16. Jo
Chapter 16
Jo
Third Year of Residency
6 Years Ago, October
I ’m so fucking peeved.
“I don’t understand why you’re not coming,” I whine. Carmen huffs through the phone speaker, clearly just as annoyed with me as I am with her.
“You know I can’t. I’m literally drowning over here.” Carmen’s residency position in the Department of Orthopedic Surgery at Johns Hopkins is one year longer than my spot at the University of Chicago. I’ll finish both residency and fellowship by the time she’s done. Hopefully . “Plus I didn’t even have time to submit for a poster presentation.”
I pout, even though she can’t see me, and push my suitcase across the wood floor of my living room. I miss my apartment downstate more than I’d care to admit, but being in Chicago isn’t all bad. Luckily for me, I won’t have to get on a plane to head back to MMCI for the homecoming research conference.
“I don’t even know how my name is included on our poster, if I’m being honest. I don’t think I even know what we did.” I laugh, thinking about how insignificant my contributions were for my team’s submission.
“Oh, cut it out.” Carmen’s voice is more serious now. “You and I both know you deserve to be on there more than some of those men . Don’t downplay your work.”
“Ugh fine, whatever. If you change your mind, I got a king-sized bed!”
She laughs, finally breaking the tension of the last few minutes. “Well, I’m sure that would make Heather jealous.”
“Wait, who the hell is Heather?” I grab my keys, taking one last look around to make sure I have everything I need for my road trip. “Another flavor of the week?”
“Ahem, month , thank you very much.” She clears her throat exaggeratedly. I would know this if I took the time to call her more often, rather than when it’s convenient for me. “Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’m getting paged. Love you!”
“Okay, miss your face. Love you, bye!” She hung up before I could even get the words out, and I sigh. I miss her.
The wheels on my suitcase wobble as I push them over the threshold and out into the breezeway of the apartment building. It’s October, but there’s a chill in the air, and I already regret leaving the confines of my cozy couch. Three hours of being alone with my thoughts feels like the most daunting undertaking of my life in this moment, but I know it’ll be worth it when I get there. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself to keep my feet moving towards my car in the parking lot.
“Headed out, Miss Jo?” Louis, my eighty-four-year-old neighbor is sitting in a lawn chair in the dog run next to our building. Yaps of excitement explode from his beagle, Bunny, as I approach the fence.
“Sure am, Mr. Lou! Would you mind keeping an eye on my place while I’m gone? I have a feeling I may have some packages on the way.” I really need to get my addiction to online shopping under control.
“That’s simply no problem at all, ma’am!” He leans over to pick up a plastic toy shaped like a donut, and chucks it across the grassy strip. “You’ll never guess who’s visiting this weekend.” I open the trunk to my car and lift my suitcase in with a thud.
“If you tell me it’s Evelyn, I might have to call in reinforcements to make sure you’re behaving!” Bunny runs back and forth alongside the fence with the donut in her mouth as I slam the trunk closed. Lou’s laugh echoes through the courtyard.
“Don’t worry, Miss Jo. I’ll be on my best behavior. Evelyn deserves the world and more.” He just showed up every single man my age in a single sentence.
“You really are the best of the best, Mr. Lou!” I round the side of my car towards the driver’s door, pulling it open. “I’ll keep my cell on if you need me this weekend. Enjoy your date with Evelyn!”
Even my eighty-four-year-old neighbor is dating. What am I doing with my life? I return Lou’s wave with one of my own, and fall into the driver’s seat.
The drive to campus is relatively uneventful. Most of the state of Illinois lacks anything interesting to look at, but Carmen’s road trip playlist provides just enough dopamine to curb my need for a mid-trip coffee pit stop.
This year’s homecoming conference is being held at an upscale hotel just outside Campustown, and I’m lucky enough to have snagged a deal on a room. Even with my decent residency salary, student loans have me constantly worried about finances. I pull into the parking lot of the hotel, and clearly I’ve missed the memo about arriving in my dress clothes. Droves of people in suits approach the entrance, many laughing and catching up with colleagues and friends. I find a parking spot in the final row of cars and ready myself for the rush of anxiety that always accompanies crowds and events like this one.
“You can do this.” I whisper to myself.
The lobby is outrageously loud. All I need to do is check in and get myself to my room, and then I’ll be able to figure out exactly what my itinerary will be for the weekend. Just get to my room, and the noise will go away.
“I’m really not sure sir, we don’t have a reservation for you on record. Could it be under a different name?” The concierge is empathetic, but firm.
“Well, no, it would only be under Britlyn.” Every bit of chatter and excitement from the hotel lobby fades into silence when I hear his voice. Of course, I knew it was a possibility that he could be here. It only makes sense for him to be here. But why is he here? Standing at the counter in a perfectly-fitted pair of slacks that hug his ass and thighs. He looks different, like life has handed him lemons, and he’s trying his best to juggle them while still looking like he’s got it all together.
“I’m genuinely sorry, sir. I can try and call around to other hotels in the area, but unfortunately we are completely booked for the conference.” Isaac doesn’t have a room. He’s here from Massachusetts, and doesn’t have a room. My heart stutters and my brain attempts to process this new information.
“It’s not your fault, my friend, but I would appreciate it if you could see if any places in the area have a room for me.” Isaac’s voice is defeated. “Thank you for helping me.” I look up to find Isaac scrolling brusquely on his phone, a deep furrow between his brows. I stand nearly paralyzed just out of his view until another man behind the desk catches my attention.
“Ma’am? Checking in?” I blink rapidly, snapping myself back to reality.
“Oh, uhm yes, I am. Carello. C-a-r—” I stop as Isaac’s head follows his gaze towards me.
“Dr. Carello.” The furrow between his brow has disappeared, replaced by a small grin. How can he look at me like that when the last time we saw each other, he left me in a pool of blankets that smelled like him?
“Dr. Britlyn.” My voice shakes. I hope he doesn’t notice it.
“I’m sorry sir, every hotel in the area is booked. It seems as though this is a very popular conference!” The concierge from Isaac’s earlier interaction chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. “Perhaps you have a friend who might let you stay with them this weekend?”
Don’t do it, Jo. I swear to God, Jo. Don’t do it. Please, don’t.
“You can stay with me.”
God dammit.
Isaac looks up from his phone, shock written all over his face. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll find something.” He steps away from the counter, still scrolling on his phone, looking for an open hotel room that clearly doesn’t exist in this town today.
“Sir, I suggest you take this young lady up on her offer. You really won’t be finding anything else.”
Isaac’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks again. “Hey man, I was nice when I could’ve taken out my pent-up rage on you. How about you zip it ?”
I stifle a laugh, stepping up to the counter where my clerk is holding out two hotel room keys. “Here you are, Dr. Carello. I would offer you an extra cot for Dr. Britlyn here, but we are all out.” Of course they are. No matter how many times the universe seems to tear us apart, it always shoves us back together in the most outrageous circumstances. And I screw up my opportunity to make him mine every single time.
Taking hold of the room keys and weekend itinerary, I nod my thanks to the gentlemen at the front desk and turn back to where Isaac is standing slack-jawed.
“You do realize you just offered to share a room with me, right?” He picks up his duffel and throws it over his shoulder. I attempt to take hold of my rolling suitcase, but he beats me to it. “Like a bed and everything.”
“I would appreciate it if you would just shut up, Dr. Britlyn .” Heat accumulates at the tips of my ears, and I pull my hair forward to cover them. “I need to think.”
“You haven’t seen me in two whole years, and this is how you greet me?” Following him through the lobby towards the elevators, I glare a hole right through the back of his head. “I expect better of you, Dr. Carello.”
I’m truly not sure what hurts worse: Isaac apparently feeling no remorse that he left me in that hotel room two years ago, or my inevitable collision with Earth when I fling myself off the highest building in town. I shove myself in front of him when we reach the elevator landing, punching the button with the side of my closed fist. For the first time since I arrived, I take a moment to look at Isaac.
He apparently got the suit memo.
It’s only been two years, but he’s aged. There are lines on his face that I haven’t had the privilege of seeing develop. A moment of sadness passes through my consciousness at the things I’ve likely missed in his life.
“I saw you have a panel tonight, that’s exciting.” My head snaps up, removing me from my moment of weakness. Isaac is casually watching the numbers tick down as our elevator approaches.
“Excuse me?” The elevator doors open, but my feet are cemented to the ground where I stand. “I don’t have a panel, just a poster.” Isaac’s hand grazes the small of my back to guide me into the elevator. Damn my heart to hell for responding to his touch. The wheels of my suitcase catch the metal track of the door as Isaac enters behind me, the sound reverberating through the tiny space. My brain is so loud again. I need it quiet so I can think.
“That’s not what the itinerary says, but maybe there’s a misprint.” I fumble to remove my phone from my pants pocket and find the number of my colleague on the project.
“Hey Jo, did you make it to the hotel okay?” Tim’s voice is faint through the speaker before I lift the phone fully to my ear.Even then, he sounds weak.
“Tim, why does it say I’m on a panel presentation this afternoon?” I ignore his question outright, because though yes, I am at the hotel, I am clearly not okay.
“Okay so yes, I suppose you’re at the hotel. I was just about to call.” He trails off, attacked by a round of productive-sounding coughs. I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for him to stop. How dare he fake an illness to get out of talking to me. Who does he think he is?
“Tim? Are you okay?” The elevator door slides open at the fifth floor while Tim is still hacking up a lung, and Isaac and I step off into the shadowy hallway. “Room 562,” I whisper, following the signs toward the furthest end of the corridor.
“What?” Tim conveniently stops coughing long enough to hear my mutterance.
“Tim, for the love of God, please focus. The panel?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice, though I know I should remain professional. Tim is the lead author on our research. The research that was supposed to be presented in poster form. The research poster that I was supposed to be able to stand next to and smile, and potentially talk to a few people about.
“Well, I got a phone call last week that we got promoted to panel, and I was going to do it.” He pauses again and muffles the sound of some bodily function.
Was that a cough, or a sneeze? Maybe a fart?
“But then I woke up this morning to drive down, and well…I think you know the rest.”
I thought Isaac was going to be my casualty of the weekend, but the target is slowly sliding towards Tim’s back.
“This is like, a really big opportunity for us, Jo.” And my legs are officially gelatin. Isaac takes the room keys from my hand. At least I think he does. Either that, or I gave them to him.
Or I dropped them.
I can’t feel my hands. Or my face.
“Jo?”
Isaac pushes open the door to my—our—room, and I watch him disappear inside with all my belongings.
“Yes, sorry, Tim. I’m here. I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not prepared. What if people ask questions and I can’t answer them?”
At some point in the last minute, I sank down onto the maroon carpet covering the floor of the hallway.
“I’m gonna look stupid.”
He lets out a snotty laugh. “You will not look stupid. Will you do it?”
I pull my legs up towards my chest and let my forehead fall against my knees.
“I won’t like it one bit. And I will likely die in the process, but yes. Send me all your notes.”
“Ugh, Jo, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll email you my files right now.” The door to the room opens again, and Isaac extends a hand to pull me up from my spot on the ground. “We’ll touch base afterwards. Thanks again, Jo. I owe you!”
I push myself up without the help of Isaac’s offering and brush past him into the room, my heart rate already skyrocketing from the inevitable shit-show this panel presentation will be. I don’t even know if he follows me back through the door, or if I’m alone when I kick my shoes off and start speaking my worries into the abyss.
“I have three hours to prepare for a presentation in front of probably 500 people that are way smarter than me. Three hours to become not dumb.”
The build-up of static electricity from my pacing on the carpet, just a bit more plush than that of the hallway, comes to a head when Isaac places his hand on my shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, careful and low like a hunter trying not to startle their prey. “Take a breath, you’ve got this.”
I turn to face him, completely devoid of brain function beside absolute panic. “I need you there. I need you to be there.”
“Of course, Dr. Carello. I’ve got you.” Do you? Hesitation and vulnerability fight a losing battle in my brain.
He pulls his hand away from my shoulder, and I instantly mourn the loss of his touch. Why am I like this? I’m not standing here begging him to support me like he used to. We’re not friends anymore.
“C’mon, let’s get you ready for the big show.”
My jacket is too tight.
The room is too loud.
Isaac is sitting too far away.
I’m going to vomit all over this tablecloth.
Dr. I-don’t-remember-his name-because-I’m-panicking approaches the microphone to draw attention to the stage. I glance down the table at the four men seated alongside me. Why did I wear a skirt?
I have a wedgie.
“Welcome panelists, colleagues and guests. I am Dr. Joseph Marciano, the Dean of Research here at Midwest Medical College of Illinois. We have a jam-packed afternoon for you all, with five all-star researchers all presenting original work in neuropsychiatric disorders and treatment.”
Dr. Marciano, yes I knew that.
Wait, is that what we did our research on?
I’m so unbelievably fucked right now.
And not even in a remotely good way.
My gaze finds its way back to where Isaac sits. He’s directly in front of me, about twenty rows back. If I had to guess, there are at least five hundred people in this room, all of them hoping to learn from the “best and brightest researchers in the field.”
“Dr. Carello, would you start us off?”
Ha.
Little do they know, my mother still pays for my cell phone bill.
“Dr. Carello?”
Huh? Oh shit. I feel my eyes grow wide, still solidly fixed on Isaac, who is now looking right back at me. He cocks his head to the side, and one corner of his mouth lifts up.I don’t want to let him under my skin again, but there’s almost no use in me trying to stay away. The string that has tied us together since the beginning continues to pull at my heart.
He nods slowly, a reassuring gesture that has always worked to calm my system and awaken my inner confidence. I can do this by myself, but today I’ll let him guide my way. Only today.
My eyes catch on the way that the overhead lighting reflects off Isaac’s eyes. It’s ethereal. Or I’m having a stroke.
I’m going to err on the side of the stroke.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” I scoot forward on my chair to accommodate for the location of the microphone on the table in front of me. Clearing my throat quietly, I continue, hoping my audience can’t detect the shakiness in my voice.
I can’t do this.
Shut up, yes I can.
“My name is Dr. Jocelyn Carello. I am a neurology resident at the University of Chicago. Today I will be discussing our mixed-methods study regarding trans-cranial magnetic stimulation in the treatment and prevention of generalized anxiety disorder.” My slideshow presentation populates onto the screens around the room, but Isaac’s presence takes hold of my attention once more.
My mouth goes on auto-pilot listing the methods and results of our work. I guess there was more information in my brain than I gave myself credit for. Maybe my next research study should be on the effects of neurodivergence on self-confidence, because mine is simply non-existent.
“Thank you so much for the opportunity to bore you all with the details of our study!” I laugh hesitantly, waiting for Dr. Marciano to reclaim the stage.
“I can honestly say no one here was bored, Dr. Carello! We will open up the floor for questions after the remainder of our panelists have their turn to present.”
Fuck.
I did it.
And no one in the audience is asleep.
And Isaac is beaming. Literally beaming.
I can’t remember the last time I saw him smile so big.I could sustain life off of the energy that he is putting into the room. And I did that. I made him smile like that.
I also don’t ever remember a time where I was seated at a table with such brilliant researchers. Though each presentation was only about eight minutes, my brain has been working at hyper-speed trying to keep up. Thank the baby Jesus that I spoke first. I would look like a chump following these guys.
Audience applause drowns out my self-deprecating internal monologue, and Dr. Marciano takes his place at the microphone once more. Turning to the audience, he extends a hand towards us. “Do we have any questions for the panelists?”
The dull roar of the room quiets, and my eyes follow the arm of Isaac’s perfectly tailored suit into the air. Dr. Marciano points at him, “Yes, sir, there’s a microphone headed towards you.”
Sure enough, a young man in a suit just a tad too large for him, approaches Isaac with a wireless microphone in hand. Isaac takes the mic and begins to speak, but no sound is projected through the speakers. The young man, who is now standing directly next to Isaac, begins to panic, looking around to see who might be able to help troubleshoot the audio. Isaac coolly flips the microphone over, examining what I assume to be a power switch, rights the microphone and begins speaking again, all without hesitation. His voice booms through the system, and I shiver.
“Yes, hello, and thank you to all the wonderful panelists. Such insightful research presented this evening.” His eyes bounce from Dr. Marciano to me. “My question is for Dr. Carello.”
Oh shit.
What is he doing?
I swear to God, Isaac, I will murder you in your sleep tonight.
“Dr. Carello, I noticed you are not the lead author on this work, nor is your name listed on the program for this evening’s event. How long did you have to prepare to be a panelist?”
The prior panic of the microphone delivery man now settles on my shoulders. I glance down at my hands in my lap and notice I’m bleeding. In true Jo fashion, I’ve been picking at my hangnail for the last hour. Fantastic.
“Uh, about two hours…” Dumbfounded, I continue to over-explain myself, “Dr. Timothy Arnault unfortunately came down with an illness at the last minute, and requested I take his place.”
Isaac nods as the crowd bubbles with hushed murmurs. “So it would suffice to say that you had next to no preparation time? Is this your first panel presentation?”
What the fuck is he doing? Irritation and resentment that has been hiding behind the facade of my admiration for Isaac bubbles to the surface.
A bead of sweat drips down right between my boobs. “Oh, uhm, that is correct. Well both things you asked. Yes.”
He nods again, and I vividly imagine how I’m going to smother him with my pillow tonight.
Go to sleep, Isaac.
Never wake up, Isaac.
“Thank you, Dr. Carello, you absolutely opened my mind to new and exciting elements of neuropsychiatry.”
Did I pee myself or is it butt sweat?
Isaac returns the microphone to its original owner, initiating a round of applause. For me? “Well, Dr. Carello, we most definitely commend you for your articulate insight on such short notice! Do we have any other questions from the audience?”
The crowd outside the hotel ballroom is at least six people deep when I exit the stage. Though plenty of time has passed since I was last speaking to my colleagues, my skin is still a wall of flames. I just got annihilated by an angry dragon like one of those books I read as a kid. Dodging and weaving through the crowd, I find a potential escape path right towards the doors to the parking lot.
Fresh air should quell my burning skin.
But before I reach the doors, Isaac side-steps into my path. “You did it!” He pulls me into a hug, pinning my arms down to my sides and squeezing the air right out of me. My feet leave the floor entirely before I can wiggle out of his grasp.
“Oh, hi.” I fight to force the greeting out through my mouth as he squeezes. “Isaac, I can’t breathe.”
“Live with it.” The pressure of his chest against mine unleashes another burst of heat to my cheeks. I let myself relax into him just enough, and he settles me back down on the marbled tile flooring. “That was incredible. You literally killed it up there, Dr. Carello.”
“You know, I was feeling good until you started asking questions!” Irritation laces my words, with silent relief following closely behind. I turn on my heel, heading toward the glass doors. The lobby has cleared significantly, but there are still groups of researchers discussing the findings of the presented research studies. A gray-haired man opens the door before I can reach it, and I storm out, not sure if I’m high on adrenaline or actually upset with him for putting me on the spot.
His footsteps follow me out onto the sidewalk and around the building. His stride could easily overtake my pace, so I know he’s slowed to stay behind me.
What, is he scared?
“ Why did you do that to me?” The culmination of every emotion I’ve failed to acknowledge and process over the last twenty-four hours gets released into the air between our bodies. He doesn’t stop following me, but some enthusiasm fades from his gait.
A conveniently placed park bench calls for me. The wood hits my thighs and then catches my back as I slump against it. It creaks quietly with the weight of Isaac’s body when he sits down next to me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I wanted everyone to know that you did that with next to no prep time. They needed to know.”
“Argh!” I groan, shaking out my hands in an attempt to get all the anxious energy to leave my body. He was trying to make me look good. He was trying to help.
“What can I do to help you recover?” He’s seen me like this before. He knows it will take me time to come down.
Before I can think better of it, I’m responding. “I honestly think I could use a beer.” I want it to come out as an invitation, but a frustrated yell falls out of my mouth instead.
The near whiplash he gives himself turning to look at me catches my eye, and I’m met with a sneaky grin. “That’s quite possibly the last thing I thought you were gonna say.”
My shoulders creep towards my ears in a timid shrug, and so much of the negative energy that has pooled behind my eyes dissipates with one glance at him.
“Whaddya say we hit up Golden Hour for old times sake?” he asks.
I pull my keys out of my pocket, trying my darndest to hide the blooming smile on my face. “Here, you drive.”
The bar looks nearly the same, minus the brand new set of taps lining the wall. “If they upgraded all these taps and still don’t have Blue Moon, I’m going to fucking riot.” I laugh, my heart rate having finally returned to normal while Isaac drove us here in my car. It felt so reminiscent of all the times we drove around Campustown avoiding studying for midterms, blasting classic rock playlists that would make our dads proud.
Too reminiscent of the times I loved him and lost him.