His words hit me in one big, physical push. Is he talking about his father here, or me? I didn’t go away to school. All those Ivy League acceptance letters went unanswered—the money was too tight with my mounting medical bills, and when every attempt to eat and live a normal life was punished, I was too scared to leave my house, let alone go off to college. I took the easy route, because Ihad to. And even the easy route wasn’t easy. Not for me. Yet here is Julian, staring me down like it’s an affront tohimthat I haven’t lived up to my potential. But what does he know about life? And why does he assume he’s the one winning at it? He’s mean and judgmental and approaches each day like it’s already done him wrong and he’ll make it pay. Ambition fueled by spite, where each goal surpassed isn’t cause for celebration, but just another rung up the ladder. But where does that ladder lead, and why is he so desperate to get there?
A cold satisfaction ices over his eyes. “The factis, Ms. Wyeth, it’s still federally illegal, and legalizing it state by state is a shameless money grab that comes at the expense of people’s well-being.”
My lips part, and a small puff of air exits. So, this is what he thinks of me? That I’m an underachieving stoner who wants to shake people down and get them hooked on drugs?
Well, it’s a good thing I know who I am.
Thisunderachieving stoner wants to help people, and this is my chance to do it.
I smile ruefully. “Some of what you said is true, Dr. D’Angelo. Corporate cannabis, with their vertical monopoly capped by a big box store approach to operating dispensaries, shortchanges the people they serve in chase of the dollar. They slash prices to run small dispensaries out of business, then raise prices once they’ve killed the competition. Their cannabis is substandard and unvaried, they disregard its medicinal qualities, and they give nothing back to the towns and cities where they operate.” I turn my smile back to the city council. “In other words, the antithesis of everything Stranger Drugs and I stand for. Voting to approve my license today will dissuade corporate weed-marts from popping up nearby, because Sparrow Nook deserves more than that.” My gaze swivels back to Julian. “And no doctor, with his uninformed, prejudicial opinions,who lives in Philadelphia, can convince me otherwise.”
Outrage spills from the chambers. Someone shouts, “Philadelphia?!”
Chester bangs his gavel with gusto. “Is it true that you reside in Philadelphia, Dr. D’Angelo?”
Smug satisfaction curves my mouth. The only thing that pisses off Sparrow Nook more than shore traffic is New Jerseyans who live in Philadelphia. Judging by Julian’s panicked face, he’s picked up on the major downshift in vibe. Before he can say anything, I lean forward.
“Worse. Dr. D’Angelo complains about New Jersey drivers now.” I look at Julian and shake my head slowly. “As if he isn’t just as bad as the rest of us.”
The chambers immediately fill with booing.
“You’re from Georgia!” Julian shouts. “You’re notone of us.”
I step out from behind the podium and walk toward him. His eyes widen slightly, and I’m thrilled to see the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath his perfect white coat.
I love scaring men.
“I live here because I love Sparrow Nook.” I raise an eyebrow. “And you cannot say the same thing, Doctor.” I turn my gaze out to the audience. “Sparrow Nook deserves compassionate care, free from judgment. We deserve respect and the autonomy to choose what’s right for our bodies instead of ignorant, knee-jerk opinions that presume us too stupid to govern ourselves responsibly. More than anything, we deserve a good time!” I raise my fist in the air, and the audience rises to a standing ovation.
Ten minutes later, the final vote’s entered into the record—3 yeas, 2 nays—and I burst into the happiest tears of my life.
JULIAN
The cheering chases me from the building. Or maybe it was Mom frowning at me, or seeing Nomi incandescently happy as Eve tackled her in a big, spinning hug, their limbs jumbled together in the kind of friendship I’ve never had.
And never wanted, frankly. Who enjoys being touched like that? That’s how you get norovirus. Pink eye. Hit up for informal loans.
I click my key fob the second I’m outside, repeatedly unlocking it even though my car emits horn blips each time. I can’t get out of here fast enough. I check my phone to distract my furious brain and nearly trip at an email from Dr. Riveras labeled:Re: Update.
Julian,
I received your request to immediately reinstate your position at Philly Gen: the answer is no. It has been three weeks. I don’t care if you’re unchallenged and bored and “wasting away in a sea of Type II Diabetes,” and frankly, I don’t understand what beer pong has to do with it. Your outrageous mistake could’ve cost the hospital its brand-new wing for autoimmune disease research and treatment. I implore you—take this probation seriously, learn your lesson, and after six months, we’ll reconsider your employment at Philly Gen. More than anything, keep a low profile. I cannot overstate how important it is to keep your head down right now until the Corringtons forget you exist.
—Dr. Riveras
My eyes widen in horror. I never sent an email requesting reinstatement! I scroll down quickly, my stomach bottoming out when I see that actually I had, the message date-stamped the night of the Pot Luck after Nomi left me on the couch and before the drugs left my system. I don’t remember writing a word of it.
I throw my head back and yell at the sky.
“Doctor.” A man calls from behind me, his voice rough with a veneer of friendliness over top, like honey-coated gravel. “A quick word?”
“What!” I bellow.
The gravelly voice laughs, which catches me off guard. I glance over my shoulder. It’s Mike Tonuto, one of the two reasonable voters against Nomi’s weed hovel. “Sorry to bother you when you’reah, upset, but I wanted to discuss our mutual…concernsabout that sweet girl’s misguided venture.”
I snort. Nomi,sweet? She was a besuited succubus with a PowerPoint in there. It was, admittedly, extremely hot.
“What is it?” I offer grudgingly.
