“I feel like hell too.”
“Rough night?”
“You could say that.”
“Not surprising. It’s graduation week, which means we’ll all suffer until these residents settle into their new roles.”
I can’t help but smile. With her bouffant hair and round ’80s glasses, Dr. Garza looks like she should be manning a church bake sale, not running the floor of the BICU. She’s a chair in the surgical department and helped train me during my fellowship, years ago. She’s one of the best surgeons I’ve ever worked with.
She nods toward the doors. “I can take it from here. Go get some sleep.”
I nod before I yank off my surgical gown and trash it. Before I leave the hospital, I shower in the locker room and grab some jeans and a Red Sox T-shirt from a bag I keep here. Outside, the world is a bright and new thing. The sun is shining. Traffic is moving at a snail’s pace. I catch a whiff of coffee and nearly wrench a Starbucks cup away from a passing stranger, but I know I shouldn’t—both for the criminal implications and because if I drink caffeine now, I won’t be able to sleep.
Out of habit, I start off in the direction of my townhouse before I realize what I’m doing and reroute to Noah’s place instead. The movers will be at my house, packing up all the furniture and loading it into a storage unit so my contractor can have free rein for renovations. I packed up two suitcases the other day and will need to head over to grab them later. It’s just enough stuff to tide me over until the remodel is done. I don’t need much, just clothing and some toiletries. Noah said his guest bedroom is outfitted with most anything I’ll need, and if there’s something I can’t find, he told me to ask Natalie.
Natalie.
The idea of her settles in my chest, the first good thing I’ve thought about in twelve hours.
Last night had been planned for weeks. I’d wanted to attend her graduation ever since I saw the invitation for the banquet on Noah’s fridge. I knew her parents wouldn’t be there, knew how few friends she has, so I memorized the date and mentioned to Dr. Patel that I’d like to attend. He was pleased. Attendings are always welcome at resident graduations. After all, we’ve helped train these doctors, so it makes sense that we’d be invested enough to see them off before the next part of their journey.
Of course, that’s not the whole reason I was in attendance last night.
No. Other than wanting to be there to support her, I also wanted to see Natalie in something other than her scrubs. I wanted to see her in that black dress—the only dress I’ve ever seen her wear—and those strappy heels.
I wonder what Noah would do if he knew I have feelings for his sister. Surely he wouldn’t have invited me to stay at his townhouse while he’s away. It’s a terrible idea, really. But I couldn’t pass it up.
The chance to spend a few months living that close to Natalie? It’s a gift.
Up until yesterday, Natalie was a surgical resident who rotated on and off my service at the hospital. For the last five years, it was my job to mentor her during rounds and guide her through surgeries. I wasn’t allowed to want her.
I’ve stayed in line, kept my hands to myself, and followed the rules. I think I deserve an award, a plaque of my own just like the one Natalie couldn’t let go of last night.
I round the corner onto Noah’s street and see his townhouse up ahead. While I live there, it’ll be a quick walk to and from the hospital. His place is a few blocks closer to Beacon Street than mine.
My cell vibrates in my pocket and I reach down to check who’s calling. My mom’s cheery picture fills up my phone screen. Usually, I wouldn’t let her call go to voicemail. She has good phone etiquette, never lingers on the line or guilts me if I’m in a rush. Sometimes, she’ll put me on speaker so I can talk to Dad too, but right now I can’t answer. I spot a brunette running toward me and pocket my phone, promising myself I’ll give my mom a call back later.
I know Natalie is a runner. She played soccer in college and has the lean figure of someone who enjoys pounding the pavement. From what Noah has mentioned, I know she’s finished three half marathons and was training for a full before her knee started giving her trouble. She’s eased off longer distances since then but apparently hasn’t given up running altogether.
The sun is at my back, so she doesn’t recognize me until we’re three houses away from each other. She stutter-steps and then slows her pace. Her hands prop on her hips and she continues her cooldown as we move closer. I take her in from my vantage point, not used to getting my fill of her. I’ve had to be careful over the years, not looking too hard for too long, never staring though it’s hard not to. Her brown hair is pulled back in French braids, baby hairs escaping near her temples. Her high cheekbones sport a healthy red glow. Her forehead is glossy with sweat. Her white running shorts cut off high on her tan thighs, and her matching tank top is loose, dipping low to show the edges of her blue sports bra.