Page 68 of When the Smoke Clears

“She’s brilliant, and patients love her,” one of my nurses, Kelsey, says.

My back straightens. I’m the toddler?

“Treating patients requires more than academic knowledge. It’s about experience and well-honed intuition,” he says. “A twenty-eight-year-old doesn’t have the wisdom or the right interpersonal skills to do this job.”

I knock on his door, and Kelsey opens it, her face immediately morphing into a cringe.

“Good morning. Would you mind giving me a moment with the warlock?”

Her blue eyes widen, lips pressed between her teeth to hide her grin, and she quickly nods before skittering down the hallway.

Dr. Fossil glances up from his desk, readers low on his bulbous nose, thin, dark-gray hair combed straight back. “You must be her.” He removes his glasses and sits up, back straight.

“Yes. I go by Dr. Her.” I step in front of his desk and pick up a framed picture. “Grandkids?”

He narrows his eyes, and I smirk. In the photo he’s standing next to a blond woman, who looks close to my age, and two boys probably under five. No doubt his much younger wife and kids.

I return the photo to the desk. “There is one male nurse and a male PA in this clinic. The other thirteen employees are women, including myself. For your well-being, I suggest the two of us deal with your complex array of disorders (superiority complex, chauvinism, entitlement, NPD, or good old fragile masculinity) privately. I know every employee’s name, their significant others, the names and ages of their children, their birthdays, and I buy lunch for everyone on the first Monday of the month. The people who work here and those who receive treatment are Team Her. So please be mindful of that.”

He studies me for a few seconds, jaw clenched. “I figured you’d list your résumé to earn my respect.”

“You know my résumé. I’d venture to guess you’ve lost sleep over it. Perhaps you think of my résumé while masturbating, whiffing your tee shot, or dripping coffee on your tie.” I nod at the spots on his tie.

He flips his tie out and frowns at the dark-colored dots.

“Okay. Good talk, Mitchell. Let me know if you have any more questions. My door is always open.”

I spin on my heel. Kelsey and several other staff members scatter the second I open the door.

When I’m safely in my office, I call Will.

“We’re not going to dissect what happened,” he says without a “Hi” or any sort of greeting.

“Will, I already dissected it. It’s not about that. There’s a new doctor at the clinic, an older guy. Even older than you. And he thinks I’m too young, too inexperienced, and probably too feminine to do my job. It irked me, so I embarrassed him by saying he probably masturbates to my résumé. Of course, I know I should apologize and calmly address any concerns he has about my age and gender. It’s important to have a healthy relationship with colleagues, and really, it’s essential to positive outcomes for patients. But I was on a huge high walking into work this morning because my roommate and I had a discussion about my panties, and then I overheard Dr. Mitchell Swan running his mouth about me, and we hadn’t even met yet. But none of this is your problem. I’m just using it as an excuse to call you.”

“Everleigh?”

“Yeah?”

“Dr. Swan is an asshole.”

I grin. “That’s what my dad would say too.”

“Speaking of dads, I’m afraid my dad is going to die.” Will’s words (his vulnerability) punch the air from my chest.

I clear my throat. “It’s natural and understandable that you would feel—”

“Don’t shrink me.”

On a slow exhale, I sit in my desk chair. “I’m afraid you’re probably right. I’m sorry. Life is really fucking unfair.”

“I don’t want to be there when it happens. Does that make me a terrible son?”

What?

Tears burn my eyes, and I can’t speak. He has no idea what he’s doing to me. “Yes,” I whisper.

“Jesus, Everleigh. Don’t sugarcoat it.”