“We might be past the point of no return with that. She’s trying to convince me to see the sperm donor again.”
Meri clenched her hands into fists. “I want to know what that child says to her therapist because none of it can be true. If any of it was based in reality, she would be a different person. Perhaps someone less self-absorbed. You can’t convince me otherwise.” She took my elbow again. “Come on. We’ll figure this out. We’ll get you through it. I just need some food first.”
I let Meri lead me to a small restaurant away from the gleaming newness of the Seaport. We grabbed seats at the bar and I nodded along while she ordered a little bit of everything. Once she had a glass of wine in hand, she turned to me, a brow arched.
“Tell me you’re not going to have a fling with your resident,” she said.
It was cold in here, the air conditioning cranked all the way up. I rubbed my palms over my arms. I could still feel all the places where Henry had touched me. I let those goose bumps stay. They were the only things that could. “Of course I’m not.”
She watched me as she took a sip. After a moment of consideration, she patted my leg, saying, “Good. Now, help me eat these apps. You’ll have to roll me out of here if you leave me alone with them all.”
Nine
Henry
Transplant Surgery Rotation:
Day 1, Week 2
“Before I getto assignments and procedures for the day,” Copeland started, wagging a finger at the cohort in the early hours of Monday morning, “there’s an important matter for us to discuss.”
“There’s nothing more important than procedures,” Tori said under her breath.
“I can hear you, Tran,” Copeland snapped.
I swallowed a laugh and crossed my arms over my chest. I didn’t care what Copeland had on her list for us this morning. I just wanted to get out there for rounds and get my eyes on Whit. I’d waited all weekend for this. Every single minute since her friend had arrived at the beer garden.
I wanted to talk to her—alone, without worrying about anyone crashing the conversation. I wanted to know why she’d been so upset last Friday night and what I could do to fix it. I wanted to find out whether she really had plans or if she’d calledin Dr. Mercer for backup. I wanted to ask if the way I traced a finger over her pulse reminded her of the way I traced her clit. And I wanted to know if that night we shared in June was the only thing she saw when she closed her eyes.
Once she’d left, I realized I didn’t have any way of contacting her aside from her hospital email address, though that didn’t seem like a wise path to take. Even if I wrote the most professional, unimpeachable message, I knew it would light up Whit in all the wrong ways. She didn’t want to cross any lines and a small part of me respected that.
The rest of me just didn’t give a fuck about the lines or the limits.
How much could any of it matter? We were consenting adults, and yeah, the next handful of weeks would be dicey until I rotated to a new service, but I didn’t see a reason why we couldn’ttalk. There couldn’t be any rules against that. And more to the point, there was no swinging a stethoscope in this place without hitting people involved in an under-the-radar relationship of some sort.
I knew there were guidelines and all, but I couldn’t convince myself to care. Not after spending the whole damn summer trying to find Whit only to discover her here, right under my nose. Yet I had to hold my breath and wait to see her at rounds or conferences—or whichever social event we cornered her into joining.
“In other news,” Copeland said, “the hospital softball league starts up again this week. This is billed as a fun, recreational event for collegial play within the resident and fellow community. An opportunity to see the sun while it’s up and breathe fresh air, which I’m told some people enjoy. Dr. O’Rourke and I take it a bit more seriously. We want to wipe the floor with the medicine team. I’m hoping that, between the four of you, we can come up with a bit of athletic ability because theother cohorts are a dismal blend of cross-country runners and people who lack the kind of cutthroat competitive spirit we’re looking for. Those fools just want to havefun.”
Tori strutted forward. “I was a three-time national junior champion on the U.S. tennis tour and I would’ve turned pro at sixteen if I hadn’t burned myself all the way out.”
Copeland clutched a hand to her chest and studied Tori with fresh eyes. “Holy shit, Tran. Can you be my power hitter?”
Tori flexed her bicep. “In my sleep.”
Copeland shook her head in awe. “I might’ve manifested a little too close to the sun.”
Not to be outdone, Cami stepped up. “I played four years of field hockey in high school.”
Copeland snapped her fingers, a grin pulling at her otherwise neutral expression. “Ah, so that’s where the killer instinct comes from. Love that for us.” She glanced between me and Reza. “What about you two? Anything?”
“I’ve never found enjoyment in sports,” Reza said.
“But can you hit a ball with a bat?” she asked.
He lifted a shoulder. “I’d rather pitch, if there’s an option.”
“Good to know,” she replied. “Come on, Hazlette. You have varsity football stamped on your forehead. Come through for me.”
