Kissing My Dad's Friend

She acts like that will be easy. Like the years upon years of work I’ll need to put in here will pass before I even know it.

Frankly, if Dad had explained before I went to nursing school how this whole “you need to pay me back” thing was going to work, I would have taken out my own student loans instead. Sure, I’d be broke as hell right now, but I’d be broke and happy.

It would’ve been worth it, I think.

Maybe.

I sling on my coat and trudge out after Dad into the predawn light. This time of year, it’s still dark by the time we need to be up and about. There’s a faint sheen of ice on the windshield. Without a word, Dad passes me the scraper, and gets into the car himself to warm it up. I sigh, my breath fogging, and start to scrape the frost from the windows.

By the time I’ve finished, I’ve worked up a sweat, and I’m not even at work yet. I slide into the car and shove my hands right up against the heating vent, which has started to feebly spit out faintly warmer air than the rest of the car. I’m shivering myself back to life when Dad clears his throat in a way that makes my stomach sink. I recognize that sound. Not to mention the expression he shoots me from the corner of his eye.

“We have some things we need to discuss,” he says as he puts the car into gear.

I slip my hands under my thighs and clench them into fists out of sight, since he’d tell me off for looking visibly annoyed otherwise. Dad’s big on “accepting constructive criticism with poise and grace.” AKA, he hates when I talk back to him or in any way question his directives.

“I went through your patient roster,” he says, and I blow out an exasperated breath.

“Dad, I went to school for this, you know. I understand how to do my job.”

“That’s funny, because last I checked, I’m the one who paid for that school, and I’m your boss’s boss’s boss, and I’ve been working in hospitals since I was younger than you. So I’m pretty sure that between the two of us, I’m the one who knows how you need to do your job.” He jerks his head toward the backseat, and I notice with a suppressed grimace that he’s got a stack of folders spread across the seats. As usual.

I spot a file folder with my name on it, right on top of the files with a few other employee names. I spot Russ’s folder lingering near the seat behind me, and feel a brief pang of sympathy for him. Russ is my father’s oldest friend, all the way back from when they were in medical school together. He’s a surgeon and doesn’t usually have to deal with Dad’s daily BS meetings, where Dad delivers his marching orders to everyone in the hospital, all the way down to the newbie little nurses like me.

Some rich woman must be coming in for an elective plastic surgery, if Dad has a file with Russ’s name on it. Normally, Russ is just about the only person in the hospital who Dad trusts. He has fairly free reign over the surgery wing, in comparison to the heads of all the other departments. It never ceases to amaze me that Russ hasn’t applied to another hospital and escaped to freedom somewhere else. After all, unlike me, he isn’t beholden to my father.

Yet despite the fact that Russ is warm and friendly—not to mention kind of hot, I can’t lie, I had such a crush on him back in undergrad—for some reason he likes my dad. The two of them hang out outside of work, something none of Dad’s other “friends” do. Well, except for the mutual friends he and Mom have, who come over for barbecues. But even they’re all mostly Mom’s friends, really, who put up with Dad glowering in the corner and announcing his displeasure over everything, from the food down to the music.

When I hesitate for too long, Dad clears his throat. “Inside your folder,” he starts, subtly emphasizing the words until I finally sigh and reach back to take the thing, “you’ll find a list of the patients you’ll be attending to over the next couple of days. I’ve highlighted three of them in particular. Two are children of members of our board, so they’re going to need extra close attention. The third is the son of a man I went to Yale with, so I’d also like you to give him more time than you normally would.”

“Dad, I have…” I flip through the book, my eyes widening. “Twenty five patients in here. That’s a ton. I’m going to have to make sure they all get taken care of—”