Chapter 24
GRANT
I blink against the fluorescent lights of the OR, feeling like I’ve got grains of sand underneath my eyelids.
I’m doing my spine rotation now. I’ve moved on with my third year of residency like my entire world hasn’t been leeched of color. I’m not being dramatic, either. Or maybe I am, but I don’t care.
I must have loved her. Current tense: love her.
Food tastes bland now. My sleep quality is even worse than usual.
My heart skips when my phone chimes, but it’s never her.
I’ve thought of calling her, texting her, but she made herself clear, and I should respect that.
It’s tempting, though. I’ve become someone I don’t recognize, a foolish man who’ll take any scrap he can get.
It will pass. I’ve never felt quite like this, but I’m certain I’ll improve. In the meantime, I need to focus on getting through my residency.
“Ready, Dr. Wyndham?” The scrub tech—Finn? Flynn? Shit, I don’t remember now—looks at me.
I nod. The attending is a real hard-ass, and he aims his stern countenance my way before we start the surgery. Lucky for me, I can compartmentalize, so once the procedure begins I’m dialed in. I won’t allow this heartache to make me lose focus.
I make it through the day. Adam is at the apartment later that night when I stumble in. He’s asleep at the kitchen counter next to a bowl of chicken noodle soup, his head resting on his forearm.
I nudge him awake. He startles, nearly breaking my nose as he whips his head up. Tiny red capillaries web out around his irises, and dark circles stand out like smudges under his eyes.
“You need me to help you to bed?”
He drags a sleeve across his face. “God. I don’t even know.” He comes to a shaky stand. “I guess I would have woken up eventually. But thanks.” He looks at me. “You look even worse than I feel.”
“Yeah. I’m not doing great.”
“You shouldn’t just wallow,” he says blearily as he walks to the bathroom.
“Pardon?”
He turns to me. “It’s about Kendall, right? If you like her that much, you should tell her.”
“I did. It’s not going to work.”
His smile drops. “Ah. Sorry, man.”
I wave that off. I don’t tell him I’ll be okay, because I’m not sure I will be. I’m not just wallowing, either. That would imply I’ve been listening to sad music and sitting in my dark bedroom, but I’m making efforts to move on, and I still can’t. I’m honestly not sure how to proceed.
I made myself better, and it still wasn’t good enough. I don’t even blame her. This is karma come full circle—I’ve done this to myself.
I overhear George with one of his patients. I’m not eavesdropping, but the door is open. “I don’t think the physical therapy is going to work,” he’s saying. “But you have to do it before we can get an MRI.”
I roll my eyes. I really hate this man.
I catch him later that day when he’s out in the hallway on his computer.
“Hey, man,” I say to him, and he looks at me. “I don’t think you should tell patients that PT ‘isn’t going to work’ before you send them. It’s possible it will, but they won’t buy in or do any of their exercises if you say that up front, you know?”
His face becomes a stiff mask. I’ve hit a nerve, apparently.
“I have some things I could say to you as well.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Starting with you fucking a nurse who works on the unit where you’re doing your rotation and then recommending she get admitted to medical school?”
My face heats. “There’s a lot going on in those accusations you’re slinging around.
I’ve known Kendall for a long time. We went to high school together, and she’s brilliant.
” I tick off items on my fingers. “I didn’t write a letter or anything.
I talked to Dr. Sanders, who I know very well, and told her what a good job Kendall does.
Which is true. And lastly, I had barely had any interactions with her at that point. ”
I don’t say the other part, that we’ve had lots of interactions since then. I don’t need to.
He opens his mouth to speak, but I talk over him. “Besides that, there’s talk about you fooling around with an intern last year. So do you really want to go there? Glass houses and all that.”
George’s mouth snaps shut. His face pales. He thinks he’s so slick, but I’ve been holding onto that one. He all but confirmed it. Nurses and residents getting together is at worst ill-advised, but a younger resident in your own program? It’s even more rife with potential problems.
“Fine,” he says. “You made your point.”
“She’s going to be an excellent physician,” I say. “If anything, I’ve only gotten in her way.”
I turn around. With any luck, he’ll leave Kendall alone for good now.
Two weeks after my last conversation with Kendall, I go home to Blacksburg. It’s not what I want to do with a weekend off, but it’s my paternal grandmother’s eighty-fifth birthday, and since she’s my only grandparent left, I feel like I should celebrate with her.
We’re at my parents’ house, and thankfully the party is winding down. My grandmother’s friends have all gone home, and only family members are left milling about. I’ve got a few cousins who came in for the occasion.
I stand in my parents’ cavernous kitchen, sipping on a sherbet punch boasting a level of cloying sweetness that might give me an instant cavity.
I take a nibble of a chicken salad croissant, though it’s been sitting out for a while and now it’s gotten a little stale and dry.
I glance around. Mom and Dad have decorated the kitchen in that country-rich-person kind of style—not that it takes much to be rich around here—with a few rustic accents and kitschy little signs.
There’s a wooden one with white block lettering above the cabinets that says “welcome.” It feels kind of bullshitty, honestly.
They definitely wouldn’t welcome everyone here.
My grandmother ambles over to where I stand. She’s thin, perhaps painfully so since the last time I saw her a few months ago. Her makeup has settled into the deep lines in her face, and her smile seems a little tired, but she’s still well-dressed, and her posture is perfect.
She’s my only grandparent who grew up poor.
She’s talked about it a little, the type of poverty that leaves a mark on one’s psyche, though I never probed any further.
I’m reminded of Kendall’s grandmother, who apparently had to use dirty bath water from a well, and I wonder if my own mamaw had to do that.
If she did, she hasn’t ever talked about it.
She and my grandpa started a furniture company together and never looked back.
She pats me on the back. “How’s the doctoring going?”
I smile at her. “Terrible. But I think I’m stuck now.”
“Ah.” She waves that away. “If you want to quit and run off to Hollywood, I wouldn’t blame ya. I always thought you’d make a good movie star.”
I laugh. “I have no charm or acting ability, but sure.” I take another sip of my drink and wrinkle my nose.
“I did wonder if you might know what to do about this hip that’s been bothering me. Since I broke it last year, you remember.” She gestures at her hip joint.
I nod. She had a hip replacement on the left side.
“It’s still paining me.” She grimaces.
“Yeah.” I wince. “I’ve seen that before. I can get you in to see one of my colleagues if you want.”
She squeezes my arm. “Good to have a doctor in the family.” She grins at me. “You got any lady friends nowadays?”
My parents have drifted closer. Mom is talking to my aunt about her new dryer, but she looks at me when she hears the question. My stomach flips.
“I had a girl.” I swallow. “And I liked her a lot. She was from here actually. But I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Is it someone I know?”
My mom’s hand tightens around her glass. Everyone is listening now.
“Kendall Hodges,” I say. “She was an Amburgey, but she changed her name after high school.”
“Oh, I know that family. Her brother does my taxes.” She searches my face. “They seem like nice people. What happened?”
“Mom,” my dad chimes in from my grandmother’s other side. “I don’t think that was ever going to work.”
A fire starts in my chest and climbs up to my face, setting my cheeks to burning. I slam my drink on the counter. The ice rattles in the glass, and everyone around me startles.
“What does that mean?” I stare at my dad.
My mom giggles nervously. We still have some family members milling about, and she glances around at them. “You know,” she says. “We talked about this.”
“We did,” I say, gathering steam. “And I told you guys that you made her feel awful. That you made her feel like trash.”
“Grant!” My mom lays a hand to her chest.
“It’s the truth! And you haven’t learned a thing. You’re being snobs about it, and she can see as well as anyone how you view people who grew up like her.”
“We never said we look down on her,” my dad says.
“You didn’t have to. It’s clear. And honestly, the truth is she’s a better person than you guys.”
My mom squeaks. My grandmother surprises me by laughing. She covers her mouth like she’s trying not to let it escape, but it comes out anyway. My other family members are still watching us like we’re putting on a performance—mouths hang open, eyes dart around, and water is sipped nervously.
“That’s unfortunate,” my grandmother says. “All of it.” She turns to my dad. “You forgot how your mama grew up, I guess?”
“I didn’t,” my dad says. “I also know you and Dad worked hard to get ahead.”
I scoff. My anger is now driving the car, and I’ve completely lost control.