End Game

by Emily Goodwin

  “Taking the fellowship doesn’t mean he wants it more than he wants you,” Marissa tries to reason.

  “I know,” I sigh. “And that’s why I feel so bad wishing he’d decide on his own to stay here.”

  “You shouldn’t feel bad about it. No one wants their boyfriend to go away for work.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “True. I’m faking my happiness, so I do feel bad.”

  “Don’t fake it. Tell him how you feel.”

  “Then he might not take it.”

  Marissa widens her eyes. “Which is what you want.”

  “Yeah, but because he doesn’t want to, not because he knows I don’t want him to go.”

  Marissa shakes her head. “What’s the damn difference?”

  “The root of his decision?” I try, knowing I probably sound insane. “I love him and want him to be happy.”

  “Don’t you think he wants the same for you?”

  My phone rings before I can answer her. “It’s Archer.”

  “I’ll catch up later,” Marissa says, going to the door. “I need to hear all about this new company you might leave me for.”

  Waiting until Marissa has closed the door behind her, I answer. “Hey, Arch.”

  “Hey, babe. How are you?”

  “All right. I just got to work. You?”

  “I’m just leaving work.”

  “You’ve been there all night?”

  “Yeah,” he groans. “I have a few hours to sleep before going back. I have a Whipple today, so I’ll be in surgery for eight or so hours.”

  “What the heck is a Whipple? Sounds kinda kinky.”

  “It’s a pancreaticoduodenectomy,” he says.

  “Oh right, one of those.”

  He laughs. “It’s basically removing cancerous tumors from the head of the pancreas. It’s a long procedure.”

  “Wow. That’s intense.”

  “It is, and the pathology isn’t the greatest for this patient.”

  “I’m not sure what that means either, but good luck? Is that the right thing to say?”

  “I guess. It’s just work for me, though this isn’t as routine as removing a gallbladder.”

  I smile, imagining Archer in his blue scrubs. “Did you think about the fellowship any more?”

  “Yeah…I think I should do it.”

  My eyes fall shut and I put on a smile, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see me. “Great. It’s such a good opportunity.”

  “It is. What about you? Have you heard anything more about your job?”

  “No, not yet.” Someone knocks on my office door. I move the phone away from my face. “Come in,” I call.

  “Do you need to go?” Archer asks.

  “Yeah. I suppose I should work at work, right?”

  Archer chuckles. “Right. I’ll call you later. Love you, babe.”

  “Love you too.” I hang up, and the uneasy feeling comes back. I don’t want to drift apart after we finally got together.

  27

  Archer

  “Your frequent flyer is back.”

  “Are you serious?” I look up from the paperwork I’ve been filling out for the last twenty minutes, knowing by the nurse’s face she is.

  “Popped stitches. ER sent him up.”

  “They can’t do stitches down there?” I grumble.

  The nurse rolls her eyes. “Apparently ‘it’s internal,’ and he needs to see a surgeon. Like we can just put him in front of our other patients. Do you want me to send him back down?”

  “No, I’ll deal with it. Thank you, though.”

  I finish my paperwork and deal with the difficult patient, who had a hernia repaired a month ago and hasn’t followed post-op instructions at all. He’s been in three times since his operation. I do rounds after that, finish my paperwork and finally go home after a twenty-six-hour shift.

  Another resident who’s been in the program with me since the beginning got into a car accident and broke several bones in her hand. She’s unable to operate and just thinking about it makes my stomach churn. It’s a shitty blow to be this close to the end and have an injury that could prevent you from performing surgery ever again. Another resident and I had to pick up the slack this past week, and needless to say, I’m fucking exhausted.

  It doesn’t help the situation with Quinn. It’s been nearly a week since we’ve seen each other and as every day passes, the tension grows. She’s encouraging and understanding and thinks I should do the fellowship because there’s no promise I’ll get in again. I don’t want her to think it’s a decision I’ve taken lightly, but I’ve worked so hard to get here.

  I call her when I get into my car, seriously wondering if I’ll be able to make it home without falling asleep behind the wheel. The good news about working all these hours is that I’m maxed out for the week and can’t work the weekend.

  “Hey,” she answers cheerfully. “How are you?”

  “Tired but alive. You?”

  “Tired too, but good. I’m packing to go back to Eastwood this weekend.”

  “Oh right, the downtown Trick or Treating is tonight. What’s Jackson going as this year?”

  “A Stormtrooper. And it’s actually not too cold today. I hated having to wear a coat over my costume.”

  “Me too. We had snow on Halloween many times and putting that coat on ruined my look.”

  She laughs. “Yeah. It’s seventy and sunny at home, which is exciting. It’ll feel like a movie Halloween or something.” She zips up her suitcase in the background. “How was work?”

  “I’m finally leaving.”

  “Finally? How long have you been at the hospital?”

  “Since yesterday afternoon.”

  “Arch, that’s not good for you! Are you driving right now?”

  “Yep. Want to talk to me until I get home? Make sure I don’t pass out.”

  “That is not funny,” she says pointedly.

  “Sadly, I’m not joking.”

  “I thought you said someone was supposed to come in and help cover those patients.”

  I sigh. “They haven’t yet. Some of these procedures should have been canceled but the hospital is money-hungry.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “It’s what makes the world go ‘round.”

  “Do you have the rest of the day off?”

  “I do, luckily. I’m supposed to get ten hours off between each shift, but that doesn’t always happen.”

  Silence falls between us, and I hate it.

  “So, what do you want to do about the baby shower?” she asks. “My mom keeps bugging me. The easiest thing would be to have it before you leave.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Dean’s not going to be happy about that.”

  “Dean can deal. He and Kara can pick another weekend in December. They can pick any weekend they want since they both live in the same town.” She sighs. “Sorry, I’m just frustrated today.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “My wrist hurts, and the round ligament pain is back. The cats spilled a food bowl over and I didn’t realize kibble got under the fridge and now I have ants. But seriously, how do they get all the way up here? I’m on the tenth floor. I got spray and then realized it wasn’t safe to use while pregnant or around the cats, so I’ve been vacuuming them up all afternoon. I tried to move my fridge but it’s too heavy and I don’t want to make those stupid ligaments hurt even more than they already do.”

  I feel bad I’m not there to help her. “Sam and I had ants when we first moved in. Get the traps that have poison inside. It won’t hurt your cats but will kill the queen ant because the worker ants take the food back to their nest.”

  “Okay. I have to run out before I leave, anyway. I’m almost out of cat litter and I don’t feel like dealing with that old lady at the pet store telling me how I shouldn’t clean the litter box since I’m pregnant, but who else is going to do it?”

  I could do it…if I were there. And Quinn has been cautious and safe
, knowing how to avoid getting sick from cleaning the litter box.

  “How bad is the pain?”

  “It’s not abnormal. I saw my OB yesterday and she said everything is fine.”

  “I didn’t know you had a doctor appointment yesterday.” We hardly spoke yesterday since I was at the hospital and didn’t have a chance to check in. Guilt creeps over me. It’s going to be like this again in the fellowship. “Everything went okay?”

  “Yeah. I scheduled my mid-pregnancy ultrasound too but can reschedule if you can’t make it that day. You do want to come, right?”

  “Yes, definitely. When is it scheduled for?”

  “November eighth.”

  “I’ll check the schedule the next time I’m in.”

  “Great. Oh, and Jacob got good news about the new company. We’re meeting on Monday to discuss names. So in like six months or so I’ll be free to work from home. Any home.”

  I know what she’s hinting at again, and I just can’t do that to her. I love her too much to drag her to Boston where she’ll basically be alone with Emma.

  “That’s good.” Exhaustion is pressing down on me, and I give my head a shake to try and stay awake.

  “Almost home? I worry about you.”

  “I have ten minutes.”

  “Okay. I’m going to narrate what I’m doing for your entertainment then,” she says with a laugh and goes about making herself something to eat.

  “I’m parking now,” I say with a yawn.

  “You made it! Now just march up and take a nap.”

  “That’s my plan. After I shower. I think I stink.”

  “You think?”

  “I might have gotten used to the smell.”

  She laughs again. “Poor baby. You need to—ugh.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just that pain again. If I hunch over it’s not that bad, but when I straighten up it’s like someone’s flicking rubber bands again. I’m fine though, don’t worry. Before you go, would any Sunday in December work for you? What about early January?”

  “You can pick a date. If I can be there, I will.”

  “You won’t know if you have a day off?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t promise anything. But that’s okay. Do it whenever it’s good for you, babe.”

  “But I want you there.”

  “I might not be able to,” I say harsher than I intend to. I’m just so fucking tired. “And I don’t have to be there either, right? Guys don’t have to go.”

  “No, Archer, you don’t have to be there,” she says slowly. “But it’d be fucking nice to have the father of the baby the shower is being thrown for at the party.”

  “Quinn,” I start and unlock my door.

  “It’s fine,” she sighs. “I don’t even know where I’m taking the baby stuff.”

  “To your apartment,” I say without thinking.

  “I thought that we…that I…”

  “You’ll hate it in Boston,” I interrupt. Quinn doesn’t say anything for a few seconds and I wish I could take back my words. I’m doing that thing again where I act like an asshole to avoid dealing with feelings.

  “I’ll talk to you later. Get some rest,” she says and hangs up.

  “Fuck.” I take off my shoes and strip as I walk to the bathroom, taking a fast shower and debating if I should call Quinn back now or give her space. My phone is at one percent, and I take that as a sign to give her space.

  I plug it into the charger and crash into bed as soon as I’m out of the shower. Not even two minutes later my phone rings and I spring up to grab it. But it’s my mother, not Quinn.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Archie!” she says cheerfully. At least she’s not calling with bad news. “How are you? We’ve hardly talked the last few weeks.”

  “I’ve been busy at work. What else is new, right?”

  “You’re almost done. Tell me all about Hawaii! I’m so glad you got to go and relax for a week.”

  “It was great.”

  “The last time we talked you mentioned possibly popping the question. I’ve been watching Quinn’s Instagram and she hasn’t posted much, but…did you?”

  “No,” I say with a sigh. “The timing didn’t feel right.”

  “How could you have better timing than being in Hawaii?”

  “It just wasn’t.”

  Mom can sense the tension and quickly changes the subject. “You spent a lot of time in Eastwood. Are you familiar with the town much?”

  “I know my way around. Why?”

  “Your father and I were talking about moving there. He’s able to get a transfer to New Port, which isn’t far, and it’s such a cute little town.”

  “I’m not following. Why are you moving?”

  Mom lets out a sigh. “Every time Bobby comes close to cleaning up his act, he falls back with the same crowd. If we move away from the bad apples, maybe he’ll stay clean long enough to make it a habit.”

  I rub the back of my neck, stress and sleep deprivation getting to me. “He’s thirty-two years old, Mom. When are you going to let him go and start enjoying your life?”

  “Never,” she says without hesitation. “He’s my child and I’ll forever try to help him.”

  “But that’s not fair to you.”

  “Even if I said to hell with you and threw him on the streets, I wouldn’t be able to live. I’d worry. You’ll understand when Emma is born, Archie. You’ll do anything for your child.”

  “But you’ve sacrificed so much for him.”

  “And I’ll keep sacrificing until there is nothing left. In a few months, you’ll see. I promise you, after holding Emma for the first time, you’ll just know that there’s nothing you won’t do for her.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. We have to do what’s best for Emma, no matter what…even if that means making tough sacrifices.

  28

  Quinn

  “Your tummy is big, Aunt Winnie.”

  “Thanks, buddy. But if you think this is big, just wait.”

  Jackson scrunches up his nose. “I still don’t get how Archer put a baby in there.”

  “Hey,” Weston says, shaking his head. “We talked about this.”

  I try not to laugh, knowing the reaction will only perpetuate the situation. “What did you say?” I quietly ask Wes.

  “A lot of stuff that confused him even more. But I told him it’s not polite to talk to women about things in their bellies.”

  “Good call. Raise him to be a gentleman.” I put my hand on my lower abdomen, wincing as I straighten up.

  “You okay, sis?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve been having more round ligament pain the last few days. My OB said it was more common in the first trimester, fades in the second, and comes back at the end. Some lucky people get it the whole nine months, and it looks like I’m one of those.”

  “Daisy had that,” Wes says, not looking at me. He doesn’t talk about his wife that often, not that I could blame him. She’s a piece of shit for abandoning her son. “There’s nothing you can do, right?”

  “Right. If it gets really bad, I’m supposed to call my doctor.”

  “Can’t you just call Archer?”

  I sink onto the living room couch, watching Jackson run around my parents’ living room pretending to be a Stormtrooper. “Yeah. He did an OB rotation but says he’s limited in his knowledge.”

  “That makes sense. How is he?”

  “Good,” I say with a pressed smile. I haven’t yet called him back, hoping he fell asleep after I got off the phone. His words bothered me, but I don’t think he really meant it. I get cranky if I stay up too late. I don’t imagine I’d be Miss Suzy Sunshine if I worked for over twenty-four hours. “Busy with work.”

  “He’s almost done though, isn’t he?”

  “Kind of.” I put both hands on my stomach. The eight-year age difference between Weston and I made it so we never really hung out like I did with my other brothers,
but the fact that we’re the only two with kids—well, soon to be a kid for me—is bonding. Wes is the most responsible out of all of us, myself included, and says it like it is with no sugarcoating. He’ll be a good one to run this Boston issue by.

  Jackson runs over, jumping onto me. His knee gets me in the gut and I gasp from pain.

  “Did I hurt the baby, Aunt Winnie?” he asks, blue eyes wide with fear.

  “No, it takes more than that to hurt her,” I assure him. After the doorknob incident, I know.

  “You have to be careful,” Wes tells him. “That’s your cousin in there. Give her a few years and then you two can play.”

  “I don’t want to play with a girl.” Jackson makes a face. “Girls are gross, and I like boy stuff!” He jumps back off me and pretends to shoot things.

  I turn to Wes, raising an eyebrow. “I see you still have your work cut out for you.”

  He laughs. “Having another girl around here is going to be strange.”

  “We need more girls in this family.”

  “You are pretty outnumbered.”

  Mom calls us into the kitchen for a quick dinner before heading Eastwood’s downtown Trick or Treating. I check my phone for missed calls, just in case, and set it on the counter. We eat and then attempt to leave but end up dealing with a fifteen-minute temper tantrum because Wes told Jackson he had to go potty before they could leave the house and Jackson refused to go.

  “I see you silently judging,” Wes says, picking up Jackson, who’s flailing about and screaming. “But just wait.”

  I shake my head. “My daughter will be calm and collected at all times. Just like me.”

  Mom lets out a snort of laughter. “You were the queen of meltdowns. Karma is coming for you, hun.”

  Finally, Jackson uses the potty and wants to show me how he learned how to wash his hands while singing Happy Birthday. We’re running late now, and Jackson doesn’t remember where he put his plastic pumpkin he needs to collect candy. In a mad rush, we all look around the house and find it filled with crayons and stashed under Dad’s desk in his office.