Chapter 8 A Minor Comfort #2
"My mother," she said simply. "I grew up watching her save lives through cardiac surgery. Seeing the impact she had on patients, the way she could take someone facing mortality and give them years they wouldn't have had otherwise. That's powerful medicine."
"It certainly is."
"And I suppose there's something compelling about following in her footsteps.
Continuing a legacy." Theo reached for her water glass, her throat suddenly dry despite the wine.
"She's built an incredible career. Being able to learn from her example, to build on the foundation she's laid, that feels meaningful. "
The words landed as they were meant to, professional and personal in equal measure.
She watched Samuel's expression, saw approval there, the recognition of a narrative he'd probably heard variations of many times before.
The child of a successful physician choosing to honor that legacy through their own career.
It was compelling because it was a story that made sense.
It was also, Theo was increasingly aware, not entirely true.
Her mom had saved lives. That part was accurate. Margaret Brennan was brilliant, genuinely brilliant, the kind of surgeon who did things that bordered on miraculous if you understood anything about the human heart.
But what Theo actually remembered from childhood wasn't the surgeries.
It was coming home to an empty house because her mom was in the OR and her dad was out of town.
It was the careful distance Margaret kept from her patients, and the slow, creeping realization that her mom saw medicine as a problem to be solved rather than people to be helped.
Theo picked up her fork and cut into whatever was on her plate without really looking at it to distract her from those kinds of thoughts.
Across the restaurant, a pianist sat at a baby grand near the bar, playing something polished and forgettable. She found her gaze drifting toward him, watching his hands move across the keys with skill but no passion.
Catherine would have hated it. She’d be sitting across from Theo right now, eyebrow raised, fingers tapping lightly against her glass every time the tempo slipped.
“Did you hear that?” she’d murmur, leaning in just a little too close.
“His left hand is completely disconnected from his right.” And Theo would roll her eyes, play at being annoyed, while silently storing away every comment.
She wanted that, she realized. Catherine leaning in close, her breath warm against Theo's ear, her perfume something quiet and expensive that Theo had started to recognize before she'd meant to.
Their knees touching under the table like it was nothing, like they did it all the time.
The ease of it. The way they would have taken the whole evening apart together in low voices, just the two of them, while the rest of the room carried on around them.
"I'm glad to hear that," Samuel said, pulling Theo’s attention back to him with some effort. "Family legacy in medicine can be complicated, but when it aligns with genuine interest, it tends to produce exceptional physicians."
"I hope so." The response was reflexive, her voice modulated to convey humility without false modesty.
The pianist finished one piece and began another. Gershwin this time, or something trying to sound like Gershwin. The notes tumbled over each other, technically accurate but missing whatever spark Catherine played it with that made the music memorable rather than just correct.
Theo reached for her wine again, and she took a long sip, using the gesture to reset, to give herself a moment to locate the professional mask that had slipped fractionally.
"The application deadline is in September," Samuel said. "I know we’re only at the end of March, but your parents wanted to make sure you had the opportunity to learn about the program early, to ask questions in a more relaxed setting."
Relaxed. Theo felt a laugh build in her throat and swallowed it. There was nothing relaxed about this dinner, about the careful choreography of questions and answers.
But she nodded, her expression conveying gratitude. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure." He smiled. "We're always looking for residents like you. The kind who understand that medicine is as much about discipline as it is about compassion."
The order in which he said those felt significant.
Theo waited until the fourth course had been cleared before excusing herself. The server had just described the next dish, something involving duck that required a paragraph of explanation, when she set her napkin beside her plate and stood.
"Excuse me for a moment," she said.
She navigated through the dining room, aware of the other patrons in her peripheral vision, the restrained murmur of conversation that never quite rose above a certain volume, and pushed through the door at the back.
The bathroom was as considered as the dining room, all marble and ambient lighting, and the kind of hand soap that smelled like it had been imported from a fancy boutique in Europe.
Theo stood before the mirror, taking in her reflection with the clinical assessment she'd use to evaluate a patient.
She looked fine. Better than fine, actually. Her hair had stayed in place, her makeup hadn't smudged, and her expression remained composed. Nothing in her appearance suggested the slow unraveling happening beneath her skin.
Suck it up, she told herself. This is what you're good at.
But the words landed with less conviction than she'd intended.
She pulled out her phone and stared at the screen for a long moment before pulling up Catherine's number. Her thumb hovered over the call button for a moment before she pressed it.
Catherine picked up on the second ring. "Theodora?"
"Hey." Theo kept her voice low, conscious of the bathroom's acoustics. "Sorry, is this a bad time?"
"No. What's wrong?"
“Nothing's wrong. I just—" Theo leaned against the sink. "God, there's this guy playing piano out there, and he's butchering Gershwin. Like, actively murdering it. And somehow that's bothering me more than this whole interview thing."
"Dinner," Catherine corrected. "You said it wasn't a formal interview."
“Right. The dinner that’s definitely not an interview.” Theo heard the edge in her own voice, that dry note she hadn't quite managed to keep out of it. “But the pianist, Catherine… It’s like he learned all the notes and forgot how to put them together.”
There was a small chuckle on the other end of the line. When Catherine spoke again, her tone had shifted to something gentler. "Rhapsody in Blue?"
"I think so. Maybe. I'm still not great at identifying pieces."
"If it's the one I'm thinking of, he's probably rushing the tempo. Gershwin needs room to breathe, especially in the slower sections. Most pianists play it like they're running late for something."
Theo closed her eyes. Catherine would probably be at her piano right now, phone pressed to her ear, wearing that look she got when she was talking about something she actually cared about.
"That's exactly what he's doing. It sounds frantic."
"Because he's not trusting the pauses. The silences in Gershwin are as important as the notes."
“I keep thinking,” Theo said before she could stop herself, “that it would sound better if you were here playing it instead.”
She heard the implication in her own words, the way they hovered uncomfortably close to I wish you were here. The thought sat in her chest, too large and too honest for a bathroom in a restaurant where she was supposed to be impressing a potential fellowship director.
The silence on the other end of the line stretched long enough that Theo wondered if the call had dropped. Then Catherine spoke, her voice quiet. "That's kind of you to say."
"How is it going?" Catherine asked. "The not-interview."
"Fine. Good. I'm saying all the right things." Theo heard the flatness in her own voice and couldn't quite manage to inject more enthusiasm into it for Catherine’s sake. "He seems impressed. My parents will be pleased."
"But you're hiding in the bathroom calling me about bad piano playing."
"I'm not hiding. I'm regrouping."
"Do you need me to come and take over the piano so you can focus?”
“Would you actually?”
Catherine paused as if wondering herself, “If you were seriously asking, I’d seriously consider.”
Theo smiled, “Thank you, but I’ll survive. Actually, I’d better go back out there. The duck course is arriving soon, and apparently it requires three sentences of description, so it must be important."
"Duck is never that important."
"I'll keep that in mind." Theo straightened, "Thanks for picking up."
"Of course,” Catherine paused, then added, "For what it's worth, I think you're probably better at regrouping than you give yourself credit for."
“I guess we'll see."
They said goodbye, and Theo set her phone on the counter, staring at it for a moment before tucking it back into her bag. The conversation had lasted maybe three minutes, but something in her chest felt looser now, less pinched.
She turned back to the mirror, assessing her appearance with renewed focus.
The woman staring back at her looked capable, confident, exactly the kind of resident a program like Johns Hopkins would want.
Nothing in her appearance suggested she'd just spent three minutes on the phone admitting to her neighbor that she wanted her to be there with her.
Theo picked up her bag and headed for the door, her steps steady, her posture perfect. By the time she reached the dining room, she'd located the version of herself that knew how to sit through these dinners without revealing a single crack.
Samuel was looking at his phone when she returned to the table, but he set it aside immediately when he saw her approaching. He stood again, waited until she was seated before returning to his own chair.
"Everything all right?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you." Theo smiled, reaching for her water glass.