“My face is up here, Doctor. Didn’t they teach you that in med school?” She shakes her head and murmurs something to herself about misogyny and I’m staring at her like she’s backhanded me.
I’m an idiot for telling Kevin that story, but I wanted so badly to share it with someone—to say it aloud so I could relive the way she stared up at me with those melted caramel eyes—to hear her giggle echo in my moronic, thick skull as I recited the details of the night I’d played over and over again in my head.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her again. She’s washing her hands. Scrubbing them really hard, her fingers attacking her wrists, the water steaming, as hot as her rage.
“For what? Humiliating me or staring at my tits?” She tilts her head and watches me.
“Both. Though really it was more of a glance.”
A young blonde pushes through the door and looks between us before hurrying into a stall. Devon grabs for a paper towel behind me and has to crane her neck a bit to keep eye contact. She’s got her lips in a tight line as she smacks and twists the paper towel between her palms.
“Can’t you find another friend group to tag along with?” she asks me, tossing the balled-up towel into the trash.
I could. I could try harder with Dustin or just spend more time in the common room between procedures. I could call Ray, a pediatric neurologist I befriended during residency who landed across town at UPenn. I could even walk around Washington Square and make small talk with my neighbors. Or I could just do what I’m here to do for the next part of a year, put my head down and perfect my skills, and forget about trying to fill my few hours outside the hospital with anything but sleep. But I shake my head. None of that sounds like fun to me now.
“Sorry, Dev. I think we might just have to handle this like adults,” I say with a shrug.
“Don’t call me Dev. I hate adults,” she bites back, then pushes a piece of hair that has come loose during her rant behind her ear and lets out an overstated sigh. “Fine. I’ll ignore you. You’ll pretend like you’ve never seen me before in your life. And no one has to know. I was drugged up. None of it was true anyway. I happen to have zero dust—down there. Freshly-swiffered or whatever.”
I bite down hard on my cheek to keep from laughing. Her eyes find mine, and she widens them, waiting for me to agree.I nod. “Right. All lies. And I’ve never seen you before. Or heard you refer to your vagina as your lady treasures or whatever.”
She puffs up again, her finger back in my face. “This is not a joke. I’m going to trust you despite the fact that I have no reason to, besides your sister being a teacher. But I don’t have to like you.”
The toilet flushes behind her and the blonde woman reappears, keeping her eyes on the sink. She risks a side glance over at Devon in the mirror and then turns, opens her mouth to speak, but Devon stops her by putting a hand up.
“Yes, I’m the girl from the video. And yes, it was all real,” Devon blurts out, her cheeks still streaked with red.
The blonde pulls her brows together and shakes her head.
“I just wanted to tell you that you have a piece—” she points to Devon’s ass, “of toilet paper stuck to your?—”
Devon reaches for it like a dog chasing her tail and misses. I grab it for her and toss it into the trash as the innocent bystander hurries out of the space without drying her hands.
Devon pulls in a long breath and looks back up at me. Then at the door.
“I can see why I thought you were Satan,” she says quietly.
I try not to smile but fail. Which obviously pisses her off more. She tosses me one last teacher glare and then marches—no, limps aggressively—out of the bathroom.
I prop both hands onto the edge of the cool porcelain sink and look up at the industrial A/C vent that snakes through the space and then back at my reflection in the mirror—slightly bemused and more than a little flustered. I’m a goddamned surgeon. I’m trained to handle life-altering situations with calm and poise. But that—that was like standing in the center of one of those hurricane wind machines—equal parts terrifying and exciting. And I’ve got a pocket full of crisp dollar bills out and ready to do it again.
She told me off. I was solidly and thoroughly put in my place—maybe for the first time ever by someone other than my bossy little sister and my mom. I mean, she’s just thrown every ounce of her pissed-off, five-foot-four indignance in my face along with that aggressive finger and told me the-fuck-off. So why the hell can’t I wipe this stupid smile off my face?
Chapter Seven
Devon
Lesson 8: Chickens are always a good idea.
I drop the arm full of groceries onto the oversized island in my mother’s kitchen and catch sight of her through the window above the sink. She’s sprinkling feed across the lawn, her lips moving as the chickens frantically swarm around her feet, pecking so fast that you’d think she’d never fed them before—when in reality any single chicken from her flock could feed a neighborhood.
I imagine the ridiculous conversation she’s having with her feathered fatties as her mouth opens and closes.Bernice, save some corn for Athena, you chunker. Cheeks! Be kind to Betsy!Her chickens are her only chance to socialize besides her overweight golden retriever, Brutus, who is currently waddling around the yard happily sniffing chicken butts.
The chickens had been Tara’s idea—a way to get mom outside more often—and at the time I’d thought it was crazy. But now, watching her smile as she sprinkles the kernels, I have to admit that Tara’s hairbrained scheme might have worked. Though I’d never tell her that.
I’m nearly done putting away the groceries when the back door slides open and my mom comes inside, her long chestnut hair pulled back so the fine lines around her eyes are visible in the light that fills the space. She sees me and smiles wide, as if I didn’t just see her yesterday. Brutus sees me and wags his tail twice, then plops heavily onto the tile floor beside the air conditioning vent. Life is hard, Brutus.
“Hey, hun. No hospital today?” she asks, making her way around the island to wash her hands. They are still covered in the chalky residue from the chicken feed. She gives me a little hip bump as she scrubs, and my boot defies inertia. I nearly topple over. The damn boot is like an anchor.
