“You’re the best.”
She waves me off and returns to her desk.
As my ancient computer loads, I down the caffeine elixir and flip through the charts. One new patient, a mental health follow-up, a few pain management patients, a hospital discharge follow-up, a couple of chronic disease management patients, and a few well-child checkups.
While I enjoy witnessing my littlest patients grow, it’s the mothers I adore and appreciate most. Especially the first-time moms. While I may be treating their infants, I’m observing them just as closely. Making sure they’re eating and sleeping—enough, anyway—and feeling supported. I meticulously screen for postpartum depression, especially during the first year of theirbaby’s life.
I was only six when my mother was hospitalized for postpartum depression following the sudden loss of our two-week-old sister, Chloe, and while I don’t remember the experience, my older brother does.
In middle school, when my interest in medicine began, I started asking questions. As hard as it was for my mother to talk about her darkest time, she didn’t shy away from my questions. Instead, she supported and fostered my curiosity, and my parents paid for every STEM camp they could.
Cameron and I have always been expected to either work for our family’s hotel chain or pursue a “prestigious” career in law or medicine or engineering. Cam begrudgingly worked for Hotel Connelly. I chose to attend an osteopathic medical school, where I fell in love with family medicine.
While many of my peers went on to work at a hospital or larger facility, I went a different route. Working for Dr. Elliott here in the clinic has afforded me the opportunity to provide the intimate care I’ve always dreamed of. I get more one-on-one time and continuity with patients, which I appreciate.
A few hours into my afternoon, Dr. Elliott stops me in the hall. “I’m about to head out, but I wanted to see if you’re available one evening this week. Julio is getting settled in his new apartment, but I’d like for the two of you to get acclimated before he starts next week. What do you say?”
“Of course.” I smile. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting your son.”
Dr. Elliott quirks a brow that has me replaying my words internally.
Realizing my tone was more eager than I intended, I go on. “You know, to welcome him to the team.”
“Great. Check your schedule then tell Pauline to add it to the shared calendar, please.”
“Will do, sir,” I say before we part ways.
It’s after eight by the time I step into my apartment. The day ended with a late patient and a last-minute walk-in, then came one of my least favorite tasks—compiling complicated notes and dictations. This is why making plans with friends is difficult. Work comes first, and I never know for sure what time I’ll leave the clinic. My dating life is nonexistent because of it. Who wants to schedule a date, only to have it canceled?
Dating apps are useful for last-minute hookups, but after a full day of treating patients, it’s usually my vibrator that ends up scratching that itch.
Living in a hotel isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s nothing like the adventurous Eloise books I read as a child. Though I am spoiled with endless room service and housekeeping. My brother and I grew up privileged. I’m very aware of that and very grateful for the opportunities we’ve been given, but this kind of life comes with a cost.
I wasn’t supposed to be the baby of the family, but after Chloe’s death, my parents treated Cameron and me like precious heirlooms—meant to be handled with care. Protected. Sheltered.
My mom came from a poor family, while my father grew up surrounded by wealth. Despite their different upbringings, they shared the desire to ensure their kids never struggled or worried about money. That’s why they’ve been so picky about our careers. And our inheritance.
When Cam strayed from their plan, refusing to take over the family business, it tested his relationship with our parents. Dad was adamant for a long time, and the tear in their relationship was extremely stressful on Mom. But then Joey came into the picture and shook things up. For the better. Eventually, Dadcame around and their relationship was restored. As well as Cam’s inheritance.
My path hasn’t been nearly as rocky. Finding my way into medicine was natural and fairly simple. The best private schools on Long Island set me up for easy acceptance into college and medical school, though beyond that, I was given no handouts. All the way through, I studied hard and nearly burned myself out.
Dr. Elliott, my father’s primary practitioner, was hiring around the time I finished residency, so I interviewed for the position and got it. The clinic is in Manhattan, so when I started, it made sense for me to move into the penthouse apartment at my parents’ nearby hotel. It’s lonely at the tippy-top, though. No Rachel or Phoebe to keep me company. Just me and my room service.
Dr. Elliott is an objectively handsome older man who’s roughly my dad’s age. I can’t say I’d be disappointed if his son hasn’t fallen too far from the tree. I wouldn’t frown at an office-place romance. With the proper paperwork from human resources, of course. Isn’t that how most relationships begin anyway? Dating—or sleeping with—him could be convenient. Our hours would be similar, and being in the same field, we’d understand each other’s demanding lifestyle.
But when I google “Dr. Julio Elliott,” a multitude of results pop onto my screen, and I quickly give up. I’ll meet him soon enough.
Room service is delivered while I shower, and withFriendscued up on the television, I settle in for the night.
What does one wear to a dinner with her boss and new colleague? Black dress slacks and a blouse like I wear in theclinic? What if the younger Dr. Elliott is attractive? This is my opportunity to make a good first impression. I don’t want to waste it on business attire. Joey doesn’t answer when I attempt to FaceTime her, so it’s up to me to decide. I settle on a navy tea-length dress that hugs my petite curves without being skintight. The halter top shows off my toned shoulders but covers my breasts. Not that I have much to show off in that department.
I inspect myself in the mirror and cringe.Woof. This dark brown bird’s nest on the top of my head has got to go. But I don’t have the energy or desire to wash and blow-dry my hair, so I do the next best thing and get to work.Dry shampoo, to the rescue.
My mom calls and yaps about the latest drama at the country club while I apply my makeup. Then, before I know it, I’m running late. The restaurant is only a couple of blocks from the hotel, but it’s a struggle in the heels I finally settled on.
The April breeze is surprisingly warm as I hustle there. It’s a good thing, too, because I forgot to grab a sweater. Pausing at the entrance of the restaurant, I bend over to fluff my hair and apply lip gloss. Then I approach the hostess stand. Before the person behind it has a chance to greet me, Dr. Elliott waves me over. His son is there, too, only his back visible from here. As I stride over, both men rise, and when I round the table, I nearly knock over a glass of water as I startle. Because the man beside Dr. Elliott is the one man I wished I’d never see again.
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