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“Stella assured me she judged my fashion choices and my failure to use my boobs as man-slaying weapons.” Angela pointed at her chest, stretching the fabric of the sundress. “Today, at this dinner party, in front of my friends and their dates—who are also attendings—I’m proving I’m a full professional grown up to be respected. It’s different from a girls’ night. Probably less alcohol.”
“I wouldn’t be sure about it.” Michael stumbled around the messy room, hunting for clothes. “Where are my dress shirts?”
“You were wearing one when you woke me up. Your study break lost your shirt?” Angela reminded him.
“It was a worthy cause.” Michael smirked at her, his eyes running up her body.
“Might have been,” Angela agreed. She should have told him to get back to studying, though when your new husband wakes you up post-call with coffee and a striptease, a woman doesn’t argue.
Michael opened the door to the hallway. “Found my shirt. Hey, Taussig.”
Unnoticed by her humans, Angela’s Irish Setter Taussig (named for the cardiologist Helen Taussig) had stolen the shirt to add to her doggie bed in the hallway. “Silly girl. Do you think she’s acting weird?”
“For taking my shirt or being confused why my crap is spilling over every surface?” He headed to the hallway, avoiding tripping over another stack of review books. Combining their possessions had taken a back seat to Michael’s Step 2 studying. If he wanted to make a competitive residency placement, he needed killer scores. “Tell Taussig my house has more space.”
“Your house isn’t close to the hospital or the med school library,” Angela pointed out on her way to the bathroom to do her makeup and hair.
“We’re both on light rotations.” Michael headed to the guest room and the extra closet, where the rest of his clothing must have been stashed.
“For now. Besides, I hate driving post-call.” Angela pushed the diagram of the steps to treat traumatic blood loss off the side of her mirror.
“My house has a dance studio with actual music instead of nightly sirens,” he said, and she could hear the sound of him shaking out a shirt from where it had probably been crammed in the closet.
“Your house doesn’t have me in it.” She tied her hair back in a simple claw, examining the straps on her dress. The strapless bra was going to have its work cut out for it, holding her chest back against the dress’s flimsy spaghetti straps.
“It would have more space for my flashcards.” Michael stuck his head in the bathroom, waving a review book at her. “We need to install an extra bar in the closet. The stack of books that fell over on my clean laundry didn’t help the wrinkles in my pants.”
“I think we have wrinkle releaser in the kitchen somewhere.” Technically, the guest room was to store Michael’s clothes and give him a place to study. However, in reality, Step 2 study material had taken over the entire rowhouse like a form of malignant cancer. Most available surfaces had diagrams and review charts taped to them. A virtual forest of review books had grown over the rowhouse—First Aid for USMLE Step2, Master the Boards, Boards and Beyond, Osmosis Clinical Reasoning, Step up to USMLE Step 2. He’d already signed up for every possible review service. UWorld’s question bank. OnlineMedEd clinical lectures, the Anki flashcard resource.
Honestly, Angela was willing to buy anything it took to help Michael ace Step 2. His score would determine his residency matching options and where he would live for the next three to six years.
Unfortunately, every single other fourth-year student was feeling the same way. Like most of them, he’d taken July off from any rotation and dedicated it to studying so he could take the exam in August.
“How was studying today?” she asked, selecting eye shadow, lipstick, and mascara.
According to this morning’s study schedule, which she’d taped on his side of the bed and the bathroom mirror, Michael attended a morning library session with Raj and Nora.
“It goes. They’re pretty serious. Raj skipped his parents’ trip to India to study for boards,” Michael said, less concerned than she was.
“Good for him, right?” Angela folded back the traumatic blood loss diagram to apply her makeup.
“Especially since his parents wanted to pair him and his cousin with every eligible woman on the subcontinent.” Michael entered, trying to see his own reflection. “Where’s the full-length mirror?”
“In the hallway by the kitchen. I moved it. Are Raj and Nora both coming tonight?”
“Yep, and Raj is bringing his latest nurse, which might’ve been another reason to skip the trip.” Michael stood in front of the partially buried mirror, wearing a white button-down shirt, blue tie, and slightly wrinkled black pants. “Good enough?”
Angela stepped out to the messy hallway and admired the view, never failing to be impressed with his self-assurance and poise. “Great as usual. If the wrinkle releaser works, I’d rate you as a great residency candidate in that one. Does my dress say ‘serious cardiologist happily married to an excellent future resident’ and not ‘flighty fellow who snuck around to date the med student?’”
He looked her over, a smile growing on his lips. “It says ‘throw me back on the bed and show up late to dinner.’”
She passed him and rifled through the kitchen cupboards until she found the aforementioned wrinkle releaser. “It had better not.”
“Everything you wear says that to me. Even those massive scrubs you used to hide in.” Michael put his arms around her, stopping her quest. “No hiding now. Can’t wait till those other attendings see how lucky I am.”
“God,” Angela couldn’t help the way her body draped itself over his. Nothing felt more right than when they were together. “I hope you match at MetroGen. The idea of seeing you once a month for years is horrible.”
“Stop thinking about that,” Michael commanded her, nipping her lips. “Serious cardiologists don’t worry about trifles like those. We’re going to be fine.”
