19
“Earth to Jesse,” Anjali sings, then snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you go just now?”
“Sorry.” I blink a few times and flash a smile. “I think my brain is just tired.”
The sounds and smells of the surrounding café rush back into focus, and I have to shift in my seat to adjust.
“I get that,” Anj says after taking a sip of her latte. “I keep having to remind myself to trust the process, but good god, the process feels brutal.”
Anjali is also a preclinical student, which is just saying we’re both in our first year at Harvard Med, and she’s in my society, which is kind of like HMS’s version of Hogwarts houses. She also happens to live in my building.
I opted to not move into the house I’d found for me, Joss, and the kids, but I missed my chance to get a spot in the dorms with most of the other first year med students. Initially, that didn’t bother me, but I didn’t consider just how lonely I’d be living on my own. Three weeks after moving to Boston, I had no roommate and didn’t know any of my neighbors, so I was climbing the walls and strongly considering getting a cat. The day I recognized Anjali leaving the building, I swear the clouds opened and angels sang.
She hasn’t been able to get rid of me since.
I still think I might get a cat, though. And I want to name it Steve Carell. I’m not sure why. It just feels right. I’ll make a game out of fitting as many Steve Carell quotes in a day as possible. With just The Office alone, the possibilities are endless.
“Can you believe we’ve been at this for, like, almost two months?” Anj says, cutting back into my thoughts. She’s talking to me, but her eyes are on the computer screen in front of her.
“Honestly? No,” I tell her, and click to the next lecture slide. “But sometimes I have moments where I’m like...how is it not fall break yet?”
She hums her agreement and clicks the trackpad on her laptop.
Our classes are flipped, so we have to do all the readings and course lecture videos prior to class, then during the actual class, we get to do group discussions and work through clinical cases. I really like the way it’s set up. Anj and I spend most of our time at this café doing class prep together, but really, it’s her doing prep and kicking my ass every time I zone out.
Which is often.
It’s taken me a few years, but I’ve found strategies that work for me when it comes to managing my ADHD. I keep to a routine. I live out of a planner. I try my best to stay organized. I have an app on my phone that I use specifically for task and time management, complete with alerts, reminders, and checklists. I curb excess energy with the gym or knitting, and I meditate as needed. But like anything else in life, the difficulty of managing the symptoms varies, and right now, the outside stressors are making everything more challenging.
Boston is cool, but aside from my relationship with Anjali, I’m lonely. I miss my family. I miss my old condo. I miss Indiana, which is something I never thought I would ever say. I miss the familiarity and the comfort of home. Surprisingly, though, moving my entire life to a new state and starting medical school hasn’t been the hardest thing to acclimate to. I’ve assimilated fairly quickly.
But the breakup?
That has threatened to derail me on more than one occasion.
Some days are better than others. On the good days, I’m on top of my shit. I’m social. I’m kicking ass in class. But more often than not, I’m just going through the motions. And sometimes, like tonight, I can feel myself slipping. I miss Jocelyn and the kids, and it’s all I can think about.
I’ll waste whole chunks of time stressing over the breakdown of everything with Joss—what I did wrong, what I could have changed, how I could have been more careful. So much of it was my fault. It was my involvement with them that put her at risk. If it weren’t for my past...
I grit my teeth. No matter how many times I try to beat them back, the same old insecurities reappear.
I wasn’t good enough for her. I screwed it all up.
I can’t stop seeing her face the day we said goodbye. I can’t stop hearing Jude’s voice when he said he would miss me. And June’s hug. I can’t stop remembering the way it felt when she released me and stepped back.
I realized I loved them moments before I lost them.
Those thoughts are like despair quicksand, and on nights when they’re the most vicious, I’m fucking grateful for Anj, because she can throw me a lifeline in the form of a shin kick or a finger snap.
Ivy and Bailey would love her.
I’ve kept my promise. I check in with the group chat daily, and I’ve FaceTimed with each of my friends at least once since I got to Boston, and no one ever mentions Joss. It’s like an unspoken agreement. I don’t inquire, and they don’t divulge.
Jocelyn Calligaris is Fight Club.
“Hey,” Anjali says, punctuating her word with a swat to my shoulder. “You’re doing it again.” She sits up straight and hits me with the look. “Should we call it a night?”
I glance at my computer. “I still have ten slides.” I screw my lips up and scowl.
“A change of scenery, then?” she suggests, and I smile.
“Let’s get food and go back to your place and take turns reading the slides out loud.”
“Why my place?” She powers down her laptop and slides it into her bag. “Your place is closer.”
I snort a laugh. “By one floor.” My apartment is on the fourth floor, and Anjali’s is on the fifth. “Your apartment because mine is a disaster and the couch is covered in yarn skeins.” I never realized just how much Kelley cleaned until I moved into an apartment on my own.
“Okay, Grandma Jesse,” she says, and slings her backpack over her shoulder. “It’s your turn to buy.”
The next morning,I’m waiting for Anjali on the sidewalk outside of our building to head to class. She takes forever and always leaves right at the last minute. I used to think I was pushing it until I met Anj.
While I wait, I scroll through my socials. I don’t go on a lot, and even when I do, it’s to post and bail. I rarely scroll—it makes me miss home too much—but Rox just made an Instagram profile, and she cracks my ass up. Best part of my month was when she sent me a friend request.