Chapter 3
KENDALL
I stop at the entrance to the break room when I see Dr. Fields and Grant yukking it up at one of the tables. The doctors usually don’t have much time for lunch, but today they have a little downtime.
Dr. Fields waves at me. My gut tightens as I retrieve my salad from the fridge.
“Kendall! Come join us. We’ve got thirty whole minutes for once,” he says.
“I don’t want to interrupt anything.” My eyes dart around the space, searching for an escape route. The other clinic nurse is still with Dr. Planck, so I don’t have much of a buffer.
“Of course not.” Dr. Fields clears a little space for me at their small table. “Come on over.”
I eye the seat with what I’m sure is the same expression as someone watching a scuttling cockroach. “Yeah,” I say after a few moments. “That’s fine.”
Grant aims a small, polite smile at me, his teeth gleaming white as porcelain. The expression looks odd on him. In the past, he sneered.
The chair’s metal legs scrape against the silence as I pull it out.
Grant’s still smiling at me, but his mouth is wide, like a scary clown.
The tension in his jaw makes it look more like a grimace.
Does he smile involuntarily? I remember him being kind of serious, even as a high schooler, which made his bullying all the more distressing—it felt like he meant it, like he wasn’t joking.
“I like that coconut water.” Grant nods to my drink. “Much healthier than soda, anyway.”
I grip the bottle in question. He is such a snob.
“I drink soda too,” I tell him. I lift my chin. “I tend to just have what I want.”
“Oh. That’s fine.” He gulps. “Dr. Fields was telling me you’ve only been in this setting a few months?” Grant stares at me.
Why is he still looking at me?
“I worked in the OR exclusively before this, yeah.” I stuff a bite of salad in my mouth, aggressively chewing.
“Ah. So, where else have you worked? Is this your favorite?”
This asshole’s trying to make nice. Ha. Fat chance, motherfucker.
“Labor and delivery at the start of my career. I did some outpatient urology, then the OR, and now this hybrid job.” I cram another bite of spinach and feta into my mouth.
The hint of sweetness from the dried cranberries and the creamy feta make for a delicious combo, but Grant’s ruining my lunch.
I don’t ask him any follow up questions.
His face falls a little bit when I glance at him. An unwanted pinch of empathy wells up. He has no idea who I am. He’s going to think I’m just being a bitch, and though I shouldn’t care, I find myself wanting to explain.
Under normal circumstances, I’ll talk about anything with anyone. My friends joke that I would read my diary on stage if someone asked me to. But I don’t owe him anything. I clamp my lips shut.
Dr. Fields furrows his brow at me. He’s a young surgeon, only in his early thirties. No gray hair yet, and he’s still got the enthusiasm of a physician early in his career.
“Kendall here has applied to med school,” Dr. Fields says. He glances at me, then back at Grant.
Grant’s eyes flash with surprise before he adjusts his expression to one of nonchalance. God, I hate him.
“Yeah?” He spears a piece of broccoli. I bet he eats the same bland meal every day. “I know a lot of nurses go for their nurse practitioner degrees, but I think med school’s the way to go if you want to further your education. There’s a big problem with scope creep with the midlevels.”
My hands tremble with my rising ire. Of course his mind would immediately jump to how doctors are superior to physician’s assistants or nurse practitioners.
“That’s my backup plan,” I say. “If I don’t get into med school, I mean.” I swallow. “I would never step outside my scope. I would work closely with a physician.”
To my delight, Grant’s face blooms in red, creeping from his neck to his hairline. The pink of his skin stands out against his dark blond hair. Unfortunately, the flush only serves to make him hotter. The warmth moving over his angular jaw and smooth skin is a fascinating sight.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m sure you’ll be a great clinician no matter what you choose.”
I scoff. “It’s not always a matter of choice, anyway.”
Dr. Fields’s eyes dart between us. I know he’s trying to figure this out.
An awful idea comes to me then—what if Grant knows who I am, and he’s pretending not to?
I could think of a few reasons for that.
He can feign ignorance if I’m the one who brings it up.
Or maybe this is all a sick ploy to humiliate me all over again.
But no, this isn’t high school. That’s not what’s happening. There’s genuine puzzlement on Grant’s face.
“You mentioned urogynecology, right?” Dr. Fields grips his fork. His smile grows strained.
I nod. I’m almost done with my salad; I can get out of this in five minutes. “I like the idea of helping women. Not enough people care about pelvic problems or about women who develop symptoms after giving birth. I want to be a part of helping them improve their quality of lives.”
I side-eye Grant, lifting my chin. I’m glaring at him as though he might be personally responsible for all the fourth-degree perineal tears in the world. I’d love to blame all of women’s suffering on him. “If I go the nurse practitioner route, I’d help with the non-surgical stuff.”
Dr. Fields folds his hands together. “That sounds great, Kendall. Honestly.”
Grant rubs the back of his neck. His skin’s still splotchy.
Ha! He’s angry now. He was always easy to rile.
He hasn’t changed at all; he’s just hidden his uglier side from view.
I bet he’s pursuing becoming a surgeon only for the money, and he doesn’t understand caring about something just because you’re passionate about it.
“I actually have an idea,” Dr. Fields says.
His gaze darts back and forth again, landing on each of us in turn.
At some point, I might have to tell him about our history, but I don’t feel right about that, even though Grant was awful to me in the past. “Grant has a quality improvement project he’s working on.
We’re trying to further cut down on hospital readmissions.
Maybe you could help him, Kendall. It’ll be a good thing to talk about in your interview, and you already have a hand in patient care. What do you think?”
My face tingles. “Oh, I doubt Grant has time to meet with me.”
Grant’s made of marble next to me. His arm brushes mine, and I swear cold seeps into my bones from the touch.
“I could probably make a little extra time,” Grant says, his expression stoic, like he might deserve praise for enduring the hardship of my presence. That weasel.
Why is he volunteering to spend time with me? He can tell I don’t like him, and it’s pissing him off. Plus he’s a surgical resident. Legally, he’s capped at eighty hours of work a week, but everyone knows it’s more than that. I can’t believe he would sacrifice even more of his precious time.
Dr. Fields has a point, though. I need all the project experience I can get if I land a med school interview.
I sigh. “Yeah, okay. That’s, um, a good idea.”
Dr. Fields smiles and spreads his arms wide as if to say, See? I’m brilliant. My work is done. Grant exhales. His eyes flick toward me like he might have been worried about what I was going to say. Do I scare him? Good.
I stand up to wash my plastic container, wondering how I’ve gotten myself into more time with Grant.
I rummage in my bag for my water bottle as I stand in the parking garage. I need to work through some of the roiling stress of today, so I’ve got a date with the gym this evening.
“Damn it.” I sigh before making my way back through the halls, which are mostly empty since it’s late, and into the clinic. I enter through the employee entrance and grab my water bottle from the break room.
Low voices drift out from Dr. Planck’s office. A thin triangle of light projects out in the hallway. I stop just outside his door. It’s cracked a bit, so the conversation inside is easy to pick up on.
I should definitely move. I know what I’m going to do, though, before I go through with it. My breath stalls.
“I have concerns about working with her,” Grant says.
“Not everyone has to like me, but she hates me so much it’s impacting patient care.
Just today, she disagreed with me in front of a patient.
And frankly, I have qualms about her going to med school if she can’t set aside petty grievances, or whatever this is. ”
My stomach drops. That asshole. I barely even disagreed with him, anyway—I just pointed out that we had the patient’s x-rays so he might not need to order more. I strain forward to hear Dr. Planck’s reply.
“This is really hard for me, Dr. Wyndham,” Dr. Planck says. “You’re the only one with these concerns. Everyone else works well with her. You can report her if you have cause for that, but this isn’t her typical pattern of behavior.”
I back away from the door when his voice swells as though he’s moved a little closer. I look around me. Worst case scenario, I can duck into the hall closet. Or could I play it off like I’m just walking by? My fingers drift to my mouth, like I can hold back noise that way.
Grant’s sigh punctuates the silence. I take another step back. My heart pounds.
“I’ll give it more time,” he says. “But I swear I’m not imagining things. That woman hates me for no discernible reason. If it doesn’t get better, it might be worth alerting the admissions faculty about this.”
My gut plummets further. He wouldn’t. But I know he would—he always gets his way. He was always so intense. Wound tighter than a banjo string, my mom would say. I might jeopardize not only my current job but my future prospects if I don’t fix this.
I scurry away from the door, careful not to make any shuffling noises, my mind whirling with what I have to process. I sneak back out the employee door and head toward my car again.
Now I have a few choices.