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I raised my coffee in salute. “We can only go up from here.”
“You’re a very strange person.”
“But I’m your favorite person.”
“You stretch the limits of the word, my dear. You’re also making me look bad.” Jerome pulled his lab coat closer around his shoulders and glared dubiously at the parking lot. “The mentee has surpassed the mentor when it comes to dedication to duty—you’ve just finished your third shift this week, and it’s only Thursday. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You spend more time here than you do at home.”
“Has it been that long since your residency that you’ve forgotten what it was like?” I sighed and leaned against the bricks. “Besides, I’m off for the next couple days. I’m leaving, I promise. I just like to wind down for a bit after my shift. I’m about to head down to the gym.”
“I’m holding you to that. I better not find you scrubbing in thirty minutes later. And don’t presume to lecture me about the trials and tribulations of residencies, Miss Self-imposed-deadlines.” Jerome turned to leave but suddenly turned, pointing his finger at me like a gun. “Hey, I almost forgot to ask—David wants to know if you and Chris are coming tonight. He’s doing some sushi thing and needs an accurate headcount.”
“He’s making the sushi?” David was a terrible cook.
“I don’t bother to ask anymore.”
Sushi did sound good, but as far as Chris went…. “Maybe, but my plus one is now a minus.”
Jerome’s shoulders fell. “Really? I thought we liked him.”
“We did. Right up until he slept with Trish.”
“The roommate? No.”
“In my bed. While I was passed out on the couch.”
Jerome gasped. “Hellno.”
“What can I say? Baking shows put me out like a light. I had just gotten home from a shift, and I’m a heavy sleeper.” I scuffed a toe at the pavement. “Apparently, not heavy enough.”
My flippant tone was nothing more than a mask to hide the anger and hurt that was still simmering beneath the surface. I had known for some time that Chris wasn’t the one, but he was cute and fun and someone I had honestly thought cared about me. I had certainly cared about him—I must have, or else it wouldn’t hurt this much. But maybe it was just because the two-for-one betrayal of not only my boyfriend, but my friend of nearly five years as well special came for the rock-bottom price of free. And with shitty, shitty timing.
It was coming up on the anniversary of my mother’s death. The anniversary of my little…accident. Clinically, I knew that PTSD sufferers were seventy-two percent more likely to experience the anniversary effect, feelings that would only heighten symptoms of insomnia, hypervigilance and sensitivity, and negative feelings. Personally, I knew that what this all boiled down to was that my life got really shitty for a few weeks right around March 17th. Dark days that would only be compounded by the afore-mentioned double betrayal of Chris and Trish.
Their names even rhymed. Yuck.
So, I was doing what I did best. Running. Avoiding. Burying my head in work. Of course, not until I’d socked Chris right in the jaw and taken back the Lamarque I had given Trish for Christmas—itwasa really nice jacket—and moved my meagre belongings into a converted studio apartment in Shawmut. It might be a little run down, and the entire thing might have less square footage than my previous bathroom, but its chief defining characteristic was the distinct lack of cheating assholes.
“I kind of want to punch him in the face.” Jerome was scowling at the drizzle. “I mean, I’ve never punched someone in the face, but he seems like he’d be a good first.”
I frowned. “I already punched him. He was far from my first, but it was still satisfying. Besides, I don’t need you to fight my battles, Jerome.”
“I know you don’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” He looped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “You going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. A good swim to clear my head, and then home to my fortress of solitude. Maybe I’ll get a cat.”
“Nooo—you’re too young to become a cat lady.” He pulled away, looking at me seriously. “Come over tonight, please. You need to be around friends.”
“I don’t know...”
Jerome’s pager went off, and he made a face. Duty called. “I’m telling David you’re coming. You know he’ll drag you there by force if you don’t show.”
“I completely believe he would,” I forced a smile. “All right, fine—I’ll upgrade that answer to probably. Now get back to your patients and leave me in peace, you menace.”
A final dismissive wave from my friend, and I was once again left alone beneath the loading dock’s overhang. I sighed deeply, watching the double doors swoosh closed behind him and wishing I could be different. I loved my job, but sometimes it felt like that was all I was living for.
There was an ancient wooden bench off to one side, and I decided to make use of it. It was a little rickety, scarred with cigarette burns and coffee stains from a hundred previous users, mostly doctors and surgeons and nurses looking to escape the organized chaos beyond those doors. My thin cotton scrubs did nothing to cushion the cold, angular wood, but that was okay. It was real. It was harsh and unforgiving, just like the day outside. Just like life.
Goosebumps pricked my arms. I took a sip of my coffee, mostly lukewarm, now. The damp March wind blowing in from Back Bay still held the salt of the ocean. I could taste it on my lips, mingling with the espresso and just a hint of coppery tang from where I’d bitten at my lip to the point of rawness. The clouds were low and ugly. The façade that I had maintained for Jerome’s benefit quickly faded, replaced by the suffocating weight of family tragedy, cheating boyfriends, and fake friends.
