Anesthesiology is a male-dominated specialty. On my first day of work, I tried to make friends with Cassie and her duo of prim, straitlaced followers. She made it clear in that silent, passive-aggressive way some women use that I wasn’t welcome into her group of friends. So I made other friends instead. Now she seems perpetually angry with me, like I jilted her or something.
I strongly suspect her antipathy has to do with Asher. Despite her on-again, off-again relationship with some radiologist, she still harbors an obvious crush on my best friend. The invitation to Pool Party Saturdays is open to all, but Asher has never directly invited her, likely because she’s such a dick to me all the time. But hey, maybe her hatred has everything to do with me.
I choose the least mealy apple and settle into the couch across from her. “It was decent.”
She peels her—my—orange. “Your group is a little cliquey, don’t you think?”
I hide my scowl in a somewhat mushy crunch of apple. Ironic she thinks I’m cliquey given my friend group formed as a result of my exclusion from hers. “I’m... sorry.”
“Just a piece of advice. You might start considering how your actions make other people feel.”
Classic Cassie. Playing the victim.
She also complains every month that the call schedule is a personal attack against her.
She writes the fucking schedule, gives herself the worst call shifts, then bitches about it.
The girl is alwayssoextra.
But maybe... Maybe there’s some validity to her words. I don’t purposely exclude her, but she’s been unpleasant from day one, so I don’t go out of my way to be nice. I should probably work on that.
Then the wondrous aroma of citrus fills the air, and I give exactly zero fucks about her feelings. “I’ll be more cognizant of it in the future, Doctor Hersl.”
Her dark eyes flick up to meet mine, smooth features cast in their typical Resting Bitch Face. She’s pretty and delicate despite that. Unlike me. My RBF looks like I want to murder things.
Looks usually aren’t deceiving.
My phone vibrates, Ali’s name flashing on the screen. A whooshing sensation sends my stomach to the floor. Ali never calls me this early. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s dead? What if the kids—
“Hello?”
“Joss, hey.” Ali’s annoyed voice comes through the speaker. “Can you please reassure your nephew that you don’t kill people for a living? He refuses to get out of the car for school otherwise.”
The knot in my chest unwinds, and I laugh. “What?”
“Mommy said you put people to sleep.” Leo’s voice hitches, like he’s trying not to cry. “Like Doctor Vannoy did with Buster.”
“Oh, honey.” I try not to chuckle at the pitiful tone. “I only help them take a nap. They always wake up.”
Usually.
99.9 percent of the time.
“Really?” Leo asks, brightening.
“Yes, baby. I don’t kill people.”
Across from me, Cassie stands and leaves without further ado. Good riddance.
“Oh, okay. Bye, Mom!”
“Have a good day in school,” Ali says, and a car door thunks closed. “He’s been so emotional lately.”
“You scared the hell out of me calling this early,” I whisper. “Thought someone died.”
“Crap. Sorry. I felt the same way yesterday when Nic forgot to call me on his way home from work. Why is my go-to response always absolute certainty that they’re dead?”
A bitter laugh rises in my chest. “Because nine times out of ten, theyaredead.”
