Chapter 22
KENDALL
I don’t really see Grant again until Tuesday.
We’re in the OR together, and from the way he looks at me, he has things to say.
I’m not really in the mood to hear it. God, do I like watching him operate though.
His strength is mesmerizing, how he’s so calm and collected.
And competent. I’m a quivering puddle. Watching a man who’s great at something, who has spent time honing a craft, is like a shot of erotic stimulant in my veins.
He jokes a little with the attending, even. He’s getting more comfortable. I want him to succeed, despite my otherwise mixed feelings.
He finds me in between cases. I had time to go get an iced coffee during the break, which rarely happens, and now I’m standing next to the fridge in the employee area eating a granola bar.
It’s unfair that he looks so hot in his scrubs. His hair is swept to one side. His triceps ripple when he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and I have to snap my lips together to keep from making a noise.
He inches close to me after glancing around. “I gave my parents a dressing down after you left Sunday,” he says. “They didn’t stay after that.” He inhales. “I also told them about what I did to you. When we were young.”
“Okay.” I take a sip of my coffee. “Were they upset?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. Of course. But I think they realize their error now.”
“Grant.” The way I say his name makes him blanch. He knows what’s coming. “How I felt around your parents . . . I haven’t felt like that in a long time. Like I’m garbage. It might take me some time to get over that.”
“Yeah, of course.” He nods. “And I’m sorry, again. For the hundredth time, I know. Maybe I can make it up to you?”
“Maybe.” I smile, but it’s stiff.
Another staff members barrels into the room, so we move further apart. The look on Grant’s face makes my heart pinch, but then I’m angry at myself for it. I can’t be responsible for his feelings like that.
“I’ll talk with you later,” he says, and I nod.
I avoid him for most of the day, even though I sneak surreptitious glances his way.
In a way, I understand why he still maintains a relationship with his parents, despite how snobby and elitist they are.
Where we’re from, people don’t cut off family members that easily—and when they do, it tends to be for good.
Young people are a bit better at boundaries, yes, but there’s still a lot of pressure to maintain that connection for mountain folks, even when you move away.
It’s why I’m still talking to my dad despite what he was like when I was growing up.
Even though I understand it, however, that doesn’t mean I have to subject myself to people who think I’m lesser.
I wish it wasn’t like this. That we were different people, and I could care about him without complication. It’s for the best, though, if I distance myself. I’ve gotten over everything else, and I can get over this.
Dr. Fields stops me from leaving at the end of the day.
“Can we chat?”
My heart drops. “Sure,” I say.
I follow him into his office and sit down. The glare from the lights paints a bluish glow over our skin. It’s one of the things medical dramas get wrong about hospitals and ORs—the lights aren’t dim. In reality, medical settings are so bright you can see into everyone’s pores.
“I’m not really your boss,” Dr. Fields says. Which is an interesting way to begin a sentence. It is true, though—we have a director, and Dr. Fields doesn’t have authority over me, other than the power dynamics present between doctors and nurses.
“Yeah,” is all I say.
“Dr. Gambill mentioned that he’s pretty certain there’s something going on between you and Dr. Wyndham.
Which isn’t against hospital policy, but it’s somewhat frowned upon.
Dr. Gambill was concerned about Dr. Wyndham talking to the med school interview committee on your behalf.
” He holds his hand up. “Not that you needed it. And I’m aware he had a prior friendship with the physician conducting the interview, so it wasn’t a formal recommendation. ”
I sigh. I hate Dr. Gambill. George. Whatever. I don’t hate Grant anymore, but I swear, some people come in and out of my life only to fuck everything up for a while.
“I went to high school with Grant,” I say, and Dr. Fields’s eyebrows fly up.
“He . . . wasn’t kind to me. That’s an understatement, but I couldn’t stand him.
We’re getting along better as adults. But there’s a history there.
” I swallow. “I’m not trading sexual favors to get ahead, if that’s what anyone thinks. ”
Dr. Fields flushes brick red. “I know you wouldn’t do that,” he says. “Your application speaks for itself. I just wanted to let you know.” He brushes nonexistent dust from his desk. “I didn’t know you knew Dr. Wyndham from before.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that I’m secretly impressed by these mythical women who can somehow improve their career trajectory with sex.
“I didn’t ask him to call the committee,” I say. “And at that time, though we knew each other from before, nothing was going on. I was still angry at him, based on our history. I think it was his misguided attempt at making up for how he treated me.”
“So that’s why you seemed so tense around him at first.” He rubs his chin. “I’m glad he has evolved as a person, then. And that you’ve, uh, worked things out.”
“Do you plan to have a conversation with him too? Or just me?” I sit up straighter.
Dr. Fields flushes again. “Him too, obviously,” he says. “It sounds like we have a few things to discuss.” He smiles. “For what it’s worth, though, I am glad you got into med school. It’s well-deserved. Just, you know, be careful.”
I smile back. It’s not until later, when I’m in my car and on my way home, that I start to get anxious. What if George contacts someone and gets me kicked out of med school before I even start the program? Could he really do that?
Damn it. Now I’ve got something brand new to worry about.
I’m in a foul mood the day before Halloween. Normally it’s my favorite time of year. I should be high on the fall weather, the rich colors of the leaves—cranberry red, mustard yellow, fiery orange— and the ambient pumpkin scent in all my favorite places.
I haven’t spent any more time with Grant this week.
I’ve declined other invitations to hang out, which he has extended with increasing levels of desperation, and now we are at the end of his rotation.
I couldn’t stand it anymore, though. Even if our families come around, the road there feels too fraught.
The fact he gave his parents a piece of his mind is good, but I can’t decide if that matters.
I also feel icky and worried about all the stuff with George. So there’s that.
Now I’ve left the clinic early to meet Dad for our monthly dinner, and he’s not here yet. I’m standing outside the barbecue place, surrounded by the scent of smoked meat, tapping my foot against the pavement. I call him again, then text. No answer.
I sit on the curb and wait longer. The sun is setting now and it’s cooling by the minute so that I have to wrap my sweater tighter around me.
We’ve been meeting like this for a few months now. Has he forgotten? I’m reminded of a few occasions, just after he and my mom divorced, where I waited on him—at school, at a friend’s house—and he never showed, so someone had to call my mom to come get me.
He’s got a new girlfriend now, this lady who works down at the post office in Blacksburg. Could he be with her? But no, he would have called or texted.
Or maybe he decided not to make the drive after all. Still, I think he would have let me know.
My thoughts circle, just like they did when I was a kid—has he been drinking? Did he get arrested? Is he dead?
Although I would have heard about that last one.
I’m left with an uncomfortable conclusion—he’s always disappointed me. This stretch of good behavior lasted longer, and he seemed sincere, but it’s possible he’s incapable of true reform.
I stand up and brush my hands over my pants to wipe off the bits of debris clinging to them. I text him again when I get to my car.
Me
I guess you aren’t coming.
I lean my head against the headrest. My emotions press against my skin, and I hold them back like a dam. I will not shed any more tears over that man.
I’m going to stop putting my faith in people who don’t deserve it.
The wind sends tree branches swinging outside the car window. Another gust twists the stop sign next to me.
It’s Halloween, and Gwen’s giving me a ride home from a party.
We celebrated with Joan’s friend—now boyfriend, I suppose—Lucas, and lots of their friends.
It was lovely and festive, with strings of pumpkins and lights decorating his place.
I’ve had a couple of pumpkin ales, so I’m feeling delightfully relaxed, and I’m dressed as a blue M&M to coordinate with my best friends as well as Joan’s sister, complete with a blue tutu and heels.
Someone tried to talk me into orange, but I won’t be caught dead in Tennessee colors.
I’m a Kentucky Wildcat girl through and through.
I’m also ignoring texts from Grant. Or not ignoring, really, but I’ve been giving him one-word responses.
Our last meeting made it clear it wouldn’t work with us, and I knew that anyway.
Our families would never go for it. I don’t trust people who’ve badly hurt me.
Our work situation feels precarious. It’s a no-brainer, and I don’t know why I tried to convince myself otherwise.
Now that his rotation is over, we can move on from each other. We had some hot sex. That’s all it was.
That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
I can be happy without a partner. I’ve got excellent friendships, a promising career, and a couple of supportive family members. I’ll be fine.
Gwen glances at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m all right.”
“You just don’t seem like yourself.”