Page 50 of Obeying

"What did you tell him?"

He's quiet for a second. "I told him I wanted to be a pilot."

I look at him with my eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"I was twelve. I was obsessed with planes. I used to watch them from the backyard and think about what it would be like to just go. Anywhere. No plan, no schedule, just up."

"Why didn't you?"

He shrugs. "It was something I was interested in, but even back then, I always knew it wasn't going to happen. I was going to be a doctor. It was never really a question." He turns his glass slowly on the table. "I don't regret it, though. Maybe in some other life, I could've been a pilot. But I'm satisfied with where I'm at. If that makes sense."

I nod. Somehow I understand it, even though I can't fully relate. I never had my life planned for me, I had to fight for every step. But the idea of wanting something you were never allowed to choose, and making peace with it anyway—I think I understand that more than he realizes.

"Well, I think your grandfather would be proud of you.”

"Thanks." He smiles, and my heart does something stupid again.

I tell him about my dad. How he always supported me. How he was a quiet man who never raised his voice, never once, and how when I was studying for exams, he'd leave a cup outside my bedroom door without knocking because he didn't want to interrupt me, but he wanted me to know he was there.

"I still keep the mug in the cabinet," I say. "I can't bring myself to use it, but I can't throw it away either."

"You don't have to throw it away," he counters.

"I know. It just sits there. Every morning I open the cabinet, it's the first thing I see, and I think about him, then I grab a different one and close the cabinet."

"That sounds about right."

We sit quietly for a minute, watching the last traces of sunlight disappear. The sun is almost gone now, leaving only a thin line of gold along the mountain ridge. The view is breathtaking.

Then we start trading memories from med school. The professor who always smelled like cough drops, the time half the class showed up to the wrong lecture hall for a final, the study sessions that turned into arguments that got us kicked out of the library.

"God, do you remember that pharmacology exam?" I ask. "The one where you got the top score because you cheated?"

He looks at me like I just accused him of a crime. "Excuse me. I have never cheated in my life."

"Yes, you did! I got a perfect score, Logan. A perfect score. Every single question right. And you just had to raise your hand and point out to Dr. Bellview that one of her questions was clinically contradictory. Something about the drug interaction not matching the dosage she listed."

"Because it didn't. The question was flawed."

"And she gave you two bonus points for catching it! Two! Which put you above me on a test I answered perfectly."

"And how is that cheating? I corrected an academic error. That's intellectual integrity."

"That's you being a show-off who couldn't stand that I beat you, so you found a loophole."

"Again, wrong term, Portland. It wasn't a loophole. It was attention to detail." He leans back, arms crossed. "Something a surgeon should appreciate."

"Don't lecture me about attention to detail. I got every question right. Every. Single. One. You got one wrong and still ended up on top because you couldn't just let me have it."

"I let you have plenty of things, Portland."

"Name one."

"I'm thinking."

"Exactly."

"You know, Portland, the fact that you're still arguing about this ten years later tells me everything I need to know."