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“The office is running smoothly despite the build-out?”
“Everything’s going great,” he replies. “I’ve got an investor’s meeting in a few weeks, though, so there may be some changes.”
“What type of changes?”
“Can’t tell you until it’s voted on,” he replies, exhaling. “What used to be an easy decision to make—adding one more treatment room or upgrading equipment—now takes weeks and meetings before you get a yes or a no.”
I chuckle. “Hey, it was your idea to accept Daniel’s offer to be your angel investor.”
“I don’t mind it,” he says. “It was either my money—which was mainly tied up with the practice—or other people’s money which, even with all the strings, means I can treat more people. It’s a win-win.”
“You definitely sound happier,” I say.
“That I am. Busy, but happy.”
For as long as I can remember, Gabe always wanted to be a doctor. He was the first in his family to earn a scholarship to college and when he decided to go to med school, no one was surprised at all.
With the help of family and friends, he opened a family clinic right after med school. His father helped with the build-out while Dax built the counters. Relatives set up a fund so he could buy the equipment, and I quit my medical records job at the hospital so I could be his office manager. It was a huge drop in pay, but I wanted nothing more than to help Gabe succeed.
But even with all the help, Gabe wasn’t in the clear. He still had student loans to pay off, so every other weekend, he’d drive to Albuquerque to do shifts in the Emergency Room. He did this for five years until he fell asleep at the wheel on his way home and drove off the road. He was able to walk away but his car was totaled. One more inch to the right, though, and it would have been fatal.
That’s when Daniel Drexel, the father of Gabe’s best friend Dax, stepped in and told Gabe it was time to re-evaluate his medical practice. It was one thing to be dedicated to the community; it was another to almost kill oneself doing it. And that’s when the offer came. Daniel would invest in Gabe’s medical practice—but on one condition. It had to turn a profit much like every other medical practice out there. If Gabe wanted to offer no-cost or low-cost medical care like his old friend Andrea Martin in Albuquerque, he had to do it outside of the multidisciplinary practice he’d be expanding his practice into.
Gabe saw the writing on the wall then. No way was he going to pass up on such a sweet offer. With the expansion funded by private equity investors, he could do so much more than just move into a new building. He could bring in other doctors, purchase new equipment, and see more patients than he could on his own.
So he took the offer and once a week, he goes to nearby Española where he volunteers his services at a community clinic there. He still gets to do what he loves. He just has to do it as a side gig.
By then, I’d decided to go into Physical Therapy. I’d already passed the GRE and had the medical reference letters written and sent out. When I got accepted into a program in Philadelphia, Gabe drove with me and helped me move into my apartment. He encouraged me during days when I felt like such a failure and when I’d face yet another hurdle with the financial aid office, he was there, too.
“By the way,” Gabe says. “I’ll be in the area next month. Want to meet up?”
“Of course.”
“Want me to bring you anything from home?”
I chuckle. “More green chile if you can smuggle it in your luggage. Leigh used up the whole jar already. She added it to everything. Even spaghetti.”
“Yikes,” he exclaims, laughing. “I’ll bring her a few jars. In fact, text me your address and I’ll send them to you.”
I used to wish Gabe and Leigh would hit it off, but they’ve never been any more than friends. When he was getting ready to open his practice, she created limited edition prints of her artwork and donated all the profits to his clinic which he used to purchase an X-ray unit. She even went as far as chipping old tiles during the build-out, a feat that’s memorialized on the volunteer wall of the clinic.
While my contribution to Gabe’s clinic is done, there’s a part of me that wants to return as a physical therapist. I want people to see there’s more to me than the office manager who dated his best friend.
* * *
The following weekend, Trevor and I head to the ViBe Creative District near the Oceanfront. Once deemed a bad part of town, Trevor tells me it’s since become a hub for artisans practicing traditional and modern art, leatherworking, woodworking, as well as food and music.
After picking up a brochure at the Museum of Modern Art, we begin our public art tour. It’s a leisurely walk and there are many stops along the way as we take pictures of the murals, outdoor art installations, and sidewalk art.
At one of the shops, Trevor insists on buying a handmade necklace he’d seen me admire. The feel of his fingers brushing against the back of my neck as he fastens the clasp sends delicious tingles running up and down my spine. We’re clearly flirting but there’s still no kiss forthcoming. Fortunately, I’m having too much fun to feel deprived of its absence.
Four hours later, carrying artwork and knickknacks we found along the way, my feet are killing me and I’m starving. We both laugh when our stomachs growl almost in unison the moment we reach the truck.
“You ready for the surprise cuisine?” he asks as he starts the engine.
“I can eat anything right now.”
“You ever had Filipino food before?”
