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He scoops up the forgotten Chinese takeout container from his desk and curls his skilled fingers around the chopsticks. “Tell me about yourself,” he says, taking me off guard.
I straighten on the couch. “Oh, umm … okay,” I say, unsure why the words seem to be getting stuck in my throat. “There’s really not much to say. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a midwife, and now it’s finally happening. That’s all there is to me.”
He shakes his head. “No, that’s just the bullshit exterior that you’re hiding behind. Tell me something real.”
I blink, my heart beginning to race. He’s right, that’s my go-to answer whenever someone asks me about myself. I tell them all about how amazing it would be to deliver babies all day long. I tell them about my course and how many years of experience it takes for a midwife to finally reach her goals. No one ever asks to go deeper and for the first time in my life, I don’t know what to say.
“I, uhh … I’m really not that exciting,” I finally admit. “I’m an only child and moved away the second I could. I’m originally from Kentucky, and the second I could start applying for jobs, I searched for ones as far from home as possible, which is how I ended up in Nashville.”
“Why’s that?” he questions, still refusing to take his eyes off mine.
“My parents couldn’t get on board with the fact that I didn’t want to be some fancy doctor or lawyer, and they’ve never let me live it down. It was just easier to separate myself from that.”
“So, you did it all on your own?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Well, not really. I lived in a rental with about six other nursing students for a while, so we all had each other’s back. It was fun—but crowded. I moved into my apartment about a year ago. So, it’s really the first time I’ve ever been alone.”
Dr. Mayson’s brows crease as though the thought of me being alone physically pains him. “What about friends?” he asks, his hand pausing as he digs through the Chinese takeout container.
“I have my best friend, KC, who’s amazing. She has a beautiful little girl, Aalia, who’s adorable, and apart from them, I have the usual work friends, but now that I’m here …”
“You don’t see them as much.” I press my lips into a hard line and shake my head, letting him see just how much that really hurts. “And the guy who bought the PS5?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” I groan, covering my face with my hands as the humiliation haunts me. “I don’t even know what I was thinking dating a loser like that.”
“How long were you together?”
“About three months,” I tell him. “But if I’m honest, I gave up at the two-month mark. I just never really got around to telling him to get lost until last night.”
“Well,” Dr. Dick says with amusement shining brightly in his eyes. “He deserved it.”
“Understatement of the year,” I laugh.
Dr. Mayson watches me for a drawn-out second, not saying anything before finally indicating to the folder resting on my lap. “Come on, let’s try and get through this first folder before it gets too late.”
I nod and drop my gaze back to the folder. It’s going to take a week at least to get through each folder and I can’t help but wonder if this is his way of cutting the conversation short to try and keep some level of professionalism between us. Hell, maybe he simply just doesn’t give a shit about my sob story and was only asking to be polite.
I get back to work, making myself comfortable on the couch while picking at my food. Before I know it, I’m completely engrossed in what I’m doing, not even noticing the minutes ticking by.
I scan over a procedure and then instantly read it again, this time paying more attention. My brows furrow. What the fuck is this bullshit? It doesn’t even make sense. It sounds as though it was put together fifty years ago with the hope that no one would ever pay it any attention.
As I read over it a third time, I try to figure out what relevance this has to our practices today, and honestly, I’m at a loss. There’s nothing that I know of which could possibly be linked to this shit.
With my brows still furrowed, I grab the heavy folder and make my way across Dr. Mayson’s office. I round his desk and move in right beside him before placing the folder down. “Hey, take a look at this,” I say, still deep in thought. “I can’t work out what this is referring to.”
Dr. Mayson turns from his computer and instantly looks down at the folder, finding the procedure that my chipped manicure is adamantly pointing out. He scans over it in the same way that I initially had before his brows drop and he starts over. “The fuck is this bullshit? Who wrote this?” he grumbles, pulling the folder closer and flipping all the pages until he’s at the very last one.
