Five
Trinity
I stride into my manager’s office for our scheduled post-conference debrief, the late-afternoon sun casting long shadows across his cluttered desk. My eyes fall to his name plate as I take a seat across from him, the leather chair cool against my skin. Andy Keshan , it reads. I wonder why they didn’t use Andrew.
“What did you think about the conference?” He opens his notebook, ready to jot notes. After all, I was sent to bring back insight for all of us.
“MedTalks was an eye-opener,” I begin, hesitating only briefly as I collect my thoughts. “You could’ve given me a heads-up about the cold shoulder from the doctors. They see admin as the enemy.”
Andy leans back in his chair, a sympathetic grimace on his face. “I know it’s rough, but did you meet other hospital admins there?”
I watch the rain fall nonstop outside his window. “I did find my people eventually, and they were a great support.”
“I’m grateful you went. You have no idea how much I dread those conferences.” He shudders theatrically, and I smile.
“Get this,” I say. “One pompous guy actually claimed in a talk that he rewrote his hospital’s emergency room intake paperwork himself. Evidently, it was all the administration’s fault that things were so redundant.”
Andy’s laughter fills the room. “He can’t have done that all on his own. The paperwork is set by the government if the hospital wants to be reimbursed for care. But you know what can help with intake? Your project. That provincial-wide electronic medical record system is going to revolutionize paperwork for us. No longer will patients be asked the same question four times. It will be asked once, and we can populate it everywhere it’s needed.”
Pride swells at his mention of the work that has consumed my life for the past three years. “We’ll be ahead of the curve as one of the first hospitals to implement the new software,” I point out, allowing myself a moment to envision the eventual completion of the project. Just a few more months now. “Once that happens, I’m taking a week off. Hawaii, maybe. Just me, the beach, and absolutely nothing else.”
“Sounds like paradise,” Andy says. “You’ll deserve every second of it. Just be warned, your next project might not be as thrilling.”
I nod, already mentally sifting through emails and spreadsheets, the promise of sandy shores a distant but beckoning light at the end of the tunnel. Then I refocus on my notes and take Andy through a rundown of the insights I picked up at the conference. Mostly my experience confirmed that we’re moving in the right direction, and we might even be leading the way.
The meeting with Andy comes to a close with an unexpected twist. “We’re celebrating Janie’s newfound freedom tonight,” he tells me, referring to one of my coworkers. “She signed her divorce papers last night.” There’s a twinkle in his eye, which makes me wonder if he’s particularly invested in Janie’s single status. “You should come.”
“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got plans,” I tell him as I rise to leave, thinking of my best friend Liz and the catch-up session we’ve scheduled.
He tells me I’m always welcome if anything changes, and I return to my office to finish up the day. After checking through the last of my emails, I tidy up my desk, thoughts of post-work revelry pushing away any residual stress.
I bundle myself into my raincoat, and in no time, I’m crossing the Lions Gate Bridge as rain dumps into the water below. Despite the wet weather, downtown Vancouver is buzzing with life, and I drink it in, feeling the shift in energy from the hospital’s sterile hallways to the vibrancy of Gastown.
Liz is already at the Pourhouse when I arrive, her laughter reaching me before I see her. She’s chatting with some tall guy who looks like he walked out of a cologne advertisement. I hang back, not wanting to intrude just yet, but she spots me, and the guy seems to get the hint, excusing himself.
Sliding into the booth across from her, I’m greeted by the mouthwatering sight of two smashburgers, which have arrived at the perfect time. The Pourhouse has this secret sauce that clings to your taste buds, making you swear there’s something to it beyond mere culinary expertise.
“Drinks will be right up,” our server promises with a smile, disappearing into the throng once more.
Leaning in, I ask, “What did we get?”
Liz gives me a wink, all mischief and excitement. “Got you a Widow’s Kiss,” she says. “And for me, a Sidecar.”
“Classic choices.” I grin, ready for the evening to unfold with one of my oldest and dearest. We’ve been friends since high school, and these days Liz works as a physiotherapist. She’s the one who actually saw the job posting at the hospital when she was working on her practicum a few years back and dropped my resume off with Andy.
I pepper Liz with questions as we eat, and she entertains me with stories of her patients and her family. But by the time I’m picking at the remnants of my smashburger, the tangy sauce lingering on my fingertips, Liz is ready to turn the tables. She leans forward. “So, spill it. Did you meet someone at the conference?”
I stab a fry with my fork and try to skirt around the truth. “Oh, you know, just the usual networking.”
But Liz has always been able to read me like her favorite novel, worn pages and all. “I can see there’s more. Out with it.”
Taking a deep breath, I surrender to the inevitable. “Okay, fine. There was someone, but it was kind of a mess.” I recount the luncheon fiasco, how the doctors scattered when they learned I was admin. Each word is a reminder of the sting, the isolation. “And I think Greyson was the worst. He dissed administration during his talk about efficiency in the ED. It was humiliating.” I sigh and look away. Not that he knew I was admin…
“Greyson?” Liz quirks an eyebrow, a silent prompt to continue.
“Yes.” My cheeks flush with irritation and something dangerously close to longing. “We met on the ferry on the way there, and he had entertained me the night before. I didn’t realize I’d be listening to him the next day.”
“Ouch.” Her empathy is as quick as her curiosity. “Was he awful?”
The memory rushes back, a tide of sensation that makes me squirm in my seat. “Actually, it was…incredible,” I admit begrudgingly. “He seemed to anticipate my every need, like he was in tune with me or something. It was kind of mind-blowing.”
“Nice.” Liz’s smile is teasing but not unkind. “So could you maybe overlook his attitude and just have fun?”
I shake my head, pushing away the plate. “He lives in Paradise. And besides, respect is a big deal for me. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t value what I do, even if the sex is earth-shattering.”
“Earth-shattering?”
I look around the bar at the guys we see all the time. “Unfortunately.”
She nods. We’re cut from the same cloth in this regard. Respect is non-negotiable. We fall into silence. Inside, I’m anything but settled, the ghost of Greyson’s touch still haunting me.
The server weaves through the crowd, balancing a tray with our drinks. Her smile is apologetic as she sets them down. “Sorry for the wait. These are on the house.”
“Really?” Liz beams, and I feel myself smiling as well. We offer our thanks and clink our glasses together.
“Here’s to being single and ready to mingle.” Liz’s eyes sparkle.
I raise my glass, joining her toast, and then shift the conversation back to her. “What’s the latest with you and Carson?” They’ve been on and off for the past few months. It kills me that she doesn’t just kick him to the curb.
She rolls her eyes. “I caught him sexting another woman. She sent him a photo of her…assets.” She uses her hands to mimic large breasts, and I shake my head. “Very large, very fake.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” I squeeze her hand. “You deserve so much better.”
“Thanks. It stings, but I try to console myself knowing it’s better to find this out now than after we’d married.”
“Yes! He’s a pig, and if she wants a lying cheat, she can have him.”
“That’s right. Because once a lying cheat, always a lying cheat.”
“Absolutely.”
She leans forward, lowering her voice. “And remember, the best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. ”
We both laugh, and I raise my glass to that sage advice.
Just then, the guy Liz was chatting with earlier saunters over, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Did I just hear an open invitation?” He’s bold; I’ll give him that. He also has excellent hearing.
Liz tilts her head, sizing him up with a smirk. “Only if you’re prepared to devote the next four hours to licking pussy.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, grinning and glancing down suggestively. “I’m more than ready.” The bulge in his pants is noticeable.
“Looks a little small for such big promises,” Liz counters. “We’re only interested in receiving tonight, honey.”
His face falls, but he manages a chuckle. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Move along,” Liz says, and he retreats back into the crowd.
“Men,” I mutter, shaking my head but unable to suppress a grin.
“Like moths to a flame,” Liz agrees, raising her glass once more. “To independence and better days ahead.”
“Cheers to that,” I echo.
Liz leans back in her chair, twirling her glass between her fingers. “You know, Vancouver is like a giant cereal box,” she declares with a laugh.
“Full of fruit, nuts, and flakes?” I finish for her, chuckling at our running joke.
“Exactly!” She slaps the table. “Trying to find a decent guy is like searching for a prize at the bottom—lots of digging through the crazy.”
I nod, sipping the last of my Widow’s Kiss, the bittersweet liqueur leaving a lingering warmth on my tongue. “A prize that probably doesn’t even exist.”
“Speaking of prizes,” Liz says with air quotes so exaggerated they almost knock over her Sidecar glass. “Are you planning to run into Mr. MedTalk if you visit your mom in Paradise?”
I snort. “Not a chance. That ship has sailed. And speaking of sailing, Mom’s off on a cruise to Hawaii with her bestie right now.” I picture them lounging on deck chairs, tropical drinks in hand.
“Good for her. She deserves some fun,” Liz says. “And you do too. We should do something wild this weekend.”
“Between the raindrops?” I tease, but I’m already imagining us trying out a new hiking trail or hitting up a street festival, anything to shake off the drudgery.
“Exactly! A little water never hurt anyone.” Liz grins.
A little while later, we wrap things up and part ways outside the Pourhouse, promising to text each other ideas for the weekend. The cool evening air feels refreshing after the warmth of the bar, and as I walk back to my apartment, I cycle through the work waiting for me tomorrow. Reports to review, emails to answer—perhaps I should get a jumpstart tonight.
But when I get home, the silence of my small space wraps around me like a comforting blanket, and I make a different choice. I kick off my shoes, change into my comfiest pajamas, and crawl under the covers with my laptop.
“Time for some real Netflix and chill,” I murmur as I scroll through the romantic comedies until one catches my eye—a story about a second chance at love.
“Perfect,” I say, settling deeper into the pillows. Work can wait. There’s plenty of my project left. But tonight, it’s just me, the warm glow of the screen, and the promise of a feel-good ending.