“He seems well acquainted with the organization of the house. He arrived with groceries before you got home from your shift.”
“He’s been over a million times, and I asked him to grab a few things when he does his own shopping.” I fight to keep my composure.
“He has additions,” Marcus continues, not deterred by the evident edge in my voice now. “And he appears to anticipate your needs.”
I rub a hand over my face. “He’s my best bud. Of course he does.”
Marcus rotates his Scotch glass once against the table. To an impartial observer, it just reads like going beyond the bounds of a typical friendship. His gaze is unyielding. “Is that really the full extent?”
His face gives nothing away. I’m not sure what he’ll make of my answer.
“We’re…friends,” I manage to say, but even I can hear the half-second it took me to get there.
“Okay, then.” He nods once, then sets his glass down carefully. “So, we need to talk about North Harbor.”
And there it is.
“I’m on it, Marcus.”
“I don’t think you are. Dr. Cameron emailed me last week. She copied me in because she knows I am associated with the hospital through the firm. She wasn’t going around you. She was following up.”
“I get what she’s doing.”
“She’s been patient, Lance. You’ve deferred twice.”
I lean back against the booth, hissing “Jesus Christ.”
Our main courses arrive. Neither of us touches them yet.
I know the pitch. I’ve heard it from Marcus, Dr. Cameron, and from our mother, who called me about it exactly once in a conversation that lasted just a few minutes and ended with her saying she hoped I’d think carefully about my future. That’s the closest she’s gotten to asking me to return home.
“It’s in Seattle,” I say, like it’ll explain why I’m avoiding the topic.
“I know where it is. I took a partnership for the firm’s hospital work, which you know was part of why I accepted it.” He says it plainly, not as a guilt trip, but as a fact he needs to seriously consider. “I wanted to be positioned to support this when you’re ready.”
This is the thing Marcus never said outright, though I’ve known it for a while now. Apparently, my brother has been laying the groundwork for my return to Seattle for years in the most Marcus way possible.
That’s just what he does with the people he loves. He plans ahead, puts things in place, and makes sure the infrastructure is there so that when the moment strikes, the path is clear. He just doesn’t realize that sometimes, it’s not the path other people want to take.
My parents taught him well.
“I know what you did,” I say. “And really…you didn’t have to.”
“I’m not saying it for credit.” His voice is steady. “I’m saying it because I want you to understand that this isn’t just Mom pushing an agenda. This is me telling you that I think it’s in your best interest and I’ve committed my own money accordingly.”
“Marcus.”
“You graduated top of your class, GPA just shy of perfect, student council president—without much effort half the time. And you’re in a Spring Valley apartment on a floor nursesalary because you made a deliberate decision to start over in a completely different profession, simply to prove a point.”
He exhales slightly. Not accusing, just stating cold facts.
“And I understood that. I respected that. But at some point, proving it stops being the point.”
There’s a pause. That’s not how I see myself, but it’s probably how I come across people back in Seattle. I’m still the loud, easy-going Lance people slot into whatever version of me they’ve decided on, and I’ve never really bothered how they do it.
“My firm has been North Harbor’s legal counsel for four years,” he continues. “It’s a multi-site hospital network across the West Coast. They run a clinical leadership program for senior nurses moving into operational roles inside the system.”
I now remember why it matters.
