Chapter 10 Taylor
Taylor
When Taylor gets home from her overtime nursing shift, she defrosts an old slice of pizza and opens her laptop. She wants to catch up on Vivian’s latest lab work and investigate what that resident had said about the blood alcohol level.
But when she logs into Epic and clicks on Vivian’s name, like she had previously, a new message pops up on her screen: Patient Access Restricted.
Taylor refreshes the screen and tries again. The same message flashes, as clear as day: Patient Access Restricted.
She frowns; this is the type of message that appears when Taylor attempts to access the medical information of one of MGH’s own nurses or medical personnel who show up in the ER.
Or when she is taking care of a wealthy Saudi patient, which happens more often than you would think, though usually such patients bypass the ER and go directly to the floor.
The message serves as an additional level of security. To bypass it and access the patient’s data, which is called “breaking the glass,” you must enter a reason why. Think carefully if you need to view this record, the screen warns.
Is Taylor indeed authorized? Vivian is technically no longer her patient, but still.
She takes a deep breath and clicks “Providing Clinical Care” as the reason, and then she’s prompted to type in her password.
But when she hits Submit, instead of Vivian’s online chart being displayed, Taylor is suddenly booted off the portal completely.
And when she tries to log back on, it says that her account is now restricted.
Fuck.
Taylor leans back on the kitchen stool, drums her fingers on the countertop.
Is she in trouble for trying to access Vivian’s medical information? But Vivian was her patient. It’s no different from other patients whose progress she follows throughout their hospital stay. So, Taylor could just play the concerned-nurse card, if it comes to it. Isn’t that all it is, anyway?
But no. It’s more than that.
It’s the fact that this is the second time she’s been driven to click through Vivian’s chart from home.
It’s the fact that resting in front of her on the countertop is Vivian’s key. The key Taylor never returned. A tiny oval tag hangs from the key ring that, when magnified with Taylor’s phone camera, reads: Home.
An uncomfortable idea sprouts inside her, its tendrils tickling her conscience.
To distract herself, Taylor decides to call her dad.
He’ll be at the restaurant, even though it’s not open. He’s a creature of habit. His restaurant didn’t used to close for the off-season, but since it took a significant hit during Covid, her dad can no longer afford to keep it running year-round.
“Hiya, T.J.,” he answers. She can just picture him sitting behind the desk in the small office in the back, across from the employee-only bathroom. He probably cooked up some beer-battered Old Bay–seasoned shrimp and is enjoying that now with a cold ale. “How’s Boston treating you?”
“It’s okay,” she says, trying to keep her voice even. She suddenly feels homesick. But not for North Carolina—for him. She couldn’t come home for the holidays because tickets were too expensive. Plus, she had to work. He’ll never visit; he’s never left his home state.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Same old.”
This makes her smile; she doesn’t doubt it. “Dad, I have a question.”
“Shoot. I can’t guarantee I’ll have an answer, but I’ll try my best.”
“Can you remind me how long Mom was in Boston, before…well, you know?”
He pauses. “Why do you ask?”
“I was…I was just thinking of her.”
“Well, can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure being in Boston is…making you think of her. She was there for five months.”
“That’s all? Five months?” Taylor swallows. That’s how long she herself has been in Boston.
“That’s all.”
“Wow. It felt so much longer…. Maybe because I was young?”
“It felt longer to me, too, T.J.”
“Who was it that Mom modeled for?” she asks.
“Come again?”
“Who was it that Mom modeled for? The local designer? I wondered if maybe they were still around. If they had a storefront or something.”
“Oh…I don’t really remember, T.J. I’m sorry. It’s been so long.” He sounds pained.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she’s quick to say. “I keep…keep seeing women here who remind me of her. These glamorous women.” Taylor takes a deep breath, closes her eyes.
“Women who wear the most stylish clothes…and who have beautiful shiny brown hair, like she had. And red lipstick…and red nails…and Chanel N°5…” Her eyes flutter open as she realizes she’s conjured Vivian.
“That sounds like your mom. She was the most beautiful woman. I used to tell her…” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat.
“I used to tell her that she sucked the air out of any room she walked in. And one time she thought I said ‘waltzed,’ not ‘walked,’ and then it became a joke between us. She’d come by the restaurant and waltz in like she was dancing in a ballroom. ”
A memory triggers in Taylor. “I…think I remember that.”
Her dad gives a short laugh. “Yeah, she had a great sense of humor. Sometimes, when you’re so good-looking, you’re not funny.
But she was funny. She was so funny.” Then he says, in a more somber tone, “I’m sorry you’re missing her, T.J.
Don’t forget who you are. And you got Aunt Gigi there, if you need her.
Don’t let Boston get the best of you. You do you, you hear me? You do you.”
Don’t let Boston get the best of you?
“Okay, Dad. And Boston is fine, don’t worry. I’m doing fine. Of course I’m thinking of her here, but I always think of Mom.”
“I know you do, T.J. So do I.”
They sit on the phone quietly, and the silence feels so familiar.
It’s been the two of them for so long. This is the first time she’s lived on her own; even through community college and the three years she worked at the orthopedic center, she lived at home, saving money.
On the weekends, she’d crash at her boyfriend’s but come Monday return to sleep in her childhood bedroom.
When Taylor spotted the listing for the Boston apartment, she put down her dad as a reference.
She didn’t have any previous rental history, but she figured since she’d waitressed at her dad’s restaurant from the time she was twelve, he could attest to her work ethic and potential as a renter.
Anna, her landlord, had indeed called her father, and they’d chatted for a good long while.
Whatever her dad said to Anna worked. Sam told Taylor she was lucky to land the apartment; Anna rented only to select people.
When Taylor hangs up the phone, she picks up the key, turning it over in her hands. She suddenly wonders: Is Vivian funny? Does she have a sense of humor like my mom did? Or is she serious? Haughty, even?
Taylor knows what she is thinking of doing with this key could jeopardize the life she’s trying to set up for herself. But now that the idea’s taken hold, she can’t shake it.