Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
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And I found myself really liking Willow.
She's intelligent and funny, with an uncanny ability to mimic different voices and mannerisms - Robert De Niro, Bill Clinton, Meryl Streep, Taylor Swift were some of the celebs she mimicked and she’s amazing at it.
She performs these spot-on impersonations at a nightclub as part of an amateur standup routine—something we have in common since I also perform at a club, though I sing and play piano.
We're both Johns Hopkins-educated doctors too, which gave us plenty to reminisce about.
We traded stories about our instructors and rotation experiences, especially Dr. Harwood with his signature move: saying something profound, crossing his arms, then popping his eyes dramatically.
I nearly fell out of my chair when Willow nailed his impression.
We also laughed about Dr. Yang, the most straight-laced instructor you'd ever meet by day, who transformed into an Eddie Van Halen-level electric guitarist by night with his own band.
Naturally, after the time with Willow, the drive back to LA with Tally stretched into six hours of carefully chosen words.
We chatted about movies, traffic, anything but what hung between us.
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel whenever silence threatened.
Once, at a red light, I caught Tally studying my profile, her expression unreadable.
I wanted her—not Willow with her perfect résumé and infectious laugh.
Yet as I merged onto the highway, part of me wondered if I was being stupid.
How many men would kill to have a brilliant doctor with kind eyes looking at them the way Willow had looked at me?
Crossing our threshold felt like shedding a lead coat. Six hours from Mammoth to LA with Willow's name hanging unspoken between us had been torture.
The moment we arrived, Tally beelined for her mother.
"Did you take your medication? All of them?
On schedule?" She grabbed Marisa's wrist, tapping the Apple Watch she'd bought specifically to track her mother's rest patterns.
That's Tally—scrutinizing sleep stats before even setting down her bags.
Some might call it hovering, but I've always seen it differently: her vigilance is her love and devotion for Marisa made visible.
The same intensity radiates when she gazes at Brinley, or when she turns those eyes on me.
The difference is that loving me seems to suffocate her, while loving them gives her air.
I'm learning to live with that contradiction.
“Tally,” her mother complained. “You have to stop hovering. I’m doing well. I promise you I don’t miss a dose of my Lithium or Abilify. Now go away.” Marisa smiled, though, and hugged her daughter. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too.”
Tonight Marisa and I will inevitably drift to the piano for our usual duet.
Her concert-trained fingers dance across the keys, challenging me to keep pace.
It's like our chess matches—I hold my own, but her mind works in brilliant, unexpected patterns.
Her bipolar disorder, which causes her so much pain in daily life, transforms into pure creative genius when she plays music or plots her next chess move.
God, if I somehow end up with Willow—which I don't want, despite her impressive résumé—I'd ache for what I'd lose. Not just Tally, but these evenings: Brinley's gurgling at dinner, Marisa's impromptu concerts before she rushes off to her nightclub gig, this makeshift family we've patched together.
It could happen, though. It really could.
But one word from Tally and I'd drop everything. She's still the only one I truly want. She’s still endgame for me.
Even knowing she might never feel the same.