30. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Caroline
Good luck texts
I type the words into my list of things to be happy about and close my phone before walking into the testing center, feeling about as confident as someone going into their first board exam can feel thanks to the friends and family who have encouraged me today.
Some of their messages made me laugh, like the one from Morgan, who sent me a picture of her boobs with the caption, “ Crossing my tits for you. ” Some of their messages made me cry, like the one from Cassidy, who sent me six paragraphs about why I’m going to make an amazing Doctor. But my favorite message of all was the one from Weston, who wished me luck and said that he would be waiting for me tonight with an assortment of takeout and a bottle of wine.
We’ve only seen each other once since I left his house because it’s been crunch time, but even that one moment felt like enough to keep me going. He surprised me on his way home from work, taking me and Carter out for Jenni’s ice cream. Watching Carter’s tiny face react to the different flavors was absolutely hilarious, and it reminded me that there’s light at the end of this tunnel . . . in eight hours, after I finish this exam.
***
My legs feel unsteady and there’s a non-zero chance that I might vomit into the bushes when I make it to my car because I genuinely have no idea how I did. And since it’s apparently impossible to provide an immediate score for a multiple-choice exam in 2024, I’m not going to find out for a while.
I slide into the front seat of my car and pull out my phone, expecting to find a blank screen since most of the people I regularly talk to know that I’ve been in multiple-choice hell all day. Instead, I find fifteen text messages from Morgan.
SOS
Call me ASAP when you get out of your exam.
I need you to come over.
Jesus Christ.
There are twelve more iterations of the same message, all without context.
Knowing her, it’s probably nothing. If I had to guess, she’s freaking out over something related to the newest Love Island season, or wants me to look at her decorations for her Halloween party. But I shoot off a text to Weston just in case to let him know that I might be slightly late tonight.
I call Morgan, putting her on speakerphone as I dig through my backpack to find a snack. We had a lunch break halfway through the exam, but I was so anxious that I couldn’t bring myself to eat. Now that I have a detour to make, though, I need to put something in my stomach or I might pass out.
Morgan answers after a single ring. “Oh, thank god.”
“What?” I ask, though it sounds muffled because of the handful of Cheez-Its in my mouth.
“Are you on your way to my house?”
Her tone is almost desperate, and it makes me pause for a second after I start the car.
“I’m leaving now,” I say, swallowing down the crackers with a cough as I back out of my spot. “Is everything okay? Do you want to talk while I drive over?”
The testing center is off Buford Highway, so it shouldn’t take me long to get to her house, but maybe I can walk her through whatever she’s worried about over the phone.
“No, no,” she dismisses me breathily, like she’s pacing back and forth. “I just need your medical opinion on something.”
My brow furrows as I pull out of the parking lot. “Okay . . . but you should probably talk to your husband . . . you know, a real doctor.”
I don’t add that my medical opinion is the last thing that I want to give to anyone right now because I have no idea if it’s even a good one.
According to the board, my results will come out anywhere from two to four weeks after I sit for the exam, but I won’t know the exact date until they send me an email an hour before they’re available. If I pass, I’ll continue with my clinical rotations and then take Step 2 at some point during my third year of school. If I fail, I have to stop everything and do a remediation class to ensure that I pass when I retake the exam. Though, at that point, I might just consider calling it quits altogether because I genuinely don't think I can handle this stress again.
“Walkie is in a case until late tonight. Some dumb rotation thing,” Morgan argues, pausing for a second before she adds, “and I don’t want him. I want you.”
“Okay . . .” I say, pulling up her address on my phone’s GPS. “I’ll be there in eight minutes.”
“Great.” Her voice quickly perks up. “Hope your test went well. Love ya. Bye.”
Her playful tone makes my concern slightly ease. Morgan might be reckless, but she’s not an idiot—she would go to the hospital if this were really serious.At least, I like to think that she would.
When I pull up to her house, I let out a long exhale. I still feel like I’m on edge from the exam, and I’m hoping that this is quick so that I can go wind down with Weston.
I park on the curb and step out of my car, walking up the front path to her porch.
The front door swings open before I have a chance to knock, revealing a barefoot Morgan at the center, her caramel-colored hair pulled back into two braids on either side of her head.
“You got here fast,” she says, her tone almost accusatory as she steps aside to let me in, like she wasn’t the one who begged me to come over as soon as possible.
I shake my head because I should have known better than to speed down the last stretch of Piedmont. I can’t take anything she says seriously—especially when she’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that says, “ Dilaudid with a big D. ” She's clearly fine.
“Sorry. Next time you send me a text that says you're having a medical emergency, I'll be sure to go slow.”
Morgan shrugs, closing the door behind her. “I mean . . . it could be a medical emergency.”
“Care to elaborate?” I ask, crossing my arms as I lean against her living room wall. “Or are you going to make me guess?”
I love her to death, and I’m grateful for her friendship, but I don’t have the mental capacity to tolerate her flair for hyperbole at the moment.
Morgan lets out an exaggerated sigh and flops onto her couch like she’s trying to melt into it. “Do I need a prescription for a vaccine if it’s something that isn’t routine?”
I frown because her question catches me off guard. “What kind of vaccine?”
Most drug stores should carry whatever she needs, but sometimes more obscure vaccines require an appointment first to make sure it’s in stock. At least, I think that’s the case . . . I’m sure I’ll find out once I do my internal medicine rotation.
“Rabies,” she mutters, staring at the ceiling fan like she’s in some sort of trance. “Though, I’m probably too far gone already.”
That makes my ears perk up because I know she’s recently gotten into feeding her neighborhood squirrels. She even bought a birdhouse with food and a camera to watch them, so I could definitely see her getting too comfortable and trying to pet one, or something.
I push off the wall and walk toward her, lowering myself to her eye level. “What are you talking about? When did you get bitten?”
My brain instantly kicks back on as concern begins to set in. Symptoms of rabies don’t usually manifest for weeks to months after a bite. But once they hit, it’s almost always fatal.
Morgan looks fine, though—maybe a little pale at this exact moment—but otherwise, she’s acting totally normal. If she starts the vaccine protocol today, she should likely be okay . . . I think.
She slowly turns her head. “Nothing bit me,” she replies quietly.
I don’t know if she’s purposely being coy, or if she’s genuinely sick, but something seems to have shifted in her demeanor. She almost looks worried.
“Okay . . .” I say, softening my tone. “So why do you think you have rabies?”
Morgan rolls her stormy-green eyes and points to her face.
“This.”
I study her, waiting for something to happen, but she simply blinks. “What?”
She lets out an exaggerated huff.
“I can’t stop drooling,” she answers, her lip quivering like she’s about to start crying. “I feel like my mouth is a waterfall of spit that I have to keep swallowing down, and I’m pretty sure that’s a symptom of rabies. Right? Which means I’m going to die.”
I knit my brows, trying to understand.
Technically, she’s not wrong—hypersalivation is a late-onset symptom of rabies. But she would also have a fever, neurological complications, and a whole host of other issues along with it.
“So you’re just salivating more than normal?”
There are a ton of very normal reasons that would cause her to feel like she’s drooling more—infection, diet, allergies, pregnancy. Unless she’s experiencing any other serious symptoms, I’m not sure she should jump straight to death.
Morgan sits up, frustratedly pushing her fly-away hairs out of her face.
“I mean, that’s the thing annoying me the most today . But my stomach also kind of hurts, and I’m literally so exhausted. I didn’t even want to have sex with Walker this morning before he went to work, so that’s how I definitely know that I’m dying.”
Her lips tilt to the ground, and she winces. “Ugh, and now I want to cry. Fuck.”
I fight a grin as the diagnosis hits me. “Morg . . . when was your last period?”
Her angry glare might make me rethink my amusement if she wasn’t on the verge of a mental breakdown because she thinks she has rabies. Instead, it just makes me snicker.
“I’m not pregnant, dimwit,” she sneers, pinching her nose in frustration. “Don’t you think I already thought of that? It’s impossible.”
“Humor me.” I chuckle as I join her on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Why do you think it’s impossible?”
Medically speaking, unless either one of them has had a surgical procedure to prevent pregnancy, anything is possible. The only other thing that would make it impossible is practicing abstinence, and unfortunately, only one of us is doing that at the moment.
Morgan turns and points her finger like I’m about to get reprimanded. “You can’t tell anyone this, I swear to god.”
I have to bite back my smirk because I can tell she’s serious about whatever she’s about to say. “Your secret is safe with me.”
She inches closer to me, stopping when she reaches my legs. “And you can’t laugh or make fun of me. Okay?”
I arch a brow. “Can’t promise that.”
“Fine,” she concedes with a groan, sitting back on her heels. “Walker and I decided to start trying to have a baby. But this was the first month, and I fucked up my ovulation testing strips, so I think we missed the window. Apparently it’s, like, a lot harder to get pregnant than they teach you in school.”
I stare at her for a second, wondering how she went from someone who was adamant that she would never get married to someone who’s trying to have kids with her husband after only a few months. Walker must have a really incredible dick, or something, because there’s no way she would do this for anyone else.
Tabling that thought for later, I ask, “Why can’t we tell anyone, Morg? That’s amazing news.”
She sighs, chewing on her thumbnail nervously. “Because Cass and Parker have been trying, and I don’t want to hurt their feelings if it happens before them.”
I look down, feeling slightly guilty that I didn’t know. I’m sure they probably told me at some point, but I’ve been so focused on myself and my problems that I haven’t paid attention to anyone else’s.
“They’re going to be happy for you either way.”
Cassidy has one of the purest souls of anyone I’ve ever met. She would never dampen someone else’s happiness, even if she was struggling. And given how obsessed my brother is with Carter, he would be thrilled to have another baby to spoil, even if it wasn’t his own.
Morgan swallows, her expression more uncertain than excited. “So you’re sure it’s not rabies?”
I offer her a smile. “Only one way to find out . . . do you have any pregnancy tests?”