Chapter 2 #2
I harrumph and twirl up another bite, studying him. His dark circles look worse than usual, and his hair is as greasy as his five o’clock shadow. Grown-out stubble creases around his frown.
“Why do you look like you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” I ask.
“Because I haven’t,” he says, swallowing. “I’ve been at work for the past 50 days with no break; my last shift was 24 fucking hours; and I’m spending my recovery Saturday here with you.”
“Kane!” I yelp, shocked. I know how brutal prelim years are, but I never expected him to spend his only day off in weeks with me. No wonder he looks so haggard. “We could have waited until you had more time—”
“Doesn’t exist,” he snaps, cutting me off. He turns my laptop back to me.
“Three out of five student,” he says. His smile is strained. “Keep reading and keep up the good work.”
An ache hits my heart. Doesn’t he have anyone else to spend his day off with?
The thought gnaws at me.
Nobody should feel miserable and isolated.
“Actually,” I say, a little too quickly, “I think…”
I grin. “That this is the perfect use of your time.”
He stretches his arms above his head, the facade of indifference sliding back into place.
The dismissal prickles under my skin, though I’m not sure why. We aren’t even dating. He doesn’t owe me sincerity. And yet, irritation coils low in my stomach.
“And,” he says, eyeing me suspiciously, “I know I will regret asking you, the knower of all things, this, but why’s that?”
I wink.
“Because you get to spend time with your pretty, loving girlfriend,” I tease.
“Pretty,” he agrees.
My pulse hikes, which I ignore.
He taps his chin, thinking. “But that’s all you have, I’m afraid. Why am I better at OB than you?”
And just like that, my sympathy disappears.
“Don’t be a dick,” I snap.
Of course, I had to pick the man who might actually be smarter than me.
But how could such a smart guy end up like this?
I’m quiet for a second, pondering how best to phrase my next question, when he says, “I was cocky and unpardonable. I was the only D.O. from my school who ever broke 280 on Step 2, and I thought that would prevent me from D.O. bias. My interviews sank me.”
I bite my lip and look up from the screen. He’s slouching, looking at the holes in the upholstery. “How did you know—”
“You’re giving me that look,” he spits out. “The pitying one. I hate it. I’d rather you legitimately hate me than pity me. Disgusting.”
Well, his ego is still in check, even though he’s definitely still wounded.
“I’m sorry, Kane,” I say honestly. “Really.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “My transitional year is my punishment.”
“Would it bother you if I ask more?”
He snorts. “About what, my depression?”
“No, that was item four on my agenda—I need to get to know you.”
“Why?” He leans back, doubling the distance between us, even in this connected booth.
“Why? Because that’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do.”
He relaxes, giving me a do they really look. With it is the we’re not really dating look.
I give him an in public, oh yes, we are look.
“Are you planning on applying for a surgical residency again?”
“Does the sun rise every morning? Does the cow go ‘moo’? Are you dead until you’re warm and dead?”
I fidget with the case on my computer. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? I mean, you seem pretty miserable right now—”
“Likewise, but you’re still trying.”
I sigh, wondering whether I should approach him like a scarred patient.
“Do you think… you would feel differently if you matched again?”
He huffs out an equally tired sigh, leaning back to drape his arms across the banister. “Well, presumably, I would have this… overwhelming weight off me. And the security of knowing I’m finally going to be a surgeon. And be free of the nepotism baby allegations.”
“You are a nepotism baby, though.”
“Thank you, little surgeon, for repeating the obvious.”
“Are you…” How to say doing steps? He’s in the action phase of thinking through change. “Do you plan on doing anything different this time around?”
“Put my ego aside. Apply to fewer Ivory Towers. Try to channel more of you and less of me.”
“A legendary endeavor,” I point out.
He chuckles. “Perhaps.” He pushes the cheesecake toward me. “Are you in a sugar crash right now? Is that why you’re so cranky? Eat.”
“The whole thing?” I question. It’s bigger than my head, spanning the width of the table.
“Yes,” Kane says, “it was expensive.”
“Well, if you insist.” I shovel in a bite. Mmm. It’s creamy, decadent. Much better than the stacks of ramen I’ve been substituting for meals.
“But back to your journey of self-improvement—”
“For a fake girlfriend, you’re awfully judgy—”
“What’s a small step you can take this week to make it more likely for you to match this time around?”
He scoffs again. “You sound like a therapist.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” I remind him.
“Yes, future psychiatrist.” His eyes widen. “Wait—”
“Wait a damn minute.” He slams my computer closed. “Are you… motivational interviewing me?”
His eyes flash. “You’re on psych right now!”
“No, I’m on high-risk OB,” I shrink back sheepishly and give him my most saccharine smile. “Sometimes I think it helps our addicts.”
“You,” he growls, like he’s unable to speak. Outwitted, at last.
Score one for me!
I extend my hands across the table, and to my delight, he plays along. “Is it working?”
He squeezes almost hard enough to bruise. “Count your days, little surgeon.”
“How does my prodding make you feel?”
At his cocked brow, I change the subject.
“Sorry you’re depressed,” I say instead, pulling my hands away.
His serious composure breaks for a minute, and he laughs. Actually laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
In that second, he almost looks… attractive.
Especially when he smiles.
But that can’t be.
He’s only attractive the way a perfectly edited reel of a celebrity I’ve never met is. Unattainable, heavily filtered, and making my heart flip for someone who has no idea I exist.
I shove another heaping spoonful of alfredo into my mouth, swallowing my thoughts, reaching for the cheesecake next.
Ring. RrrrIInng. RrrIINg.
My phone vibrates so hard, the whole table shakes.
“Are you going to answer your phone, or hasten your journey to atherosclerosis?” Kane asks.
I reach for my phone at the same time I hear Luke shriek, “RINKY DINK HAS DIED!”
The voices all yell at once.
“Rinky Dink has died!”
“Where will we go now?”
“I was supposed to go there next month!”
“I already booked my Heirbnb in bumfuck nowhere. Is Cornfield going to refund me??”
“I’m there right now! What am I supposed to do?”
“What is Rinky Dink?” Kane asks as my stomach drops.
Damn it. That was my safety program!
Medical students crawl out of their respective study holes like rats fighting for the same breadcrumbs of gossip.
“My backup,” I answer, picking up the phone.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Hyacinth chirps, “but Rinky Dink has perished!”
“I gathered,” I retort, listening to the chatter escalate. Our school always stations a handful of M3s for rotations at Rinky Dink, a rural community hospital miles from any other medical school.
They’re screwed now.
And unfortunately for me, they had a great, hands-on, genuinely nurturing and practical OB/GYN residency that wasn’t competitive.
Most unfortunately for the patients, they’ll have to travel hours to receive healthcare now.
“Financial problems,” Hyacinth chatters on. “It’s the collapse of healthcare, before we’ve even graduated. Can you believe it?”
“You’re oddly upbeat,” I respond, fighting the urge to panic. “I knew the program director of Rinky Dink, Hyacinth. She was supposed to write one of my recommendation letters!”
The air feels too thick, the room too small, my sternum pressing way too close to my heart.
My email dings, and I throw open my laptop, checking for messages.
Percy, I have to warn you. Rinky Dink was just the beginning. Rural hospitals are hemorrhaging money left and right. They won’t survive the next round of budget cuts.
Gem City and Steel Town are next.
Apply broadly and interview well.
I attached your recommendation letter. You need to bring your best.
—Dr. Metrodora.
I can’t even feel relieved I got one out of three letters, because all my safeties are on the chopping block.
Will the other attendings have time to write recommendations for me when they’re out of work?
Kane studies the growing commotion across the table, looking increasingly disturbed.
“It’s a dying hospital in a rural location, Percy,” he says, in what might be his attempt at comfort. “You’re too good for them, anyway.”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” Kane interjects, holding out his hand, like he’s demanding the phone.
Entitled intern.
I keep staring at this extended hand, mind crashing around the wreckage of my crumbling career. My options are dying, disappearing before my eyes.