I snort. “Yeah, not happening.” I take off my hat. “How was your date? Fourth one, right?”
She blushes. “Yeah, I think… I think there’s chemistry. Maybe we could start doing some double dates? Now you’ve extended your contract?”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that with Z?—”
The elevator dings on the third floor, and I wave goodbye to Serena, who has two more floors to go. The familiar hum of clinic days hits me—phones ringing, nurses talking over printers, the faint scent of antiseptic that somehow is fainter here than on other floors.
“Robyn!” Ellie practically sings my name from the nurses’ station. Her honey-blonde braid swings as she rushes over with a stack of charts. “Mrs. Talbot brought you a lemon loaf. Again. She says you’re the only doctor who listens.”
I sigh, but it’s impossible not to smile. “I listen because she has opinions about everything from her chronic vertigo to sushi.”
“And you encourage her,” Ellie says, pointing at me.
“Barely.”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “Right. You love her.”
I love all of them. Back in residency, especially during my year in diagnostics, patients never felt likemine. They wereassignments, chances to either excel or expose every crack in my training. I was always bracing for the moment I’d prove myself inadequate. But here… these people choose me as their doctor. They come back asking formeand let me into their fear, their relief, their stories. It’s a privilege I intend to continue to earn over and over again.
I take the charts from Ellie and drop them into the crook of my arm. “Okay, who’s first?”
“Phillips. MRI is already uploaded. Oh, and Dr. Raymond is looking for you—something about research hours next week.”
I groan softly. “I owe him some hours. I got pulled into a consultation at the last minute, and he’s feeling salty about it.”
Ellie grins. “You’re the only fellow he ever demands shows up at his lab. I think it’s a huge compliment.”
I duck into my office to drop my bag. I share the space with one other fellow and another attending. It’s small—three desks, one window, a plant nobody manages to remember to water—but it’s ours, mine. There’s a plaque with my name on the door and everything. Serena hung a picture on the bulletin board last week of Ellie, her, and me over drinks and dinner at the steakhouse holiday party. I’m in the middle, they’ve both squished their faces against mine, and we’re all laughing at something someone said. I hardly recognize myself in it. I look… relaxed, well-rested.
Right below it, there’s a receipt from over three years ago—my first date with Nate. He got dinner, I got drinks. He said once that was when he realized he’d fallen in love with me. They way I didn’t ask, just slid my card on top of the bill… The wrinkled paper’s almost hidden but still visible enough that it reminds me how quickly things can turn to shit. So I remember not to let myself feel all that settled. Funny how these months have transformed not just my whole routine but my entire default for existence.
I check my phone as I put on my lab coat and have one unread text from Julian.
Julian:Why don’t newborns want to fucking sleep? I thought it was all they’re supposed to do.
I bite back a laugh, my shoulders shaking just a little.
Me:Did you try skin to skin?
Julian:Very funny. I told you. He hates me.
I roll my eyes, swiping my thumb over the keyboard on the screen.
Me:Get a burp cloth?
Me:Or maybe tips from the Momma?
The three dots pop up instantly.
Julian:I told her to sleep.
Julian:And she also hates me.
I balance my phone in one hand while I change my shoes and grin. Julian’s a dad. I, for sure, didn’t see that coming.
Me:Yeah, you earned that.
He responds with a middle finger emoji.
