Austin’s condo is only one floor above mine, so I take the stairs rather than waiting for the elevator.
“Luke, you made it!” Austin exclaims, clapping me on the back. “Saved enough lives for one day?”
“I didn’t want to make the rest of you look bad,” I quip, rolling my eyes as I hand him the bag of pretzels.
“Bad day?”
I wonder if I’m wearing my feelings on my face. It hasn’t exactly been a bad day, but in one afternoon, everything’s changed. Melissa’s divorced and back in town, and I can’t get her out of my head.
And if anyone could read me, it would be Austin, who’s been my best friend since we met in med school. He likes to joke that I’ve been following him around ever since, but I could accuse him of the same thing. We both went to Montreal for residency, although I did general surgery and Austin did plastics. After fellowships in different cities (trauma in Toronto for me, microsurgery in LA for Austin), we both ended up back in Somerset last year.
“No, I’m fine,” I tell Austin, in what I hope is a casual tone.
I make my way to the living room to join Ethan Atwell and Drew Malone. Ethan’s a general surgeon like me, while Drew’s both a nationally renowned neurosurgeon and the chief of the surgery department. They’ve got the baseball game on; the Blue Jays are playing the Yankees, and if they lose, they won’t make the playoffs.
“Hey, Luke,” Ethan says. He gestures to the can of beer in front of him. “I brought a case, help yourself. It’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks, but I’m on call tonight.” I like beer, but I never drink on call. I figure I owe it to the patients to be as sharp as I can.
“One drink won’t hurt.” Ethan sounds more defensive than he should, since he’s not on call himself. “If you’d be safe to drive, you should be safe to operate.”
“Luke’s drink of choice is Pepsi,” Austin interrupts, handing me a can. “I’m a Coke man, but I buy Pepsi just for him, so the least he can do is drink it.”
“Thanks, Austin.” I take the drink, and the awkward moment passes. Technically, I don’t disagree with Ethan; if you can drive after drinking a beer, you should be able to operate, but it’s just not something I’m comfortable with.
But I’m afraid Ethan’s gotten comfortable drinking a beer or two on call—over the past few weeks, there have been whispers around the hospital that he has an alcohol problem. He’s never shown up to work obviously drunk, but he’s been late for clinic a couple of times, and he was even late for surgery one day. This is always a red flag; most surgeons wouldn’t be late to the operating room unless they were on death’s door.
I’ve known Ethan since we were both residents in Montreal, where he was a couple years ahead of me. He supervised my very first rotation of residency, when I barely knew my ass from my elbow, and he was the best mentor I’ve had. The most useful lessons of my training came from Ethan: YouTube videos are more useful than textbooks for learning anatomy, and the secret to a successful surgical career is to suck up to the operating room nurses.
When I got a job as an attending in Somerset, I started hanging out with Ethan as a friend rather than a mentor. At first, he was the same guy I’d known in Montreal: bright, funny, and surgically gifted. But in the past few months, something’s changed; he’s irritable, and he doesn’t hang out with us nearly as much as he used to. Austin blames Ethan’s girlfriend Jess, who he’s nicknamed the Ice Bitch, and I agree Jess could make any man irritable. But I’ve also heard a rumor that Ethan’s being sued over a case that went bad.
As Ethan goes to the fridge for another beer, I sneak a glance at Drew. As the chief of surgery, it’s his responsibility to deal with doctors who have problems, so if anyone has the right to confront Ethan, it’s him. I’m sure Drew’s heard the rumors, but as usual, his expression gives nothing away. I wish he’d stage some sort of intervention, because it’s painful to watch Ethan unravel.
Austin sets a bowl of pretzels on the coffee table next to a veggie tray. The veggies are for Drew, who treats his body like a temple and never eats junk.
“What’s that smell?” Austin asks with a frown. “Is someone wearing perfume?”
“Shit!” Ethan groans. “Jess stayed over last night.”
“So now you’re wearing perfume to try to scare her away?” Drew asks innocently.
I bite back a laugh. Drew clearly shares Austin’s opinion of Jess.
Ethan sighs. “She does this thing where she sprays perfume in the air and walks through it. I guess I walked through it and didn’t notice.”
Austin wiggles his eyebrows. “Smells pretty good.”
Ethan rolls his eyes and turns to me. “How’s your girlfriend doing?” he asks, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
My mind instinctively goes to Melissa. “She’s anxious, obviously, but her daughter’s going to be fine.”
“Her daughter?” Ethan asks in confusion. “I didn’t know Sloane had a kid.”
Everyone’s staring at me, and I realize my mistake. “She doesn’t,” I say quickly. “I was thinking about someone else. A patient’s mom.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Now everyone’s wondering why I answered a question about my girlfriend with a reference to a patient’s mom. Even the famously poker-faced Drew Malone has raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, Sloane and I broke up,” I say quickly, hoping to distract them from thoughts of patients and their mothers. Austin knows the story, but it’s news to Ethan and Drew.
