everything, and that's not some bullshit blow-off line. I'm overwhelmed right now, and that's not something I say to people. I avoid and I do unhealthy things. I wait until I'm so far past overwhelmed that I can't remember the origin of it all, and then I get even more unhealthy, and then I beat myself up for letting any of it happen. But I'm telling you and I need you to understand.
So…maybe you could hang tight for a bit? I know I'm asking a lot, and you probably don't want to wait for me much longer. I get it.
*It hasn't escaped my notice that we're now utilizing multiple asterisks on a regular basis. I'm not fond of this.
* * *
From: Nick Acevedo
To: Erin Walsh
Date: February 26
Subject: Confession
Erin…
I'll always wait for you. Don't you dare doubt that, Skip.
Churn that data. Write those papers. I'll be right here when you're ready for me.
*It didn't escape my notice that you trust me enough to tell me when you're overwhelmed. Keep doing that, okay?
* * *
They saidthe first year of marriage was the hardest. I believed it, even though I knew conventional wisdom was never meant for marriages with thousands of miles of distance on top like an extra serving of rainbow sprinkles. Those first-year marriage struggles were about household chores and money, where to spend the holidays and remembering to put the toilet seat down. Did it make us stronger to spend our first year hunting free moments for video chats and negotiating with the schedule gods for a few days together? Or was that just more proof that we were playing a fantastical game with no real consequences?
But it didn't feel like a game. That was the least confusing part. It felt like I'd left a chunk of myself with Nick, and while I could steal it away from him, I'd never get it—me—back in the state I gave it. Nick changed me, or maybe I changed while Nick was watching, but I was different now. I wanted things that I didn't understand, and cared for him in a way I didn't believe possible, and I wanted this to work. I didn't want to stop pretending, or whatever I was doing.
Chapter Eighteen
Nick
"You still haven't givenme a date," I said, glancing at the screen before returning to my leftover lo mein. "I need to see you, Skip."
"How can I?" Erin asked, her eyebrow arched. "Your schedule has been brutal. If I wasn't so selfish, I'd feel guilty for keeping you up tonight."
"You're allowed to be as selfish as you want," I said, but I nodded while I stabbed the carton.
Iwastired, and a little grouchy, too. I'd logged more operating room time in the past four months, since becoming an attending surgeon in December, than I imagined possible. Being the low man on the pole meant I had all the overnights, all the weekend on-calls, all the ER consults, all the clueless interns. I hadn't been running in weeks, and my diet consisted exclusively of takeout from Cambridge Street restaurants. We were surviving on emails, quick calls, and a measly bunch of brief video chats since she'd arrived back in Reykjavík last month.
"Will it always be like this for you?" she asked, a bit tentative. "Crazy hours, no time off?"
I kept stabbing at the noodles. "No, it gets better," I said. "Surgeons are notoriously cannibalistic. We want everyone to suffer on the way up just like we did, and once that's achieved, it's all good times and golf." She nodded as if this made any sense. "Private practice would be easier."
"You'd hate that," she said automatically. "I don't even know what that really entails, but if it's anything like the difference betweenGrey's AnatomyandPrivate Practice, I'm comfortable saying you'd hate it."
"That's probably accurate," I said. "But there's a new attending coming in, someone from U-Wisconsin, and we'll haze her next. She'll get all the extra coverage, and I'll step outside and figure out which season it is right now."
"Still winter in the northern hemisphere, hon," she murmured. "About three weeks until the vernal equinox."
"Thanks, darlin'," I said, but I wanted to get back to the topic at hand. "You know I like you selfish. I also like you naked. When can I have that?"
