I wrote anyway.
He replied within a couple of minutes, clearly on the same schedule as me.
There’s no wrong weather
Just wrong clothes.
The North Face tell you that?
My dad. While duct-taping a trash bag around me because—quote—it works just as good as the fancy stuff.
I grinned into my coffee and tucked the phone away to get ready.
Somehow, as if acting on an unspoken signal, we kept texting after that—little notes here and there, random observations about strangers on the subway and the cafeteria’s daily special, things we couldn’t say when we passed each other in the corridors.
There’s a lemon bar in the fridge with your name on it
Jesse wrote on Wednesday, and on Thursday, I ducked out to grab some coffee from the nearest place that did the good stuff—one for Tay, one for me, and one for Jesse. Black, one sugar, with an extra sugar on the side because he always grimaced at the first sip yet wouldn’t admit that he liked it sweeter.
“Dr. Maddox is gonna evaluate me after the twin surgery,” I said at Tay’s quizzical glance at the cup with Jesse’s name on it. “Just trying to cover all my bases.”
“I see,” Tay said slowly, with an odd quirk to his mouth. It wasn’t until I found Jesse and handed over his coffee that I realized I’d slipped up—the cup had ‘Jesse’ scrawled across one side, obvious like an exclamation mark. Fuck.
Tay didn’t mention it, so neither did I.
They looked tired.
That was my first thought. They looked tired and scared and a little hopeful—like people who were trying their damned hardest to treat each day like a gift because they couldn’t be surethere’d be another. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. Their babies were asleep in an extra-wide stroller, curled into each other with a blanket tugged over them. Tiny hands, rose-pink mouths parted in sleep, pale lashes against peach-smooth cheeks. Like this, you’d never know they shared a liver.
“Mrs. Jackson. Mr. Jackson.” Novak folded her hands on the conference table. She didn’t smile, but her tone was gentle. “Thank you for coming in today. This is to meet the full team and walk you through the steps once more, just to ensure that everything is clear.” She lowered her voice. “Nothing starts without your say-so.”
The mother nodded quickly, jaw tight. “We’re ready.”
“We are.” The father’s voice was low, as if afraid he might wake his daughters. His hand clutched his wife’s like they were each other’s lifeline.
How could they possibly be ready? How could anyone be?
“Good,” Novak said, “then so are we.” She gestured at the man seated beside her, his face serious, blue-rimmed glasses the same color as his scrubs. “You already know Dr. Lee, who’ll be leading the second team. You’ve also met Dr. Carter”—she nodded at Tay, just next to Dr. Lee—“who will be his first assist.”
Tay sent the parents one of his easy, reassuring smiles, which earned him a faint one back from the mom.
“Dr. Maddox,” Novak continued, “will be mine, as you know.”
Jesse inclined his head, quiet and steady, and my chest gave an odd tug. Secondhand pride, tangling with sharp awareness of the distance between us.
Novak introduced the others in order of importance—two anesthesiologists, a vascular specialist, two surgical nurses. “Supporting on either table,” Novak said then, “will be Dr. Ruiz and Dr. Hayes.”
Me.My stomach dipped. I wasn’t important here, could be swapped out at a moment’s notice. Still, when the Jacksons’ eyes flicked to me, I tried to appear trustworthy. Most likely, I just looked young and inexperienced next to everyone else—even compared to Jenna Ruiz, the other resident, who had a whole two years on me.
“The surgery will go in phases,” Novak said. “We start by separating shared blood vessels. Then the liver bridge. Once both circulations are independent, closure.” She gave the parents a moment to process. “You’ll hear us talk about clamp times—that’s how long we cut off blood flow while we work. We’ll keep those as short as possible.”
The father’s throat worked. “What are the odds?”
Sixty to seventy percent that both made it, and only because Devon Memorial was a top pediatric surgery center—that’s what Jesse had told me. God, but how do you explain to a parent that they might outlive their child?
“We’ve spent weeks studying the scans and running simulations.” Novak’s voice was calm, steady. She leaned forward, her full attention on the Jacksons. “The most important thing is that each of your daughters has her own heart and lungs. As you know, that’s what makes separation possible. However, they do share a large portion of their liver and some of the structures in the lower abdomen.”
The mom nodded to show she was following, eyes a little wet in the stark brightness of the conference room.
