Chapter 20
MED PROM!
One of the worst mistakes in medicine is the ‘near-miss’ event. In a ‘near-miss,’ something critical is overlooked, leading to a consequence that, if unnoticed, would have grievously injured a patient.
Using the Swiss Cheese Model, if enough near-misses happen without being caught, like multiple Swiss cheese slices overlapping *just* right to leave an empty hole, the unthinkable can occur.
The sentinel event: a patient is irreversibly injured, or dies.
Clinical pearl #20: The heart is a fickle, irreplaceable organ. Enough near-misses of communication, and it, too, can become the victim of its last sentinel event.
THANATOS
KANE
Less than 24 hours after the most soul-shattering conversation of my life, my father forces me into an ill-fitting, last-minute tux, fidgeting with my tie as Jade glowers in my direction.
If Bianca weren’t on her spring break, she’d be here too, bringing Mousey to witness my humiliation instead of leaving him with Hyacinth to flee.
Rusty’s signature, lifeless grey cloud cover dims the light as Jade stomps through the manor, steps echoing in the drafty halls.
My father, in a rare stroke of utter insanity, insisted I be her chaperone tonight.
And so now we rush to catch our butler, Benson, waiting in the driveway.
Jade, who has been sneaking out for weeks to see someone else, agrees with my assessment of this chaperone idea: it’s abhorrent. She’d never spend her money on a ticket to Cornfield’s Med Prom to be stuck with me all night.
Yet after much protesting from both of us—and a red-bottomed shoe thrown in very near vicinity of my father’s face—he’d threatened to cut off Jade from her inheritance if I didn’t chaperone her.
So now, we’re stuck.
I’m a grown adult, for crying out loud. And as much as I loathe to admit it, so is she.
And she’s going to the same Med Prom as—
Absolutely not.
I can’t spiral out again.
It’s for her, I tell myself.
She won’t be burdened by my abysmal odds of matching again. I forbid it.
Even though my spirit splinters apart from my body at the thought of life without her.
I barely notice what Jade’s wearing, though she’s adjusting it anxiously. Something sparkling and violet. It might as well have been grey to me.
Everything has felt inert, lifeless, since last night.
My leaden limbs shuffle after Jade outside, letting the snow flurries dampen my suit, until we reach the slick black car. I thank Benson listlessly, apologizing for Jade’s ridiculous mood, one that persists as she marches up the marble steps to the art museum her school booked for Med Prom.
I didn’t even go to my Med Prom—didn’t give a shit, as I am not a partying kind of man—but it’s important to Jade. And my father wouldn’t buy her a dress without an escort, so here I am.
As her hostage.
The sweeping, gold-veined columns lead into a wide ballroom with brilliant, glaring chandeliers. Medical students swarm the floor between stiff waiters, chattering excitedly to each other while snatching up hors d’oeuvres and bubbling cocktails.
My outfit itches. I trudge after Jade, chafing and hollow.
A glitzy waiter strides up to her with champagne. “For the lady?”
Her eyes glitter at the same time I growl, “She’s nineteen.”
My sister elbows me in the ribs, hard, as the flustered waiter scurries off.
She glowers up at me so hard her concealer creases. “You’re acting like Dad.”
“I’m preventing your arrest,” I mutter, guiding her by the elbow away from the bar with tipsy students and poor decisions waiting to happen. “You still have a year to stay out of trouble before your match day, mind you.”
She crosses her arms. “Where’s your match day compatriot?” she asks. And, like this is the first time the idea’s crossed her scorned, adolescent mind, “And why’d Dad send you here with me instead of her?”
“We broke up,” I announce flatly. “It’s over.”
She jolts back like I’ve slapped her.
“What?”
The throng of guests dissolves into a dizzy, murky blur around us, but Jade remains perfectly in focus, sharp as ever.
“It’s over,” I repeat, grabbing a champagne glass from the nearest waiter and downing it. “We’re done.”
Her hands fall to her sides. I have to focus to register it. Everything dims with the surreal quality of happening elsewhere, like I’m observing through a screen, through a video game.
“But… you guys were engaged!” she gasps. “You were perfect together.” She says perfect like it’s inevitable, uncontrollable, fated.
I feel seared, melting into vapors, sublimating before her eyes.
“Why would she…”
I release a bitter, sardonic laugh. Of course, everyone would assume she’s the one who dumped me.
Jade’s hands twist together, shifting from heel to toe. “I’m… sorry, Kane,” she exhales. For the first time tonight, she looks abashed, not furious. “I…”
“Don’t worry about it,” I mutter, averting my eyes.
My sister grabs my arm, forcing me to turn toward her. “Did… something happen?”
“I wanted better,” I lie. “Someone who would follow me around, not the other way around.”
Her nose scrunches. “Don’t lie to me, asshat.”
And then, after her frown deepens, “You don’t even have a career right now.”
Ouch. Leave it to my sister to wield the final scythe to knock me down.
My gaze darts around the crowded ballroom, searching for any escape path to shrink into, any way out of having this emotional onslaught of a conversation.
Each high-pitched giggle is like an invasion, a reminder of who I’ve lost, the opulent museum cramping memories around me like the final jewels of my sarcophagus.
A gentle smile, breaking through the monotony of my mornings.
A careful hand, the first person who’s come close enough to touch me in months, combing through my hair.
The warm embrace of her arms, hugging me with the expectation of absolutely nothing in return.
The music crescendos, ballgowns swish, and future doctors chug enough drinks to kill lesser men, but to my great relief, my favorite spark of joy is nowhere to be seen.
Shame. She’s better looking than everyone else here, anywhere.
All the manufactured finery in the world looks plain compared to the authenticity of her.
Spotting one of the third years in the distance, I shoo Jade away. “Go dance with your friends,” I offer. “I’ll chaperone from a distance.”
The crowd surges precariously close to ornate art, the result of what appears to be an open bar and sleep-deprived, stunted youth. What moron thought giving unlimited alcohol to a bunch of medical students was a good idea, anyway?
When I glance back at Jade, she’s still got her furrowed brows, the lingering pity.
“Go,” I insist, palm firmly against her back. “You know I despise dancing, anyway.”
It’s true. I don’t like strange women touching me. Exchanging dance partners makes me feel like I’m swimming in pathogens.
All the bacterial colonies and mites exchanging between hands. Ugh. Humans make petri dishes look weak.
The only time I don’t mind it is when they’re attached to her.
Jade offers another hesitant look back.
“Okay,” she says, but she’s too soft, reluctant.
Instead of running away, she walks, looking back over her shoulder every few seconds as I sulk.
I escape into the shadows of the room, pretending I don’t notice.
It’s going to be a wretched night, regardless. Everyone else is celebrating the end of four grueling years, the tangible reward of hard work slowly coming to fruition, the anticipation of a full night of fun with no hospital responsibilities to be found.
I spot her in the way one might notice a bomb exploding.
Sudden, bursting with light, and utterly overwhelming to my senses.
Flitting through the ballroom. Dancing like a butterfly, spinning its joyous, vibrant rhythm around the dance floor. Twirling a vibrant green dress like she’s throwing off rays of spring.
God, why would I do this to myself? Maybe it’s the way a drowning man kicks back up for air. Or how surgeons promote backbreaking work for “the patients” and not their pursuit of glory and unsurpassed surgical prowess. Maybe all the years of sleep loss have damaged my brain irreparably.
What an eternal torment it would be to lose her. What a fool I was for ever letting myself get this close.
I should leave. We broke up, and I’m only going to hurt her if she spots me here.
My watch—the one piece of jewelry my father didn’t rip off of me in exchange for something nicer—shakes.
Expecting some caustic retort from Jade, I glance down, just to see messages from an hour ago that I silenced while getting ready.
Percy
You probably won’t see this
Fuck.
Percy
But if you haven’t blocked me yet, I could really use a friend tonight
Damn it.
My throat tightens.
She wants me here.
And for her, anything.
So for what seems like hours, I stay. I watch her prance through dance after dance, golden hair shining like the sun. Her staccato, sequined heels move like ribbons, twisting and weaving across the floor. Pearly, pink nails nab drink after drink.
Adding to my unease, I’m not the only one tracking her.
Lining the balcony, creeping along the fringe, hideous men with ravenous eyes linger, making me creep closer and closer, just in case.
Percy’s simply prettier. Smarter. Better.
Nobody is supposed to know about that except me.
The next time a waiter passes, I shoot whiskey straight, relishing the burn.
Get over yourself. She’s not yours to police.
My dear sister’s head keeps popping up, distracting me, trying to make sure I’m fine. At one point, I catch her storming toward me, and cowardly flee to the second-floor balcony.
Brooding, my tendons strain from how hard I hold the balcony rail as I watch my little surgeon dance with one short, puffy-looking man, then a balding one.
I fight down my bile.
If any of them bother her, I’m disregarding my promise to do no harm.
The next one is pretty. Bright-eyed. Shining with an adoration for Percy that I knew all too well.
I feel like I’m being stabbed, and then betrayed.
How dare he?
God. I choke down another glass. I shouldn’t be ready to punch a wall just because she’s dancing with someone older than me. More handsome than me. Probably about to match somewhere more prestigious than me, too.
Such a tidal wave of fury overwhelms me; I step back.
This is inane.
I force myself to look away, to focus on anything else, and set my intentions on tracking a flash of amethyst, and then there’s Jade, slapping her hands down on a table.
Are those chips?
I’m about to tell her she is not allowed to gamble, but then—
A bouncing green, a wisp of gold.
Percy’s pastel flowers disappear into the crowd, stealing what’s left of my heart with her.
And then she materializes before me.
I know from my ceaseless staring that her dress is a bed of leaves, climbing up her torso and flaring around her wide hips, her thick blonde hair trailing down in loose waves.
Her beauty shocks me, even now.
I can hardly call her pretty anymore.
She’s rivetingly divine.
My breath hitches, heart pounding painfully against my chest.
Love is such an unfortunate weakness. Much like her, I always wanted my career first, and devoted all my self-worth to medicine. I was never an admirer of finer things. Nor a connoisseur of the elite and unobtainable.
Now, as she runs up with haste, cheeks flushed a delicate pink, I fight off the panic that the work of art approaching came to mock me.
Had she come here to declare she wants me dead, I might finally move on, take up residence in some hole somewhere, and bury myself inside it.
Which is why she annihilates me when she says, in gleeful wonder, “You’re here!”