17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Annaliese
I knock hesitantly, keeping my ear pressed to the crack in my dad’s office door before opening it. “You wanted to see me?”
He looks up from his computer, smiling as he does. “There’s my girl.”
I cross over to him, knowing he’s about to stand for a hug. Things have been … awkward since my move back to the city. Our run-ins have mostly been at work, which meant discussions were kept professional. Usually he directs the conversation toward Colt while I’m present, not really talking to me or including me in what’s being discussed. But that shouldn’t surprise me.
What surprised me was our dinner together last week. I had expected him to pepper me with questions about work, about the residency, or how it is working with Colt. I figured he’d ask me if I had changed my mind at all about moving at the end of this year.
But he didn’t.
The conversation was forced. Mostly small talk about life in New York and how my mom is doing. He talked more about his girlfriend, Matilda, than I had expected and was shocked as hell when he said she is moving into his house.
My childhood house.
But the sting didn’t last as long as I had expected. The sting was barely a dull burn, really. The finality in realizing that my dad likely doesn’t care if I stay in the city or go back to Africa left a sour taste in my mouth, and it’s a dark cloud that’s been hanging over my head ever since.
“I just wanted to ask if you had something proper to wear for the fundraiser at the end of this month.”
Ahh, that makes sense.
The fundraiser where my dad will be the keynote speaker. The one that all residents and attendings who aren’t working are expected to attend. To mingle with rich donors and gloat about all of the incredible opportunities this hospital could provide—both to staff and patients—if we just had that extra bit of cash.
It’ll be a nightmare, no doubt. But as the daughter of the Chief of Surgery, and a second-year surgical resident, my presence is basically demanded.
“Yes, Dad. I have a proper dress.”
“One that’s acceptable for a formal event?”
“Are skulls and chains appropriate?”
He holds me out at arms length, giving me the most disappointed fatherly look.
So I sigh heavily and internally roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad. It’s appropriate. It’s long-sleeved and floor length, but fitted. It doesn’t show anything that doesn’t need to be shown.”
He won’t ask, but I know he also wants to make sure my sensor and pump aren’t visible. He’s never asked, but I noticed the way he looked at me the few times I visited in the summer, sensor clearly visible on the back of my arm when wearing a tank top.
“If you change your mind,” he says as he lets go of me to sit back at his desk, “I can give you my card and you can take yourself on a well-deserved shopping spree.”
I cringe at the thought, knowing he’d love to shower me with money and gifts instead of his time. It’s what he did when I was a teenager; he always sent money for shopping or told my mom to buy me whatever I wanted. It wasn’t until I was in college that I started to refuse anything he’d suggest. “Thank you for the offer, but the dress I have is fine. I’ve only worn it once, so it’s practically brand new.”
He nods with his eyes still fixed on me. “Sometimes I can’t believe how grown up my little Princess has become.”
His sentiment is so unexpected that I can’t school my expression in time, and he catches it.
“What?” He chuckles as he sits back down at his desk, eyes now fixated on the computer. “I know there has been a lot of distance between us, Annaliese, both physically and emotionally, but you’re still my daughter. I want a better relationship for us.”
I let my shoulders sag and move to sit on the corner of his desk. “I want that too, Dad.”
He gives me a soft smile and reaches his hand out to cover mine. I take that moment to study his worn face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the starched dress shirt that seems baggier with each year that passes.
“Have you heard anything from my director at Compassion Cruises?” My dad has mentioned casual emails back and forth with them, and I wonder if their conversation has progressed, making him think a little more about my departure.
“We touch base now and then… all is well.” He keeps his face impassive, gaze fixed on where our hands are held together. “Have you given any more thought to staying here? To not returning to your previous residency?”
My hand jerks back, and he flinches at my reaction.
I’ve thought a lot about my decision, actually. I mostly think about what it’d be like to work the next two years, maybe longer, with Colt. I know I’d learn a lot working with him and the other attendings at this hospital. I’d make great connections that would potentially further my career. And yes, in the future I’m sure I’ll end up somewhere around the city, but it’s not for me. Not now.
“It’s not where my heart is, Dad. I still plan on leaving at the end of the year, but I’ll be back after I complete my residency. Wouldn’t it be kind of cool,” I pause, seeing his expression fall flat. “Wouldn’t it be cool if someday we performed a surgery together?”
I linger for a moment, hoping he’ll show the same enthusiasm I have about our future, even if our past remains muddy. But as the seconds tick by, I realize his sole reason for wanting to chat with me was about a stupid dress and a stupid ritzy event. He’s more worried I’ll end up disappointing him than anything else.
Without even muttering a forced goodbye, I leave his office and blow out a long, frustrated breath the entire walk to Colt’s door.
As soon as I cross the threshold and see Colt sitting at his desk with his broad shoulders hunched over and a crease between his brows, the air around me seems to lighten.
I’d take a grumpy Colt any day. Because while he puts on the grumpy front that scares off most people, I know it’s just that. A front. His hardened outer shell is nothing compared to the sweet man inside.
When he notices me close the door behind me, his face breaks out in a smile, and he leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head.
The move puts his ridiculous biceps on display, somehow flexing in the process, and I smile in return.
“Good morning.”
“Morning, Sparky. Hope you ate your Wheaties today.”
“Oh?” I prompt, pulling out the chair in front of his desk and plopping down. “Something big on the schedule?” I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary—gallbladder removal, another appy, and a small biopsy. Nothing new was discovered during rounds this morning. All in all, I expected it to be a lighter day.
The corner of his mouth ticks up as he smiles, and butterflies immediately swirl in my stomach. Dammit this man is handsome. And I hate him for it.
“I’ve decided the appy is yours, start to finish. I’ll be your first assist, but I want you to lead.”
My stomach clenches with excitement. An appendectomy is definitely a surgery that a second-year would likely start out with, but usually the attending begins the case and hands it over at an appropriate spot. Colt has let me handle several of them, but always after he’s had the first look. His confidence in me is a drastic contrast to the lack of confidence my dad seems to have, and I feel tears well in my eyes.
He leans forward, his expression falling serious. “Well, shit, I don’t want you to cry over it. Tell me these are happy tears and not scared tears, because you can do this, Annaliese. I have complete and utter faith in you.”
“First of all, how dare you assume I’m crying,” I tease while swiping the water from my lower lash. “Secondly, yes I want this.” I want this so badly my teeth hurt.
His expression lightens. “Good. It’s our last one this afternoon, so we don’t have to rush it. I don’t want you to try to set any records for speed. Take your time, I’ll be right there. I’ve got you, Annie.”
Annie.
I flush at the nickname and purse my lips together as I cock my head. “Annie?”
Colt’s expression falters, and I realize he must not have meant to say that nickname out loud.
“You look like an Annie to me,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “That alright?”
I nod, slowly at first, then quickening like a bobble head. “That’s just fine, Colt.” I go to stand, ready to prep for our other cases so I can get to my appy.
“Hold on,” he calls, still firmly seated at his desk. He nods to my wrist, which is currently propped on my hip, waiting. “What are your sugars? I don’t want you playing catch up all day.”
Something warm blooms in my chest. He might be asking because I’m his liability, but something tells me he’s asking because that soft part inside of him truly cares.
I tap the screen of my watch. “I’m at one twenty-two right now.” Which I consider my sweet spot. It leaves some wiggle room to run low or high before needing to do something about it.
But Colt’s expression doesn’t look as pleased as mine. He opens the drawer to his side, rifling through what sounds like a plastic bag before he looks up and tosses something in the air.
I catch the small, yellowish item between my palms, slapping them together so it doesn’t fall out. And when I bring it to my chest and open my hands, I gasp, nearly choking on air.
Because the item Colt tossed to me is something I haven’t seen in almost fifteen years, but it’s something I’d never forget.
The wrapper hasn’t changed since the days Asha used to pack them in my lunch, and when I twist the foil and toss the candy in my mouth, I’m so fucking grateful to realize the flavors haven’t changed either.
A thousand questions flood my mind. How did he get these? And where did he find them? Most importantly, why did my little tearful story about my high school nanny prompt him to do something so thoughtful?
“Colt … I…” I’m speechless and feeling those tears well up again.
He scoots his chair back and moves around to the front of his desk, sitting at the edge of it. He crosses one ankle over the other and clasps his hands together in his lap, almost looking shy.
“I’ve stashed them everywhere around this hospital,” he starts. “Each OR has a handful in the desk of the circulating nurse. They’re in my office,” he gestures with a nod to his drawer, “in my car, in the drawers of the pre-op desks. There’s even a few in your dad’s office that he doesn’t know about. l have an extra bag you can store in your locker, and I have some in mine. I just…”
He trails off, and I swear I see the tips of his ears redden. He looks at his hands still held in his lap and slowly rubs his palms together, moving his wrists side to side as he does. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to hide this from me. You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t exist.” His eyes nearly pierce through me as he continues, “You’ve been fighting this battle by yourself for nearly your entire life, and I’m sure sometimes it feels like you are alone in this, but you aren't, not anymore, got it?”
With the candy locked between my teeth, I nod slowly, knowing I don’t have the ability to do much more than that. It’s possible I still may burst into tears, or lunge at him from across the room and force a hug on him. Both would probably make this relationship, one that has inched so far away from professionalism it’s a blurred marking in the distance, a little awkward.
“Thank you, Colt,” I rasp, inhaling sharply through my nose.
He nods once, seemingly satisfied, before abruptly standing and coming toward me. “Let’s get scrubbed in; first, we have a gallbladder to remove.”