"Anything else," she said. "I grew up in a world built on body dysmorphia. I didn't want to keep doing that. I didn't want to fix people who didn'tneedfixing. I didn't even think I wanted to go into surgery."
"Then…what changed?"
Another harsh laugh. "My father refused to pay for med school unless I committed to plastic surgery. I called that bluff one semester and had to ask my grandmother for help, but she'd already been warned off. It didn't occur to me back then that I could take out loans like everyone else and just tell him to fuck off." She brushed out a section of hair, started on another. "Eventually, I did. I went after a reconstructive surgery fellowship. The way he tells it, he got me into that fellowship. The truth is, he threatened to have me removed from the fellowship and reassigned to something more quote-unquote suitable. The dean of that program was a friend from his residency. My father swore it was only a matter of making a call and I swore I wouldn't speak to him ever again if he did that. The dean pulled me into his office, said he had a spot for me in a different program. That was the last time I took a penny from my family and we've barely spoken since then."
"But you came here," I said. "To a conference that doesn't interest you."
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. "I came to keep the peace. I know how fucked-up it sounds, but doing this one uncomfortable thing will buy me a couple years of distance."
"I'll go with you," I said.
She tossed a damp washcloth at my head. "There's no reason to do that and you'll be annoyed the minute you walk in because no one is talking about collapsed lungs. I just need the chance to freak out beforehand and get it out of my system. I'll be fine."
I aimed the washcloth at her hip. "I'd like you to be better than fine."
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing between me and her reflection for a moment. Then, "The conference isn't that bad. It's a lot of social interaction for me, but once I'm there and in the groove of smiling and nodding, it passes quickly. If you really want to do something, you could come to dinner with us tonight."
I watched as she brushed out the last section of her hair. She looked like an entirely different woman without the wild hair I'd always expected from her. This was a transformation, but not for any of the reasons I'd assumed. She was putting on her game face. Her hair was smooth and golden, the lines in her forehead were frozen, and there were enough products to make her face flawless. It worked exactly the way armor was intended. Except she didn't need any of this. Did she have no idea how strong she was on her own? Didn't she see it?
If she didn't, I'd have to see it for her. "I'll be there."
I didn't knowwhat to do with myself without Sara.
I ate breakfast, read two newspapers, and swam in the ocean, all before noon. At that point, I was bored as fuck and half convinced I needed to get myself to this conference. It wasn't like I could sit on the beach the rest of the day. What was the point? I didn't want to sit there alone. I didn't want tobehere alone. Not after knowing what it was like to be here with her. I didn't even enjoy breakfast without her running commentary on the offenses of blueberries.
After lunch, I read a few more chapters ofNarnia. Those fucking kids. When reading didn't distract me anymore, I went for a walk. I called it a walk. In my head, it was a walk. Some might say I paced in front of the resort entrance for two hours because I wanted to see Sara the minute she arrived and confirm for myself that she was all right, but it was a walk.
When she emerged from the taxi, she looked me over with a laugh. "What is this about?"
"I'm taking a walk," I said, folding her into my arms. "You just happened to pull up." I pressed a kiss to her neck. "How'd it go?"
"Ugh. Fine. Whatever." She dropped her head to my chest, let her shoulders sag. "I need to change. I can't wear this to the restaurant."
Sara was quiet as we returned to the bungalow. She stripped down to her bra and panties, and pinned her hair away from her face to freshen her makeup. Since I was physically incapable of leaving her side, I leaned against the vanity and watched.
"Here's what's going to happen tonight," she said, makeup brush in hand. "This is what will go down. He'll be the most warm, charming person in the world if he's in the mood for it. If not, he'll just make sure everyone knows he's very,verybusy and very,veryimportant. The cell phone never leaves his hand."
"You don't have to prep me," I said. "I'll manage just fine."
"He knows everyone, everywhere," she continued, "and the inconvenient fact of the matter is that many of those people will throw themselves in front of traffic if it gets them a few minutes with him. He really does know everyone, so he can shoot a text and get someone an interview. He can connect you with someone who wants to develop a new tool or procedure or he can hook you up with someone who already has the newest tool so you can learn how to use it. He has a ton of money and he knows people with tons of their own money, and he adores the attention that comes with that power."
I nodded. "I know the type."
"And everything will be great and fantastic until he makes a comment about how the restaurant scene in Boston must be outstanding because I'm looking so well-fed," she said. "Or that the hospital must be working me too hard because I seem tired. Or I must be struggling to find exciting cases since he hasn't heard anything through all his channels and networks. It's always something backhanded like that, something that shows up as concern, but it's actually bullshit at the center."
I folded my arms over my chest. Nodded. I wasn't letting that happen.
"So, I'll sit there while he pleasantly informs me that my work is a waste of time and my hospital is garbage and my choices are dumb, and I won't even be able to look at him. I'll stare at my plate for two hours because even at thirty-ninefuckingyears old, I know I'll crack in half if I have to watch him tell me that I'm all wrong. I'll nod along like I'm agreeing with him because arguing is so much worse, though it's not like I'm ever able to argue in the moment. Even when I prepare myself for these situations, I don't have the right responses at the ready. They disappear. It's like I'm helpless. Like a child who can't stop and say, 'Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?'"
"Then I'll respond. I'll handle it."
She popped a tablet in her mouth, washed it down with water. "You don't have to do that."
"I'm a great buffer," I said. "I don't get to be the buffer too often these days, but I'm very good at it. I can tell you're not in any condition to hear a story about my mother and sister or about my chief resident and every other resident in the building, but suffice it to say, I can soak up all the toxicity around me and spit it out with only a dash of passive-aggression."
"You breathe passive-aggression." She pushed another tablet out of a blister pack. "But you can be my buffer."
I gestured to the pills. "Are you all right?"
