Stargazing with You

12. Medical School

Chapter 12

Medical School

Fourth Year

T he blue light of my laptop cast an eerie glow in my dark room, the tab bar at the top of my browser open with about twenty different home pages for neurology residency programs. My notebook was open beside me in my bed, with pros and cons lists for each program. The Match, the online program that sorted medical students into residencies, was set to open in a few days. I had all my ducks in a row—the lists of extracurricular activities, references from my mentors, a personal statement—ready to upload when the program went live. My score from Step 2, the second of our licensing exams, had posted the week before, and I was pleased that I had done significantly better on the second exam than I had on the first. All I needed to do was finish my list of programs to which I’d be applying in the coming weeks.

Startling me out of my focus, my phone began to vibrate against my thigh. I couldn’t imagine who would be calling me, considering it was nearing midnight. I saw Javi’s and my picture on the screen, and my heart clenched painfully at the sight. It had been three months since that ill-fated trip to California that had ended in the dissolution of Javi’s relationship. We hadn’t spoken since, true to our word about giving each other space. I held my breath and answered the call.

“Javi?” My voice sounded concerned, afraid.

“Diana,” his voice cracked, and I knew instantly from his tone that something was seriously wrong. “It’s my dad. He had a heart attack. They... they don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

The world seemed to stand still, the background hum of the city out my window fading to nothing. My heart raced as I pictured Javi’s proud father—quiet, kind, an incredible chef and musician, a wonderful father and grandfather. The image clashed violently with the reality of Javi’s revelation.

“I’m so sorry, Javi,” I whispered. “Where are you? Are you heading to Texas?”

“I’m at the airport now,” his voice shook. “Diana, what if he doesn’t... what if I can’t get there?—”

“Don’t think that way,” I replied sternly. “Just focus on getting there, and we’ll figure everything out from there.”

“We?” he whispered, sounding desperately hopeful.

“Yes, I’m coming.” My fingers were already flying across the keyboard of my laptop looking at flight information. “I’m getting on the next available flight. I’ll be there as soon as I can, Javi.”

“Diana, you don’t have to?—”

“I’m coming,” I interrupted, decided. There was no question in my mind. Javi needed me.

“Thanks, Di,” he said, relieved. “I’m going to head straight to Corpus Christi Medical Center when I get there. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Please do,” I replied, and the other line went silent.

I emailed the medical student coordinator at school to let her know that I had a family emergency and that I would be out for the week.

I purchased a ticket on the first flight out in the morning. I didn’t have time to contemplate how I had carefully allotted the amount of money in my bank account for the exorbitant cost of residency applications, which typically ran at least several hundred, if not over a thousand dollars.

When I arrived the next day, the air was a mix of warm, humid breezes and jet fuel. I had only packed a small carry-on and my backpack, so I bypassed baggage claim and went straight to meet my Uber. I texted Javi that I was on my way.

When I made it to the hospital, Javi was waiting for me outside, his figure leaning heavily against the wall, the strain of the previous night’s events etched deeply into his features. I threw myself from the car as soon as it pulled to a stop. Our eyes met, and a mix of relief and sorrow passed over his face.

He pushed himself from the wall, opening his arms to catch me as soon as I ran to him. We clung to each other so tight, as if we could hold together the breaking pieces of our crumbling world. He buried his face in my hair and breathed in deeply. I ran my hands along his back, relishing in his warmth. It put into sharp relief just how cold the last three months had felt without him. I hated that it had to be for this reason, but I was so grateful to be near him again.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmured into my hair.

“Always,” I breathed back, pulling away just enough to look at him. “How is he?”

“Alive,” he said with a sigh. “But not out of the woods.”

I turned to thank my Uber driver. Javi took my bags from me and walked us into the hospital, to the wing of the medical ICU. The smell of antiseptic and the sound of beeping monitors greeted us distantly, a familiar atmosphere that suddenly felt cold and hostile given the circumstances. We met his family in the waiting room. His mother, normally a bastion of strength and life, looked small and worn.

I hugged his mother and his eldest sister, Gaby. Manuela and Valeria were in the room with their father, as only two visitors were allowed at a time. Javi’s brothers-in-law had the kids at the house.

When his sisters returned, Javi and I made our way down the hall together toward his father’s hospital room. His hand found mine as we walked, squeezing it tightly as if to anchor himself in the storm. His father was still sedated after his emergency bypass surgery the evening before. Javi sat in the chair beside the hospital bed, holding his father’s hand to his lips as he cried against it. I placed my hands on his quivering shoulders, trying to provide what little comfort I could.

The next few days in the hospital blurred together under the sterile lights, each one melting into the next with little change in Mr. Valenzuela’s condition. I found myself slipping easily into the role of mediator between the doctors and Javi’s family, translating medical jargon into terms they could understand.

Javi’s mother often found herself overwhelmed by the clinical coldness of the updates. She would grip my hand, her eyes searching mine for something more hopeful than the last prognosis. Each time, I would squeeze her hand back and offer whatever reassurance in whatever measure I could. But I had to be careful not to give her false hope when he was still in such a precarious condition.

I tried in vain to turn off the part of my brain that had memorized the long list of potential complications one could incur after a heart attack: congestive heart failure, ventricular fibrillation, pericarditis, rupture of the ventricular free wall, and unfortunately so much more. I could see the list from my textbook on the back of my eyelids as I fell asleep each night. Those possible outcomes, once nothing more to me than words on the page when I studied them in the past, now felt like all my worst nightmares as I watched the Valenzuelas suffer.

Javi and I spent the days wandering in and out of the hospital. We made coffee and food runs for his mother, who refused to leave the hospital for even one second. His sisters packed her a bag of clothes. In our idle moments, he and his family and I would muse over memories of his father in healthier days—his amazing cooking, his love of music, his quiet but sharp sense of humor.

Finally, after three days, they were able to safely take him out of sedation. While he was still weak, he was able to hold his wife’s hand and tell her and each of his children te amo . That same evening, there was a subtle but noticeable shift in the doctors’ outlook on his condition. They had only given guarded and somber updates thus far, but suddenly shifted to talking about recovery and the ‘long road ahead.’ I knew this meant that he was past the worst of it, though the more insidious complications still lurked in the back of my mind. I didn’t tell Javi or his family about those possibilities. I let them revel in the relief that came with the first positive update they had received.

Gaby finally convinced her mother to leave the hospital to shower and rest at home for a night. She promised to stay by her father’s side and call her with any updates. Manuela and Valeria excused themselves to check on the children. Javi and I wandered out of the hospital. We sat in his father’s truck, which Javi had been borrowing.

Javi sat behind the steering wheel, looking ahead through the windshield, though he made no motion to put the keys into the ignition. His eyes squinted against the setting sun, his brows furrowed. His lips were pressed together, the corner quivering involuntarily into a frown, as if he fought against it.

For the last few days, at least in front of his family, he had been putting on such a brave face. He had stepped into the role of the calm, cool-headed leader of the family—the role his father usually occupied. I could see how much it was killing him. I could see the thin precipice upon which he seemed to walk in order to maintain his composure, and how easily he could fall into despair at any moment.

I reached over to place my hand on his, where it rested on the leather bench seat between us. But as soon as my skin touched his, his composure seemed to break. He tugged on my hand, pulling me across the seat to him. He pulled me into his arms so forcefully I nearly fell across his lap.

He squeezed me to his chest, where I could feel the heaving motion of his sobs and the pounding of his heart. One of his arms wrapped around my lower back, pulling me fully to sit on his lap. His other hand wove into my hair, cupping the back of my head as he cried into my neck. I ran my fingers into his hair, the other hand wrapping around his neck. I didn’t even question how intimate the position felt, how more inches of my skin seemed to burn against his than we had ever allowed before.

“I don’t know… what I would’ve done… if you hadn’t come,” he gasped between tears.

“Hey… Hey .” I pulled his face away from my neck, holding his cheeks in my hands as I stared pointedly into his eyes. They glistened with tears.

“Nothing could have kept me away,” I assured him, brushing his hair back from his face as I spoke. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I remembered back to a time when he had said the same words to me, when I was at my lowest low.

He searched my face desperately, flitting down to my lips, begging for permission. My eyes went wide at the silent request, realizing what he wanted—what he was asking for. I stopped breathing in that moment, not knowing how to respond. But without conscious thought, I felt myself nod almost imperceptibly, just the briefest dip of my chin downward and back, giving the approval he was looking for.

Not even a second passed before he crushed his lips to mine. Unlike New Year’s Eve, there was nothing hesitant, nothing uncertain about this kiss. It was hard and desperate and wanting. His lips pressed firmly against mine, demanding them to move with his. His fingers gripped at my hair, stopping just short of causing pain. We turned in unison, testing the angles of the kiss. His tongue traced my bottom lip, and I groaned into his mouth at the sensation. He understandably took that as a sign of approval and began to explore my tongue with his.

His hand ducked beneath the hem of my shirt, grazing against my hip. His skin was so damn warm, it was like he set a trail ablaze on my skin.

My hands slid down his face and his neck, settling on his pectoral muscles. I splayed my fingers across them, relishing how they flexed and jumped beneath my touch with his movements. His hand crept upward, over my ribs, his thumb tracing the cup of my bra, locating and circling my hardened nipple. The wanting, the need was coiling in my belly, settling lower and lower until it became an almost unbearable ache between my thighs .

The feeling became more pronounced when I realized I could feel him, hard against my thigh.

Oh God, I thought.

Or at least, I thought I had kept the words inside my head, to myself.

But from the renewed energy with which he kissed and teased with his tongue and ran his hands along my skin, I realized I might have said them out loud.

His hand started to sink lower, moving from my bra over my navel to the button of my denim shorts.

“Oh God ,” I muttered against his lips, this time definitely out loud and for a slightly different reason. It felt better than I ever could have imagined, to finally be kissing and touching Javi after all these years of wondering and holding back. But the second he started to undo the buttons of my shorts, the second he threatened to go there , was the second that a cold sort of panic crept into my awareness, bringing my mind just a fraction back into focus.

What are we doing? That cold voice of reason said into the blank pit that had once held my rational thoughts.

Javi and I had always been tuned in to what the other needed, and some devilish part of my mind argued that this is what he needed—a reprieve from reality, a way to distract his tormented brain from the unfathomable situation happening to him. I could picture how easy it would be to give him that—to trace my hands down his chest, across the firm muscles of his abs, to wrap my hands around him. To give him a release, a distraction from reality.

But I didn’t want to be just a distraction.

The world seemed to slow back into focus at the thought. The heat in my core cooled little by little. My lips slowed against his. I pulled away, hovering just an inch from his lips.

“Javi,” I whispered. When he tried to lean back in, I cupped his cheek in my hand tenderly and held him away. “Javi, stop.”

“Please,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. My heart lurched in pain at the desperation in his voice. His eyes opened but remained heavily lidded, smoldering into me. “Please, Diana. Don’t tell me you don’t want this too.”

“It’s not that,” I said gently. I stroked his cheekbone with my thumb. “I just… I don’t want it to happen like this.”

Outside the hospital where his father almost died. In his father’s truck. When he’s feeling vulnerable, seeking any comfort he can find.

I loved this man. I wanted this man—the reaction of my body to his touch made that abundantly clear. But I didn’t want this to happen for the wrong reasons, at the wrong moment.

The burning in his eyes faded. He leaned his head forward and rested it against my shoulder, sighing deeply.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “I’m so sorry.”

I made soothing circles with my hands into his back as he leaned into me. When he finally started to loosen his grip on me, I attempted to slide off his lap. I moved a little clumsily, unsure how we had managed to move against each other so smoothly in such a small space only moments ago. In my efforts, I leaned back against the steering wheel and was startled half to death when I accidentally hit the horn.

I jolted violently at the noise, falling onto the leather bench seat. Javi looked down at me, sprawled across the seat next to him, and broke into a bout of uncontrollable laughter. I draped my arm across my eyes as I too was inundated with a fit of giggles. We laughed for several minutes without stopping, sounding almost like deranged hyenas by the end, gasping for breath. Tears sprang from our eyes. The stress that we had endured that week combined with the boundary we had just broken in our relationship had left us feeling delirious.

When we finally composed ourselves, I pulled myself up to a seated position and buckled myself into the passenger seat. Javi followed my lead, buckling himself in and finally putting the keys into the ignition. We made the drive back to his childhood home, our hands intertwined between us on the seat.

The next morning, Javi’s father graduated from an ICU bed to a normal hospital room, where multiple visitors were allowed at once. We brought breakfast for his family, and we sat around Mr. Valenzuela’s bed as we chatted and ate. He looked on at his family, serene but seemingly happy and not in pain. It lifted everyone’s spirits significantly.

Javi kept glancing at me furtively, smiling to himself whenever we caught each other’s eye for a moment. The energy between us was different—almost shy, for the first time in our entire relationship. My stomach did somersaults whenever I noticed him looking, but I hoped none of his family members noticed. His sisters, especially Gaby, were incredibly perceptive, and I didn’t want them to think we had the wrong priorities.

After we left the hospital that afternoon, Javi drove us to the beach. We walked along the shore listening to the sound of the waves breaking gently against the sand. This beach felt like holy ground to us.

Javi reached over after we had been walking for a few minutes and laced his fingers through mine. I stopped walking when he did it, looking down at our intertwined hands and back up to his face, as if to ask, do you think that’s the best idea?

He grinned down at me, his eyes filled with mischief. He asked, far too innocently, “I’m not allowed to hold your hand?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “No, you can hold my hand… I just don’t want you to get any ideas .”

“You know me, Doc,” he quipped. “My head is always full of ideas .”

The little smirk of his lips and sudden darkening of his eyes made it clear what kind of ideas he was alluding to. My stomach dropped into my ankles at the unexpected comment, but I shook my head at his antics.

Suddenly, I broke my hand free of his and ran down the beach away from him. I heard him chasing after me immediately, and I giggled wildly as he tried to catch me. I marched into knee-deep water, leaning down to cup a handful of water to splash at him.

He paused briefly when the water hit his face, but I knew the second he blinked the saltwater away that I was in trouble. He began to splash me wildly in retaliation, until my hair and my blue dress were soaked through completely.

I wiped saltwater from my face, looking at him in mock exasperation.

“You win!” I declared. “Are you happy now?”

“Almost,” he replied. A devilish smile lit his features. I turned to run from him, but I had sunk a bit into the loose sand, and I was slow to escape his assault. Before I had taken three steps, he scooped me up into his arms and started marching into deeper water with me.

My hands snaked around his neck. I laughed hysterically while trying to plead with him.

“Please,” I begged between gasps. “Please… Javi, No… I’m already all wet… No, don’t… Please, Javi, I’ll do anything…”

He laughed. “Anything?”

I gulped, my laughter choking off in my throat. What a dangerous question.

I backtracked. “Well, not anything?—”

“Kiss me,” he demanded. I looked up into his eyes, searching for a trace of that same emotion from the day before—the desperation, the unhealthy need for relief. But his eyes were playful, teasing. This expression didn’t scare me the way it did the day before. I reached up, cupping his cheek in my hand, pulling his face down to mine slowly as I searched his eyes. When our lips were just barely separated, so close we were already sharing one breath, the corners of his eyes crinkled suddenly with a wicked smile.

And that’s when he plummeted us both completely into the water.

I burst through the surface a moment later, gasping, wiping saltwater and hair out of my eyes. I started marching back to shore in outrage, done with our game. When I was in knee-high water, I turned back to glare at him. The second I did, though, I regretted it.

He whipped his hair back, drops of saltwater flying. He was wearing a white t-shirt, which of course was now completely see-through, clinging to muscular, tan skin beneath. I stopped where I was, staring unabashedly.

He held my stare as he approached me in the water, flashing a cocky grin as he passed me.

Jesus . When did that happen? When did he turn from my best friend into a Greek god?

I followed him out of the water and plopped down beside him onto the sand. We leaned backward onto our elbows, letting the late afternoon sun soak into our skin and clothes as we panted from the exertion .

“I missed you these last few months, Jav,” I said into the companionable silence. “I saw the article: Forbes’ 30 Under 30.”

He grinned a little sheepishly. “It felt wrong not to call you when I heard.”

I nodded in agreement. It had felt wrong to see the article and have heard nothing about it.

“I saw the featurettes on the news and the segment on Good Morning America, too,” I added. Valeria had texted them to me with excitement, not realizing that her brother and I hadn’t spoken in months. I watched the interviews with pride, longing to be there with him, basking in his triumph.

“It’s really taking off,” he said wistfully.

“And it all started here,” I mused.

“And it all started here,” he repeated in wonder.

He turned to me suddenly. “Di, can I ask you an honest question?”

“Of course,” I replied, my heart thrummed in anticipation.

“What you said in California about how we should give each other space. How we’re holding each other back from being happy. Is that really what you wanted? Or what you want now?”

I shook my head, angry at myself in hindsight. “Of course it wasn’t. It isn’t .”

“I was working through a lot of big feelings with the breakup at the time, so what you said seemed like it made some sense,” he replied, shaking his head as he looked out to the horizon. “But now it just seems so ridiculous. I don’t want space from you. I don’t want other people. Trying to convince myself I want anyone else is exhausting . I don’t want to act like you mean any less to me than you do.”

His words sent a thrill through me. Some part of me that I had been suppressing all this time was cheering in victory. Javi wants you. Javi wants to be with you.

But just as I had stifled and quieted this part of myself in the past, I made myself do it once more. I took a deep, steadying breath.

“Javi,” I said, in a reasonable tone that hurt to use. “I don’t think it’s the right time.”

“When, Di?” he demanded. “When is the right time? When we’ve accomplished all our career goals? When we retire? Is that when we get to be happy?”

I shook my head, knowing he was being silly.

“When you haven’t just been through personal tragedy,” I retorted softly. “I don’t want this to happen just because your dad almost?—”

“So, what if I am?” he interrupted, and I frowned. Seeing my expression, he took my hand in his. “Not because I needed to feel better, but because I realized just how fragile life is. I realized that I don’t want to waste time when life is so damn short.”

My frown only deepened, unconvinced. He could see the skepticism in my expression.

He let out a frustrated groan. “How long do I have to wait before I can prove to you that I’m not doing this for the wrong reasons?”

I laughed. “I don’t know, Javi. It’s not as simple as that. I can’t just give you an exact date.”

He sighed at my noncommittal response. “Fine. I can wait, then. You tell me when it’s been enough time, and I’ll be there. Just say when.”

I couldn’t fight the small smile that tugged at my lips.

“But in the meantime,” he continued, “the last few months fucking sucked. Can we please, at least, go back to being friends? Even if you and I both know it’s more than that? ”

I sighed at him but smiled. “We can.”

“It’s settled then?” he asked, hopefully. “For now, we can go back to the way things were. Texting and calling whenever we want. Visiting each other whenever we can? FaceTiming each other every Friday.”

And telling me you love me whenever we hang up , I added in my mind. Aloud, I said, “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

“Tell me how things are going at school,” he said, obviously pleased to be settling back into our normal routine. “Last year of medical school, and I feel like I barely know what’s going on with you.”

“Residency applications opened this week,” I said, my stomach doing a few uncomfortable flips as I remembered that I had left my application pretty much abandoned in light of everything that had happened this week. “Interview offers will roll out soon, and the interviews will be held between October and January.”

“And your research?” he asked.

I grinned. “My clinical trial is going to be published in a big journal. And I’ve been accepted to present at the American Neurological Symposium next month.”

His eyes went wide with delight. “Diana, that’s amazing! That’s a big deal!”

“The whole team is really excited,” I said.

“I bet. That’s a huge accomplishment.” He paused for a minute, looking away from me, his eyes scanning the waves ahead of us. “And, uh, are you dating anyone?”

I laughed dubiously, thinking back to that kiss. “Now you ask? A little late for that, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “Answer the question.

“No, not dating anyone,” I relented. “You?”

“Nope,” he answered, shaking his head. “So that means we’re both not dating anyone.”

I smirked. “Yes, that is what that means. ”

“Interesting,” he replied. “Both single at the same time.”

I laughed, finding his too casual tone hilarious, considering everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

“Hey,” I said after a long, loaded silence. “Are you going to come out for my Match Day in March?”

Thinking of that day, the day that all medical students learned if and where they would be accepted to residency, made me want to vomit. But the thought of Javi being there, at least, calmed my unease a bit.

He nodded emphatically. “Of course I’ll be there.”

“And my graduation ceremony in May?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said. I linked my arm through his and leaned my head against his shoulder.

“Unfortunately, in order to match and graduate in the spring, I have to head back to New York soon,” I reminded him sadly.

“Do you already have a flight scheduled?” he asked. His voice was timid, his grip on my arm tightening ever so slightly as if he subconsciously was not planning to let me go.

“No. I dropped everything and bought a one-way ticket when you called me,” I explained. “But I should really try to find my way back this weekend. I have a new rotation starting Monday.”

“If you must,” he sighed. We stayed on the beach leaning on each other until the sun had fully set beyond the horizon. We reluctantly pulled ourselves up from the sand and strolled back to the truck.

The following morning, we returned to the hospital with the family. Javi sat beside his father, speaking to him with a wide smile as his father nodded along happily. Mr. Valenzuela’s doctors came by throughout the morning, and I listened attentively as they discussed upcoming plans for discharge and follow-up. They thought he might indeed be able to go home the next day. Javi’s mother cried and squeezed the doctors with delight when they told her.

I found a flight out for the following morning, dropping another $150 on the ticket. I thought distantly that money this month was going to be tight. I had choices to make—would I subside entirely on instant ramen for the month, apply to half as many residency programs as I had intended to, or swallow my pride and ask my parents for money? None of the options appealed to me. I could already imagine the smug retorts that would greet me if I went crawling to my father for help.

I knew that Javi had the money and would lend it to me in a heartbeat if I asked. But I would never ask. I would never ask him to pay my way here to help him and his family this week. I had done that completely out of love and didn’t want the money to ruin that. I supposed the lesser evil would be groveling to my parents. It was worth it though, for the Valenzuelas.

Javi drove me to the airport the next morning. He walked around to open the door for me and held me tight in his arms for several minutes before he would let me consider walking inside.

“Thank you again, for everything,” he whispered in my ear.

“Anytime,” I whispered back. “I’ll see you soon?”

“See you soon,” he promised. He hesitated for just a moment before he added, “I love you, Diana. I didn’t miss saying goodbye to you, but I did miss telling you that.”

God, I had missed it too.

“I love you, Javi,” I finally replied.

I reluctantly tore myself from his arms and grabbed my backpack and suitcase, heading for the doors .

“Hey, Di?” he called.

I turned back to him expectantly, halfway through the sliding glass doors.

“Just say when. I’ll be waiting.”

My breath hitched in my throat at the promise. I smiled at him before I turned to walk inside. I thought to myself as I walked away that, unlike the last time that we had said goodbye, when it felt like the end of something, this felt like the beginning of something new for us.