He laughs. The sound is rich, deep, like honey poured over river rocks. “Sometimes I can’t believe the things that come out of your mouth.” He’s typing something in the background as he talks. “I thought this would be easier since I’m documenting. What can I do for you?”
“Do you remember that time you finally made me cry? When you asked if my dad didn’t like me?”
He’s quiet.
“I can’t believe you didn’t just punch me in the face the first time you saw me again.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I seriously thought about it.” I inhale. “I’m talking to him again. My dad. Do you remember what everyone thought about him?”
“Kendall, I don’t think?—”
“It’s okay. Just say it.”
He sighs. “Well he abandoned you, didn’t he? What do you think we all said?”
“And did you really think it was my fault?”
“Of course not.” He stops whatever he’s doing. “No.”
“And if I asked you if you think someonelike that can change?”
He pauses again. “It’s possible. But I’d tell you to be careful, I guess.”
“Yeah. Well.” I lean my head against my steering wheel.
“Touché.”
“I gotta go,” I say. “But I appreciate your insight.”
“Kendall.”
“It’s okay. You gave me what I needed there. I’ll see you at work this week.”
I hang up the phone and rest my forearm over my eyes. What the hell am I doing?
13
GRANT
I’m eating catered lunch today with the other orthopedic residents, and it’s such a luxury I could cry. Which is sad, but such is the life of a resident.
We talk shop as we eat. My thoughts keep straying to Kendall.
Isaac, a fellow third year, nudges me. He’s doing the same rotation as me, with Dr. Planck and Dr. Fields.
“Hey, is Kendall off today or something? I didn’t see her at the clinic this morning.”
I’ve noticed Isaac’s attention snagging on Kendall occasionally. He’s made a few comments to me here and there. I feel a little weird indulging him—we’re in a resident program made up of over eighty percent white men and we’re confirming so many stereotypes I’m almost embarrassed for us.
“She’s not here,” I say, shrugging as though I’m not obsessing over her every movement. “Why? You interested?”
“No. That would be gross.” Isaac makes an exaggerated face.
Blake, a fourth-year resident, laughs from across the conference room table. “Getting involved with coworkers is a terrible idea,” he says. “Do not do it. I repeat: Do not go there.”
It’s a bit too late for that for me, even though it’s only been one kiss. There’s no way in hell I’m telling either of them, or either of our attendings, for that matter. I have no desire to wade into that complicated mess.
After that, we chat about some other cases. One of the first-years brings up a manipulation being done under anesthesia on a woman who had a knee replacement but never regained good mobility.
