by JD Hawkins
“Heh, thanks,” I say a little bashfully.
“Really. I’m impressed.”
“Well, if you work at a place for seven years, I guess it’s easy to spot where there are inefficiencies.”
She stares at me a moment, and I start to wonder if what I said sounded arrogant.
“Of course. But most people working at a place for seven years never even think about writing a report about them and applying themselves to improve things. That’s special.”
“Thanks,” I say again, hating how goofy I sound, hating how I can’t think of anything other than repeating myself—but it’s been so long since I actually commanded some respect and admiration for my work ethic that I’m completely taken aback.
Saskia continues to smile benevolently, as if satisfied with my reaction.
“I’d like to talk a bit more about your proposal—if you have the time, of course.”
“Oh… Yeah, sure.”
She extends a toned arm to check her watch. “Two o’clock good for you?”
“Um… I think so. Yeah. I can make myself free for two.”
“Excellent. Speak to you then.”
“Looking forward,” I say, turning to the door.
“By the way,” Saskia says, looking back over her shoulder, her eyes a little lower than my face. “That’s a lovely shirt.”
I grab the lapel as if surprised by it myself. “This? Thanks.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Oh, it’s not mine… I mean, it was a gift. Sort of.”
Saskia nods, her eyes appreciating the shirt a little more, studying it.
“Very nice,” she says with a satisfied smile, before nodding and walking away.
Maybe it was almost getting seen by Colin in his shirt, or maybe it’s the anxiety over my upcoming meeting with Saskia, but I feel a strange, uneasy tiredness weighing me down throughout my shift. I suppose I can’t be too surprised, considering I’ve been sleeping poorly, eating worse, and that the only time I’ve left the house in the past couple of weeks has been to work or buy more comfort food.
In fact, I didn’t even notice how bad I felt until Jackie mentioned it while I was waiting for her to reprint some missing paperwork for an incoming patient.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Doctor Taylor,” she starts. I immediately perk my ears up—Jackie’s not the type to offer disclaimers. “But you look like you could do with a bit of bed rest yourself.”
“Ha, have I ever looked any different?”
Jackie finishes with the printer, straightens the stack of pages for me, and then rounds the reception desk purposefully. Without warning, she touches my throat, checking my larynx, then my forehead, leaning forward to look deep into my eyes.
“I’m fine, Jackie,” I insist, though I don’t stop her from poking and prodding me.
Eventually, still frowning, she takes a step back and looks me up and down. Her frown deepens a little.
“What?” I ask.
She stares for a few more seconds, then dismisses her thoughts with a wave of her hand and says, “It’s nothing.”
I smile as she hurries away, but as soon as she’s gone, I look down at myself. I’ve probably just put some weight on—a diet of ice cream and chips will do that to you. She was right to be suspicious, I’ve felt tired and out of sorts for weeks—but I wasn’t about to tell her that, because then she’d probably ask why. Even I’m not sure “why” at this point.
Am I actually heartbroken? Do I have feelings for Colin? Am I really hurt? Or do I just have nothing else going on, and the sex was really that good?
I take a minute to gather myself, wincing a little while a slight dizziness subsides, then straighten my coat and head down the hallway. I’m three steps from the maternity ward when I see him.
He doesn’t see me, his head down as he marks something on a clipboard. At least, he doesn’t see me until he gets within five feet, and I try to act normal—though I’m as bad an actor as I am a liar, and end up smiling as if I just stole something in broad daylight.
“Doctor Taylor,” he says, without even a hint of his usual warmth. “I need you to sign off on this. Second opinion. That induced labor from this morning.”
“Ah…right. Yeah,” I say, taking the clipboard and trying to focus on the words.
I can’t. Years of medical training that I apply every day just disappears from my mind. The form absolute gibberish. Instead, all my mental faculties begin to focus on his body beside me, recalibrating my vision so that I’m imagining him naked. Imagining him taking my hand and dragging me into the nearest room. Slamming me up against a cabinet and—
“Something wrong? Did I miss something?” he says. “I haven’t got all day.”
His voice is cold and hard. I’ve heard him talk to nurses he’d never met before with more warmth than this. It’s almost as if there’s a hint of resentment there. His eyes flick away from me impatiently. I glance about me and catch a glimpse of Saskia and Jackie at the end of the hall—disagreeing about something, judging by Jackie’s body language—then turn back to him.
“Um…no. I… Can I take a proper look at this in a minute and then send it back to you?”
“Sure,” he says, stepping past me irritably, almost shoving me aside as a group of people pass.
I watch him take a few steps away, and suddenly feel hurt.
“Hey, Colin,” I say. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
He turns back to look at me, eyebrow raised in anticipation. I don’t see a hint of friendliness in his face. No indication that what passed between us even happened. He looks at me the way he’d look at Bob, and I feel my heart start to cinder.
“Is it important?” he asks, looking down the hall and then checking his watch, as if he can’t wait to get away from me.
My stomach drops. “Uh…no… No, it’s nothing. I’ll have this back to you as soon as possible,” I say, forcing a grim smile and turning away while he does the same.
I manage to put one foot in front of the other about three times until I it feels like I’ve suddenly stepped underwater, my vision blurring a little and my leg muscles shaky. I stop for a second to gain my bearings, but stopping only makes the hallway around me tilt.
The idea of puking right there in the hallway—Colin probably still close enough to hear and see—compels me to dash to the nearest bathroom, praying that my mind can hold back what my body is convulsing for long enough. I slam into a stall and kneel.
For the next ten minutes I feel like I’m seconds away from heaving, but it never quite comes, and I just crouch there, panting and holding onto the partition to keep myself steady.
Is this really how bad I’ve got it for this guy? Has Colin got me so messed up that I’m almost puking? I guess the people who coined the term “lovesick” knew what they were talking about. Those old novels never mentioned this… Well, maybe Balzac…
The nausea eases up, but my emotions don’t. I tell myself it’s just the effects of my recent insomnia and diet, but I know it’s more than that. The way Colin looked at me, spoke to me, walked away so abruptly… It felt like he gutted me. And even though I want to overanalyze and dissect it away—to come up with some elaborate reasoning or logical explanation that distances me from it—it was so brutal that I can’t.
He’s over it. Over me. He was like a different person, showing no hint of the kind of difficulty I’ve been having trying to forget him. It was as if he’d forgotten it completely. And it’s only now, having him talk to me like that, dismiss me so easily, that I realize I’m nowhere near being over him.
I feel like crying. The fact that I have to leave this cubicle and get on with the rest of my shift the cruelest of punishments. Somehow I manage to keep it down to just a few noisy sniffles, ripping some toilet paper to blow my nose.
“Are you all right in there?”
“Yes, Beatrice,” I say instinctively to the voice on the other side of the door.
I st
and up quickly, straightening my clothes and wiping my eyes but still feeling how hot and red my cheeks are. I let a few strands of hair down to cover my face, somehow squeeze on a smile that’s too big to fit me, and open the door.
“I’m fine. Just cramps,” I say, stepping past her quickly to the sink.
Her brows knit in concern. “Do you want me to get you something?”
“No no, I’m good, thanks.”
As I’m washing my hands in the sink I catch sight of my watch and suddenly feel another surge of blood to the head. It’s five past two. The meeting.
“Oh crap. I’ve got to go,” I call to Beatrice in the mirror, catching a glimpse of her worried face as I dry my hands on my coat and break for the door.
I rush through the hospital and don’t so much knock as slam myself noisily against the door to Saskia’s office, still feeling some of the dizziness and clumsiness.
“Come in.”
I slowly push the door open, still wearing the smile I put on for Beatrice, and try to look as sane as I possibly can. “Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s fine,” Saskia says, glancing up at me from her laptop briefly, “Patients should always come first. Take a seat.”
I almost collapse into the hard chair opposite her on the desk.
“Oh… That’s good. Patients… Patience.”
Saskia glances up at me again with a thin smile. “An old joke that I use a lot. It won’t be funny the twentieth time I use it.”
I laugh gently, already feeling a little more at ease, then wait for her to be done with her screen. She types something out with her well-manicured nails, then suddenly slaps the laptop shut and slides it over, raising her eyes to mine.
“So,” she says, with new-found exuberance, “your proposal.”
“Yeah… I’m so grateful to you for reading it, by the way. I actually wrote it almost a year ago now, so some of it is out-of-date, but the basic principles of a lot of the ideas are—”
“Actually,” Saskia interrupts, “let’s put the proposal aside for a moment, shall we?” She links her fingers and leans forward over the desk. “I’d like to talk about you a little bit.”
“Me?”
Saskia nods, but says nothing, and I find myself mentally scrambling for something to say, though I’m not quite sure what she expects.
“Well… I’ve been working here for seven years—promoted from junior after the first—and before that, I—”
“I don’t mean what kind of doctor you are—I could learn that from your record,” Saskia says. “I’d like to know a little bit more about you as a person.”
I shift a little in the seat, her smile making me feel both flattered and a little uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I’m a more interesting doctor than I am a person.”
Saskia laughs politely.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she says. “How’s your home life? Are you single? Married? Dating?”
“Single.”
“You don’t date?”
“I mean… I try to—rarely. Nothing serious. Nothing that lasts really.”
“Do you like to drink? Dance? I know a lot of the staff enjoy a party.”
“No… Not really,” I say again, as if I’m disappointing her. “I mostly just stay at home and read.”
“Huh,” Saskia says, leaning back in her chair, one arm across her chest, the other framing her chin with her hand, as if considering a painting. “A quiet one.”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing a little nervously. “That’s me.”
She continues to study me for a moment, finger tapping her lips, and I suddenly feel like this is more than just a meeting. It feels more like an interview. Moments pass and I feel obliged to stay as still as possible.
“Shall I just come out and say what I’m thinking?” Saskia asks.
The question is so weird I have to repeat it to myself to make sense of it. “Please.”
Saskia leaves a dramatic pause before answering. “You’re too good for Santa Teresa.”
I wear my surprise on my face, and blurt out, “Oh no. I’m really no—”
Saskia raises a palm to stop me, as if I were interrupting her rudely, then pulls a file from a drawer in her desk.
“You’re respected and loved by everyone I’ve spoken to in the hospital. They all feel lucky to have you. Patient ratings sky high. Not a single complaint. What does that tell you?”
I’m cautious to answer this time, and simply shrug meekly. “I’m good at my job?”
“You’re ready for a new challenge,” Saskia says.
“I’m happy here.”
“No. You’re comfortable here. You’ve become complacent. But you owe it to yourself—and to the medical community, and your patients, and the world—to push yourself further. To do more good. You have exactly what it takes to go places in the industry.”
Guilt washes over me. She’s right. What if I’m just comfortable here, letting myself be content with the status quo, when I could be doing so much more? “I don’t know—”
Saskia raises her palm again and I clam up.
“Listen to me,” she says, making it sound friendly and threatening at the same time, “Santa Teresa is a small pond. It’s a tough gig for most, a proving ground for some, and others would just snap under the pressure here. But you, Mia,” Saskia says, pointing at me as she stands up out of her seat and rounds the desk. “You’re destined for something bigger—better. More. It’s time for you to challenge yourself. To reach your full potential.”
She moves in front of her desk and leans back on it, towering over me somewhat but still seeming casual and personal with her motherly smile and informal clothing.
“I hear what you’re saying. The thing is…” I say, feeling almost guilty to admit it, fidgeting with my hands. “I’m kind of happy here.”
“No, Mia… The thing is… There’s an opening for you at Johns Hopkins.”
I feel a numbness more thorough than anesthesia paralyze me.
“J…J-Johns Hopkins Hospital?” I blather stupidly.
“Have you heard of it?” Saskia says, then laughs gently.
I don’t laugh with her, even out of politeness.
“Of course I have. It’s one of the most respected medical research facilities in the country.”
Saskia laughs more genuinely at this, and I suddenly feel like even more of a fool. But the mere idea of getting a position there is something I wouldn’t even indulge in a daydream. Even in my wildest fantasies, I’d only dared to think of having a private practice in New York one day. But Johns Hopkins…
It’s the equivalent of hearing you’re next in line for the throne.
I spend several dumbfounded moments figuring that there must be another Johns Hopkins I haven’t heard about, or maybe she meant going there for some sort of temporary training visit…
“An actual, full-time, salaried position,” I say, “at Johns Hopkins medical research hospital—the one in Maryland? Are you serious?”
Saskia laughs once again. “Yes.”
My hands start to shake so much I have to sit on them.
“Um… I’m not sure about… Any of this,” I say. “I never even imagined… I wasn’t looking for another job or anything like that. Are you sure I’m what they’re looking for?”
“Don’t let imposter syndrome hold you back from taking the next step in your career,” Saskia says gently. “I can tell you’re already trying to talk yourself out of it. But you’re not a fraud, you’ve earned this, and you’re ready. Trust me,” she says emphatically.
“Okay,” I say quietly, nodding a little. “Tell me more.”
Saskia goes on, “I’m friends with the head of the gynecology and obstetrics department over there, and he asked me if I could recommend anyone to join his team. He said he didn’t want another recent Harvard graduate who would recite his own books back to him. He wants someone established, energetic, with real-world experience—someone who takes initiative and has an inter
est in publishing. That’s you, Mia. I told him all about you and your proposal and he asked me to set up a call with you.”
As she says this last thing, Saskia taps the folder in front of her and I realize that it’s my employee file. The room starts to tilt under my feet.
“Oh God…”
“You can take your time to think about it. Let’s say a week,” Saskia says, seeming unfazed by my nervous breakdown opposite her, “but the sooner the better.”
“Right. Um… Yeah…” I say. “This is a lot to take in. Thank you.”
I stand up but I do it too quickly, the chair clattering a little behind me, and then the dizziness hits me, stars sparkling in my vision as I stagger a little to the side.
“Are you all right?” Saskia says.
“Yes… I’m just sick… Not sick. I mean, I have this thing—well, it’s not really a thing, even. I just haven’t been feeling well. I’ve been eating a lot of ice cream, you see…”
As the room sways, I catch sight of Saskia’s confused expression and feel even worse.
“Well,” she says. “The last thing we need is you running yourself into the ground. Why don’t you clock out early? I’ll have Alison reorganize the rest of your duties today.”
“Yes. Thank you,” I say, nodding like an idiot before bolting out of the room.
Somehow, I make it all the way to my car without anyone noticing. Or perhaps everyone saw what a state I’m in, or even called out to me, but I was shaking and panting too much to even notice.
Slamming the door shut to the familiar, small cocoon of my car brings a little relief. I put my hands on the wheel, lean back, and close my eyes. Regaining a little control over my breathing, and my senses. I wait until my heartbeat slows as much as it will, then grab my phone from my pocket, my hand shaking as soon as I take it from the wheel.
“Maeve. Maeve,” I say, the second she answers.
“What’s wrong, honey?” she says, hearing the jittery tension in my voice immediately.
