5. Liam
5
LIAM
I look around the Harmony Creek Hospital, impressed by its facilities. I’ve been in town for a week but it’s my first time in the hospital because Dad wanted me to get familiar with people in town before I come in.
There's an unfamiliar buzz in the air as Dad proudly introduces me to the staff and patients sitting around the lounge. He can barely hide the pride in his infectious smile as he gestures toward me, “This is my son, Liam. He's joining us for a while.”
I nod and say hi to as many people as I can. The nurses greet me with warm smiles and enthusiastic handshakes, but it's not long before I notice a subtle change in their demeanor. A few of them hold on to my hand a little longer than necessary, their eyes lingering a moment too long as if trying to convey something more than just a simple welcome.
I’ve got Dad to blame for this, I suspect. Maybe he’s used the week to plant seeds that he shouldn’t have in the heads of these ladies.
“Dr. Miller's son, huh?” A nurse called Grace grabs my hand, her voice carrying a playful tone. “We've heard a lot about you.”
I offer a polite smile, unsure of how to respond. “All good things, I hope.”
She chuckles, a flirtatious glint in her eyes. “Oh, definitely.”
I glance over at Dad, who seems oblivious to the exchange as he moves on to greet another patient. I clear my throat, trying to shift the focus away from the awkward encounter. “So, how's your day been so far?”
The conversation continues, albeit with a subtle undercurrent of flirtation that I find increasingly uncomfortable. It's not that I'm not used to attention from women, but there's something about the way they're looking at me that feels... off.
After what feels like an eternity, Dad finally wraps up his introductions and leads me down the hall to the office I'll be using during my time here. As we walk, he fills me in on some of the hospital's procedures and protocols, his words a comforting reminder of his expertise in this environment.
Once we reach the office, Dad steps aside to let me take a look around. “It's not much, but it'll do for now,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.
I nod, taking in the simple yet functional space. “It's perfect, Dad. Thanks.”
He smiles, patting me on the shoulder before heading for the door. “Just remember, if you need anything, I'm right down the hall.”
Alone in the office, I sink into the chair behind the desk, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Pride at following in Dad's footsteps, frustration at the unwanted attention from the nurses, and a lingering sense of uncertainty about what the coming weeks will bring.
But amidst it all, there's a glimmer of hope. Maybe this experience will bring me closer to Dad, help me understand him better.
Just on cue, my phone buzzes insistently on the table, the screen flashing with the unmistakable silhouette of a woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a smile that could sell ice to Eskimos—my mother.
I stare at it for a beat too long, the familiar knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. This morning's conversation replays in my head—her disapproval thinly veiled beneath a layer of saccharine concern, the frustration simmering just below the surface.
Do I really want to go through this again?
With a sigh, I swipe the screen to answer. “Hi, Mom,” I manage, my voice already tinged with preemptive exhaustion.
“Liam? Finally! I thought I was getting your voicemail,” she replies, a hint of annoyance laced in her usually chirpy tone.
“Just at work,” I mumble, already regretting picking up.
“At work, huh?” she says, drawing out the words. “You sound tense. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” I mutter, drumming my fingers against the table. This is the dance we always do—a delicate waltz around the truth, neither of us willing to truly address the elephant in the room.
“Then why did it take you forever to answer?” she presses. “You wouldn't be avoiding your dear old mother, would you?”
I force a chuckle. “No, Mom, of course not. Just busy.” Busy avoiding unnecessary arguments, more like.
“Busy with what?” she persists. “Haven't heard from you in ages. It's your fault, you know. You should call your mother more often.”
She has a point, but the timing always feels…off. There's an agenda behind her calls, a hidden motive that often involves her new husband and his ever-expanding network of connections.
“I know, I know,” I say placatingly. “Just been a bit swamped lately. Setting up here and all that.”
“Here?” she echoes. “Is everything alright there? You haven't second-guessed that decision, have you?”
Here—meaning Harmony Creek, the small, sleepy town I practically ran away from after graduation. The place my mother considers a career graveyard for a brilliant young doctor like me.
“No, no,” I assure her, though a pang of doubt flickers through me. “Everything's good. Just a different pace, that's all.”
“A different pace?” she scoffs. “You mean a snail's pace! Liam, you could be working with some of the best minds in the country at a state-of-the-art facility. And the pay? Don't even get me started!”
She's at it again. For the third time this month, to be precise.
“Mom,” I say, my voice tight, “I appreciate your concern, but I'm happy where I am. Public hospital, small town…it's not all bad.”
“Happy?” she shrieks. “Don't be ridiculous, Liam. This isn't a charity case! You're a talented doctor with a bright future. Slaving away at a public hospital doesn't exactly scream 'bright future,' does it?”
There it is. The veiled jab, the attempt to guilt me into conforming to her vision of success.
“Look,” I say, my frustration bubbling over, “I told you I'm okay, alright? I don't need some fancy private practice or a million-dollar salary to feel fulfilled.”
“Oh, come on, Liam,” she huffs. “Don't get snippy with me. I'm just trying to help.”
“I know you are,” I say, my voice softening. “But I can handle myself. And speaking of handling myself, when are you coming to visit?”
It's a question I've been dreading asking. A visit usually involves awkward silences, forced conversations with her new husband's brood—two perfectly groomed sons and a carbon copy of their mother daughter, all with trust funds bigger than my student loans—and thinly veiled attempts to set me up with their equally privileged friends.
“Honey,” she says, her voice losing its earlier edge, “I actually just met the most wonderful doctor last week. Dr. Roland, a friend of Richard's. He runs a top-notch practice in Beverly Hills and is looking for a bright young mind to join his team. I mentioned you, of course…”
Here we go again.
“Mom,” I interrupt gently, “I appreciate you trying to connect me with Dr. Roland, but I'm really not interested.”
A beat of silence follows, then a sigh. “Oh, Liam,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment. “This is a good opportunity for you. Eight times the pay, state-of-the-art facilities, the chance to work with celebrities…” I can practically hear the dollar signs clinking in her voice.
“Mom,” I cut in again, my voice firm but not unkind. “Listen, I know you want what's best for me, but I came here for a reason. To work with Dad, to maybe even reconnect a little. Besides, I wouldn't be comfortable treating celebrities with their…unrealistic expectations.”
“Unrealistic expectations?” she scoffs. “Liam, honey, that's part of the business! You wouldn't believe the things some of these stars ask for.”
I can imagine. A part of me is curious, but a larger part is relieved I won't have to deal with it.
“Look,” I say gently, “how about we table this conversation for now? I'm at work, and I have patients waiting.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “But you promise you'll think about it? Dr. Roland is a lovely man, and this could be a real game-changer for you.”
“I'll keep it in mind, Mom,” I say noncommittally. The truth is, I doubt I ever will.
“Alright, then,” she sighs. “How about you come visit us soon? Richard and the kids would love to see you. We have a pool now, you know.”
The image of myself lounging by a pool with my perfectly groomed step-siblings makes me cringe.
“Maybe,” I hedge. “I'll call you when I know for sure.”
“You better,” she says, a playful edge creeping back into her voice. “We miss you, honey. Don't forget your own mother.”
“I won't,” I assure her, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. Despite our differences, there's still a thread of love that connects us.
“Alright, then,” she says. “Love you, honey. Bye!”
“Love you too, Mom,” I reply and hang up.
Leaning back in my chair, I take a deep breath. Conversations with Mom always leave me drained. But beneath the frustration, there's a flicker of…something else. Maybe a longing for the family I never quite had.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I grab my stethoscope and head out to see my next patient. There's work to be done.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows as I step out of the hospital, a pleasant fatigue settling in my muscles. A beat-up Ford truck rumbles to a stop in front of me, and Damon's familiar freckled face beams from the driver's seat.
“Hey, stranger,” he calls out, rolling down the window. “Waiting for a royal carriage?”
I chuckle and swing open the passenger door. “More like a rusty pickup, apparently.” I glance down at my outfit—a worn flannel shirt over a white t-shirt paired with faded blue jeans and trusty Chelsea boots. Standard New York fare, a world away from the pressed khakis and polo shirts favored by most doctors here.
“Looking right at home,” Damon says, giving me a once-over. “Harmony Creek seems to agree with you.”
“Thank God something does,” I reply with a grin.
Damon lets out a hearty laugh. “Is this about my sister? You haven't even seen her yet.”
My heart skips a beat. “No,” I mumble, a touch too quickly. “She's…annoying. Proud.”
Damon's laughter fills the truck cab. “First time I've heard anyone describe Emma as 'proud and annoying.' Town sweetheart, that was her title in high school.”
I raise an eyebrow. “No way. No one's gotten under my skin quite like your sister.”
Damon chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, there's definitely something going on there, Miller. I'll be here for the front-row seat to see who wins this war.”
“Bigger problems, man,” I grumble, trying to steer the conversation away from Emma. “My dad's hellbent on finding me a match.”
“Not exactly a hardship, is it?” Damon teases.
I punch him playfully on the arm. “Easy for you to say. You're not the one dodging matchmaking tactics from a doctor with a savior complex.”
Damon laughs again. “So, first day at the hospital? How was it?”
“Let's just say the female-to-male patient ratio might be a little skewed,” I reply with a wry smile. “Every other nurse seems to find a reason to brush my arm or wink excessively.”
Damon roars with laughter. “Sounds like you're enjoying the attention, Doc.”
“Not exactly a problem in New York,” I admit. “Here, though? It's a landmine. One wrong glance, and Dad's planning my wedding reception.”
Damon nods, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Welcome to Harmony Creek, Liam. Brace yourself for the matchmaking grandmothers and the well-meaning townsfolk. Just pray Mrs. Henderson doesn't catch wind of your situation.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Mrs. Henderson, the town gossip extraordinaire, is a force to be reckoned with. “Don't even joke about that.”
“Just sayin',” Damon chuckles. “Endure the hospital matchmaking, Liam. It's a small price to pay. Trust me.”
As we pull into Ethan's daycare, the weight of his words settles on me. The thought of enduring weeks of matchmaking tactics, both subtle and overt, sends a groan escaping my lips.
Pushing open the door, I'm greeted by the joyous shrieks of a small tornado—Ethan, all smiles and boundless energy. He launches himself at me, wrapping his arms around my legs in a fierce hug.
Scooping him up, I bury my face in his mop of unruly brown hair. The familiar scent of crayons and sunshine instantly transports me back to countless afternoons spent playing in his room in New York.
For a moment, everything else—the hospital drama, my parents' strained relationship, the awkwardness with Emma—fades away. In Ethan's arms, I find a simple, pure joy that transcended the complexities of adult life.
Damon clears his throat, snapping me back to reality. “Alright, lovebirds,” he says with a playful smirk. “We need to get this little guy home before he explodes with excitement.”
Ethan, oblivious to our teasing, giggles and snuggles closer. As we pile into the truck, I catch a glimpse of Emma walking toward us, a familiar scowl etched on her face. My stomach clenches.
Despite the warmth that surrounded me with Ethan, the thought of facing Emma fills me with a dread I can't quite shake. One word from her, one sarcastic comment, and I can feel the familiar anger bubbling up within me.
How, I wonder, staring out the window as the scenery blurs by, am I supposed to navigate wedding planning with someone who seems to specialize in pushing my buttons? It's a question that hangs heavy in the air, a question with no easy answer.
Pushing those worries aside, I focus on Damon and Ethan instead. His tiny voice chattering excitedly about his day at daycare. We answer his questions about dinosaurs and the new slide they built on the playground, the tension with Emma momentarily forgotten.