“We lived with my grandmother, mostly, when my mother was deployed. She was in the Air Force.” She arched a browwhen I picked up the scalpel. “Reach for instruments like you know what you’re doing.”
“This is my first avian procedure,” I said. “I have several questions about whether I know what I’m doing.”
She grabbed the scissors and pointed to the breast, indicating where to cut. “The last thing anyone wants in the OR is you wasting their time. Make your incision.”
I thought I had this under control, but I’d also thought technique practice was just the cover story. I hadn’t realized she thought I actually needed practice and I didnotwant to fuck up in front of this woman. “But you liked New Mexico?”
“Yeah, mostly. My grandmother was great.” She circled the island to stand beside me, her focus on the bird. She tapped the inside of my elbow and turned my wrist, saying, “You can hold your tools like that if you want, but you’ll have to work twice as hard and your patient will suffer for it. Not to mention your colleagues will hate you.”
“So no big deal, then,” I murmured.
“Here. Like this.” She stood behind me, shifting my posture and guiding my hands like I was a marionette. I could do this all night. All week. For the rest of my damn life. “Do you see? Fewer steps. Less work, less downtime. More focus.”
“Yeah,” I said, though it sounded like the word was clogged in my throat. Having her this close to me,touchingme, was too much. I could barely think. “You’re right.”
She pulled her hands away from me and stepped back to the island to observe. Still didn’t look thrilled with my work. I had no problem with her being the powerhouse in this room, but I wasn’t used to being found lacking. All through med school, I’d had the advantage of my paramedic training plus years of experience, and I’d rarely struggled.
“Keep going,” she said. “Pacing is critical. Know what your plan is from the start and maintain the flow of operationthroughout. You’ll always have to adapt, but if you have a clear vision, you won’t slow down progress unnecessarily and give up time you’ll need when things go haywire.”
“Understood.” I nodded and kept focus on her directions.
I worked for another twenty minutes while Whit berated me. I was slow and awkward with my tools. I wasn’t thinking far enough ahead with my steps. I didn’t conserve energy in the right ways and I lost the proper posture multiple times, although that one had a lot to do with wanting her hands on me again.
It was the kind of humbling I hadn’t experienced in quite some time, but when I let go of trying to impress her, I was able to listen and learn. And that was awesome. Whit was awesome. She was an excellent teacher. Better than anyone I’d encountered here, even better than Dr. Salas.
“You know,” she started, leaning against my forearm, “it looks like you learned to suture with a hotel sewing kit in a dark room.”
“Thank you for noticing.” How I managed to say anything while her breasts were on my arm was a mystery. “Where I’m from, that’s called the MacGyver technique.”
“Here, we call it an inability to maintain appropriate tension.” She breathed out a laugh as she circled back to the stove. “Where is it you’re from, MacGyver?”
“California, just northwest of Tahoe.”
“It sounds like you miss it,” she said.
“I do, but I’m happy I’m here.”
“Start closing up.” She opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle of sparkling water. I was fucking elated that it wasn’t another chicken. As she popped the top, she asked, “Any siblings?”
“A younger sister. She lives in northern Nevada and teaches English at a community college. She likes to say higher ed isgrueling and soul-sucking, and insists our worlds have nothing in common.”
“Stop it. Surgery isn’t soul-sucking. That would require surgeons to have a soul to start with.” She edged closer and covered my left hand with hers, adjusting my fingers and wiggling my wrist until she was satisfied with my position. It took everything to stay focused and not drop the tools and scoop her up right then. “You know, if you go any slower, you won’t need to throw any more stitches because this wound will heal on its own.”
“Are you this mean to everyone or is it special just for me?”
“Please don’t tell me you think this is special.”
I caught her eye and shot a meaningful glance between the cadaver chicken and the stew pot. “I wouldn’t dare.”
She held my gaze for a second, staring at me like she’d find something in my eyes if she just looked hard enough. Whatever it was, I wanted her to have it. Take anything she needed, anything she wanted. But then she looked away, reaching for the scissors and tapping my sutures. “Too much tension here, not enough over there. Do it again.”
I watched her moving around the kitchen while I started over. She checked her phone, rustled in the fridge, pulled bowls from a cabinet. I knew this move. She did it whenever she wanted to pretend I wasn’t infinitely aware of everything she did.
Or she wanted to ignore me.
“This English professor sister of yours,” she said after a minute tending to the stew. “Married? Kids?” She grinned over her shoulder. “I ask because you give strong Cool Uncle vibes.”
A rueful laugh curled up my throat. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, but no, last I heard, Hailey doesn’t see herself married or with kids. She keeps herself fed on the lingering fury from our parents’ divorce.”
