Chapter 1
JUNIPER
One Year Later
“Serious question. How many pairs of scrubs does a doctor actually need? Asking from one doctor to another.”
“That depends. Is said doctor working with children who poop their pants and eat their boogers? Or do they work with grown adults who do the same?”
My best friend since college, Valentina, scrunches her face in disgust before tossing a pair of rainbow-handprint scrubs back into a box. “I’m not sure that’s the answer I was looking for or wanted to hear, for that matter.”
“Then why ever did you ask?” I coo, reveling in her disturbance. It’s not like Val isn’t accustomed to scrub life. We graduated in the same class from medical school, my fellowship specializing in pediatrics and hers in obstetrics and gynecology.
It didn’t take long for us to hit it off as friends, and the rest is history.
Taking a break from unpacking, Val reaches for her wine glass and throws herself onto the mattress that’s temporarily stationed flat on the bedroom floor.
“Guess I wanted a justifiable reason for the hundreds of cartoon character scrubs you’ve got, Junip.
I thought wearing pink every day would get boring, but shit, girl, I was wrong.
Pretty sure I’d have to abandon my calling if it meant Disney World profited from all my scrub spending. ”
I take a cardboard cutter to the last and final moving box I have to unpack and slice it down the center fold. “Pays off when those itemized deductions come around during tax season. Besides, the kids love them.”
“Right. Just how I’m sure they love putting their grimy little hands all over you while you wear it.”
“You’ve become a bitter old woman with age, Valentina Bales.”
“You know I’m not a kid person. Never have been and never will be. I can only handle those little gremlins in small doses. You, however, are an entirely different story. Love you for it, but no thank you.”
I’m positive that loving and caring for children is my greatest calling in this world.
Always has been, since I was a little girl.
I take a moment before responding, gathering my black boot collection and meticulously organizing them in my closet.
“I really hope I made the right choice.” I don’t need to clarify.
Val knows I mean this move. This job. The fear that comes with moving away from the only home I’ve ever known.
“You’re allowed to question it. But you aren’t allowed to let it affect what you make of being here. I won’t allow it.”
Easier said than done. “I won’t. At least, I’ll try not to. I just worry about her, you know?”
Val cuts me a sharp look, all while holding up a finger and taking a leisurely sip of her wine.
“Your mother will be just fine. You’re thirty-two, and for the first time since undergrad, finally doing something for yourself, Junip.
You deserve that. This change is good. It’ll feel good to have something of your own.
Patients. Staff. All the things. And it’s not like you can’t go visit whenever you want.
Nashville is what, four hours from Atlanta? ”
I nod. “Give or take.”
I know Val’s right, but it doesn’t mean I won’t worry.
I’m an only child, and for most of my childhood, I was perfectly fine with that.
Until I became an adult with my own dreams and ambitions.
It’s also when I first understood to the fullest extent the damage my parents had done to themselves.
I’m positive I blocked it out. Call it generational trauma or whatever.
Being the daughter of hoarders is not for the weak.
I never truly processed what the stress of living in such a restricted and cluttered environment would do for my mental health.
And when I say cluttered, I mean neatly cluttered.
God forbid if there wasn’t organization to the magazine papers stacked ceiling-high.
Or the canned goods and empty plastic water bottles that are nearly prehistoric.
It wasn’t until I graduated from medical school and found myself really craving the change of being away from home, that I said enough is enough. I can’t become stagnant in a place that no longer benefits me.
They chose to live that way, but that doesn’t mean I have to.
It would all be simpler if I had a sibling to share the weight of care with. And mind you, my parents are perfectly healthy—at least I think they are. They just live in a home that will either kill them from the backed-up filth or from claustrophobia. And they have no intention to ever leave.
I’m paranoid every time a phone number I don’t recognize calls, anticipating the moment a medical professional tells me the mounds of shit they’ve collected finally caved in and buried them to death. I can’t begin to explain the lengths I’ve gone to help them.
But you can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.
It took hundreds of late-night phone calls with Valentina to finally help me decide moving was for the best. And it wasn’t just because of my parents.
Nashville is booming, and for being a homegrown native to the Tennessee city, it’s not in a good way.
I’m burnt out on the party vibe and its constant tailoring to tourists and transplants.
Now that all of my years of schooling are behind me, and I’ve finally scored a job I’m hopeful to be proud of and make my own, I’m ready for something more civilized.
I want a community of people who become my people.
I want to date and meet someone worth settling down with.
I want a lot of things, and I’m proud of myself for finally doing something about it. Doing something for me.
“Then whenever you want to road trip and check in on Mr. and Mrs. Wilde, you let me know, and we’ll ride out, my girl.”
“Thanks, Val. I’m lucky to have you here with me. You’re my main bitch, you know that?”
“Takes a bitch to know a bitch,” she chants, standing to pull me in for a hug. “Just think of all the lunch dates to come. Just the two of us. Like old times.”
I smile wide and let myself feel happy about this new chapter. “Except this time, no hospital cafeteria sandwiches two weeks past the expiration date.”
“The horror,” we wail in unison before Val adds, “oh, this is going to be fantastic. We can eat sushi and crab angels every day if we damn well please.”
Well, now I’m hungry. We’ve been unpacking my things into the new house all day. “Speaking of…I’m starving. May I interest you in some home-delivered sushi and boba Thai tea, Valentina Bales, my most faithful doctor friend?”
“Pretty sure I’m your only doctor friend, but we’ll pretend I’m the top contender,” she answers proudly before groaning.
“Call the sushi gods, Junip. Gotta celebrate the start of your new position somehow, and what better way than stuffing our faces with raw fish? Tomorrow is the beginning of something great for you. I can feel it.”
“I knew you worked with vaginas for a reason,” I tease, earning myself a middle finger. “We’re gonna manifest that, alright?” The laughter between us stills while the weight of something better—something great—takes precedence.
I whisper into the silence, “Don’t let me doubt myself, Val. I can’t. I won’t. Challenge me to do new things and stretch myself with fresh experiences. I want it all. To be the best doctor and best version of myself.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said, but for once, I believe it to be true. It must be true.
“You’re gonna change the dynamics of this city, my girl. I’m confident in that. Just let me offer you the smallest piece of advice…”
I lift my head. “What’s that?”
Her hand reaches for mine while her eyes attempt to convince me of something I’m not sure I’m prepared to hear. “If a hot baseball player in tight pants tries to get in your scrubs…run. We’re in Strikers country. They’re everywhere.”
I gulp, not sure I’m seeing the problem. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. I might like that.”
A quick giggle splurts from Val’s lips. “Oh, you’ll see. The internal struggle is still to come, my friend. Trust me. I know from experience. Those leather gloves and wooden sticks can only get them so far. Just wait until you get a look at their thighs.”
“I like big thighs,” I deadpan honestly.
“Not when your face is squeezed between them with an anaconda about to make a new home in your mouth.”
It’s a good thing I already finished my wine, or Val’s pretty white blouse would be painted ruby red. “I’m sorry, what did you just say? An anaconda?” I choke through laughter.
“You heard me.”
I bat my eyes. “Pic or it didn’t happen.”
She scoffs, reaching for her phone, but I stop her hurriedly. “No. No. No. That’s really okay. I take it back.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She shrugs, and a sense of hope washes over me.
Valentina may be a certified nutcase most days, but she’s my nutcase.
My closest friend. And finally being in Atlanta with her, my new home, feels thrilling.
I’m excited to build a life here. A life founded on my new future and things I genuinely want for myself.
I reach for the wine glass in her hand and place it on the dresser beside us. Pulling her in for one last hug, I tell her, “No baseball players with big thighs for me. Noted. But don’t write out all the other singles in the city. I’m ready to shop around. And not just window shop, babe.”
Val’s long, blonde curls flip softly, nearly landing in my mouth as she lifts her head.
One of the burdens of being tall is towering over the shorties, whiffing hair on the daily.
“Shopping, I can do. Or test-driving. But we’re not purchasing, refinancing, or any of that shit.
Shop, test, return to sender. In that order. ” She winks.
If the opportunity calls for it: Shop for said baseball players. Test said baseball players. Then return said baseball players. Got it.
“I will not adopt an anaconda. You have my word.”