Then she turns slowly to look at me.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Juliette.”
“Yes.”
She laughs, disbelieving. Almost looking like she is on the verge of passing out.
“Absolutely not.”
I step closer. “You said you would ride the bike less.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means I don’t want to spend the rest of my life flinching every time you leave the house,” I say quietly. “And it means you deserve something solid. Something yours.”
She swallows. “That’s too much.”
“You’ve spent years surviving,” I say. “Let me celebrate you.”
“TAKE IT!” Adam practically squeals, shaking her shoulders. He was absolutely elated when I told him about this a few weeks ago, although super jealous because he thought the personalized doctor’s jacket he got her would be the best gift. I had to one-up him. I’m a winner and Adaline only deserves the best.
Her hands shake when I press the keys into her palm. She looks at them. Then at me.
“This must have cost so much,” she says softly, ducking her head.
“You’re worth everything and more.”
“Gay,” Adam coughs under his breath and I nudge his ribs hard.
“Ouch!”
Adaline pulls me into her, tight and fierce, like she’s afraid to let go.
“Thank you.”
I smile into her hair. “I love you.”
.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Life as a Doctor
ADALINE
Hospitals don’t slow down for anyone. Especially not me. They don’t care that it’s your first month. They don’t care that you haven’t eaten, that your feet feel like they’re grinding into the floor, that your head is buzzing with a thousand unfinished tasks. The corridors keep moving, the bleeps keep screaming, and if you stop for too long, you get swallowed.
I’m an FY1, which means I exist in a strange limbo. Not quite a student. Not quite trusted. Responsible for everything and nothing all at once. I write notes that consultants skim. I chase blood results that should already be there. I apologise constantly. I thank nurses more than I speak to doctors, because they’re the ones who save me daily. Although they don’t seem to like me very much.
The rush thrills me in ways I can’t even describe. I know I have countless years to go before I’m performing surgery, but the years are passing by quicker than I thought. I’m unnoticeable inthis sea of people just as smart as me. Yet still somehow, Juliette is not.
The first time someone asks about her, it’s casual. A nurse making conversation while we wait for the elevator.
“What does she do?” he asks.
