by M. K. York
Neil nodded back—he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, afraid he’d start choking up.
* * *
He dreamed that night, quick bizarre dreams, rehashing arguments from the end of their relationship. And even though he tried to blink it away when he woke up, Justin’s face wasn’t the only one in his dreams, either. It was embarrassing. It was awful. It felt like being stripped naked, left tender and raw, but there was Eli, in his dream, sitting on the edge of his desk, smiling.
Eli in the dream had opened his mouth and said, I don’t know that frozen yogurt is going to improve transplant efficacy, Neil, in his rational, calm voice, and when Neil woke up he hated it.
* * *
The next day at the hospital was miserable torture. Every patient wanted something, loudly; needed something, urgently. He kept getting paged down to the ER.
He was blowing through what would have been a lunch break for normal people seeing an “urgent” consult who turned out to not so much have an acute abdomen as a bad case of gas and being ticklish when he got a text from Mark: red alert justin here
He hustled back upstairs as fast as he could. Mary was on the desk. She nodded back at the break room. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks.” He pushed in the code to get into the room.
Justin glanced up. He looked just like the night before, except he’d switched out the suit for a beat-up sweater and a pair of jeans and sneakers, perfect for flying. The sweater was a slate gray that made his eyes look steely. Neil knew he’d done it on purpose, the same way Justin must have known the green shirt had been on purpose at the club.
“Hey.”
Justin stood up, slowly. “Hey.”
And Neil had good intentions; he did. He’d tried to make it clear to Justin, the state of things, how unfinished he felt, like a clay vase on a wheel, always a couple of heartbeats away from collapsing into itself. He felt like hell, knew he looked like hell, white coat stained and creased, scrub pants over clogs.
But Justin walked up to him—into his space, until they were just a few inches apart—and said, “I’ve thought about it, I think I could live with this,” and gestured loosely at the room around them. Neil kissed him.
He had his hands on Justin’s upper arms, and Justin didn’t waste any time; he wrapped his arms around Neil’s waist and kissed back, hard. He smelled just the way Neil remembered, a familiar woody cologne, and his body was so hot against the background chill of the hospital, burning up where he was pressed against Neil. Justin moaned softly into his mouth, turning his head to chase the kiss.
There was a series of beeps—that meant something, what was—the door behind them swung open. “Hey, Ne—” and then silence.
He knew that voice. Neil let go of Justin like he’d been burned, swinging around to stare at Eli, who was staring back at him with wide eyes.
After a long, awful pause, Eli shook his head slightly and said, having to stop and clear his throat, “I—I’m looking for Dr. Chaudry. Have you seen him?”
“No.” Neil sounded as strangled as he felt.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll just, uh.” Eli backed out of the room and shut the door.
“Jesus.” Neil had to sit down. He had to. He stumbled to the closest chair and dropped into it heavily.
“Christ, I’m—are you not out here?” Justin was white as a sheet. “Did I—are you going to get in trouble?”
Neil had buried his hands in his hair, elbows on his knees, bent forward. He shook his head. “No. It’s. I’m out. It’s fine.”
“You don’t look fine! You look like somebody shot you!”
Neil opened his mouth. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. His pager went off.
“Fuck,” he yelled.
Justin was developing high red spots on each cheek, like a porcelain doll’s painted blush.
“What the fuck is going on?” Justin demanded. “Don’t—tell me! Tell me what’s going on!”
“I can’t!” Neil yelled. “I have a page. It’s probably another fucking ER consult. You think you can put up with this?” He waved a hand around. “It’s a fucking shit-show! It’s all bullshit. And it’s my fucking life for the next two and a half years, so if you’re thinking about moving down here for me, trust me, don’t do it! Because it’s going to get so fucked-up so fast!”
“Christ!” Justin yelled back. “Fine. You know what, I’ll go. Call me later if you want to talk. This is obviously a bad time.”
“It’s always going to be a bad time,” Neil yelled after him as he left.
He was exhausted and still shaking from the adrenaline. He wanted to throw up. He answered the page instead.
It was another ER consult. Perirectal abscesses.
He smiled through gritted teeth, extending his hand to the patient: Hi, I’m Dr. Carmona, I’ll be taking a quick look to see if this is going to need surgical intervention.
* * *
Mark took one look at his face after he came back from the ER and said, “I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Right in one.” He shoved a pen back into a cup of them with enough force that the whole thing fell over. “Fuck.”
“I got it. Go get a snack if you want to.”
The good news—bad news? Maybe it was bad news—was that he was starting a new rotation the next week at one of the satellite hospitals, and he’d be there for two months. He skipped the work-group meeting without emailing Eli, and Eli didn’t come by to see him, either.
He didn’t call Justin. There wasn’t time. He was on call.
Chapter Eight
The ASC conference came up faster than he was expecting. He’d gotten his abstract accepted, so he had to put together a poster and borrow a poster tube from Kristi, whose research put his to shame.
The plane ticket down to San Diego was an annoying bite out of his finances, but he hadn’t been kidding Justin; he never did have the time to spend money, so he just threw most of it back at his student loans. It looked like an adult paycheck on paper, but if he did the math, by hour it wasn’t even minimum wage. Most salaried positions didn’t assume an eighty-hour workweek. And honestly, his weeks kept getting longer, bleeding over into whatever free time he tried to have.
He got off the plane blinking. It was warm and sunny out—it seemed wrong, for February, like it should be cooler. At least windy. But it felt like late spring already.
He was sharing a hotel room with one of the fourth-year residents, Abe, and when he got to the hotel, he texted Abe to find out if he’d already checked into the room.
yeah, said Abe, come on up, room 435
When he got there, he found Abe glaring at the room’s single bed.
“They fucked up,” Abe said without preamble. “I gave them shit about it but they’re booked up for the conference, so we’re stuck.”
“You want me to ask for a cot?” Neil asked.
Abe shook his head. “There’s a couch. You want to flip for it?”
“Nah, I’ll take it. I don’t mind.”
Abe’s face softened a little. “Really? Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, no problem. I’m used to couches anyway.”
“Thanks, for real. You let me know if you need a favor.”
“Will do. Right now I need a shower and a nap before the speech tonight.”
“Ugh, right? I’ll see you there.” Abe vanished like a ghost as Neil got his suitcase open and pulled out what he needed.
In the shower, there was plenty of room to think about things he didn’t want to think about—huge, unhelpful things, like the fact that a month later he still hadn’t called Justin or talked to Eli. He didn’t know what Eli had told the other work-group members about his absence. If anyone had even ask
ed. He’d never finished his last project for them.
It was killing him that Eli hadn’t even tried to get in touch. And it was killing him, worse than killing, that the last time he’d seen Eli, it had been Eli’s eyes going wide in shock, darting to his mouth, back up to his eyes—
He rinsed out the shampoo and shook his head angrily. Time to go. The day was a long one, brutal, but good. Learning opportunities everywhere. He crashed out so hard as soon as he came back from dinner that he didn’t even hear when Abe came in.
* * *
Abe woke him up in the morning. “Hey, man. I got you coffee.”
“I love you,” mumbled Neil around the feeling of cotton in his mouth. “Shit.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position—his back was aching, but the coffee smelled so good.
He took the cup from Abe, who looked about as bleary-eyed as he felt. “Continental breakfast downstairs. If you want some.” Abe swallowed the last part on a yawn.
“Yeah, thanks. Do you know how long it’s running?”
“It’s, uh, six now? And I think they run till seven.”
“Great. I’m going to grab another shower.”
“Go for it, man. I woke up at five thirty and already took one. Couldn’t get back to sleep.” Abe laughed creakily. “Kept waiting for my pager to go off, you know?”
“Do I ever.”
The day’s events included panels that he had a hell of a time choosing between. He flinched when he saw that there was going to be one on transplantation, but—he marked it anyway.
His poster session was early that morning. He slid his poster out of the carry case once he found his designated area and unrolled it, tacking it up. The next two hours were a flood of questions, mostly the same handful of questions over and over again. His work wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was a nice summary of the esophageal-defect repairs the hospital had seen and their outcomes.
He was about halfway through when he got a text from Pete: Hope the session is going well!
so far so good
He’d barely talked to Pete since the incident with Justin. Later, sitting in the transplantation panel—this one was on livers, the MELD score versus alternative criteria as markers of transplant urgency—he found himself tapping out, poster went fine. how is everybody?
Surviving without you, said Pete. Neil could just imagine his face.
A few moments later his phone vibrated again. He checked it.
I heard a funny rumor
He didn’t respond, his heart rate ticking up. Great.
I heard you quit the work group.
A period on that one, even. He still didn’t answer.
You want to tell me why?
He fidgeted for a minute before answering, not really
Eli said you were swamped
That answered one question. Eli had covered for him, for whatever reason.
I was surprised you were swamped for a month straight. You want to talk about it?
Finally he said, personal life
Pete snapped back at once with, I didn’t know you had one of those, and it was so Pete he almost had to laugh.
almost did for a minute there
Oh, Pete said, and then a minute later, You okay?
Neil answered, yeah
Pete didn’t text him again that day.
* * *
He woke up the next day coughing. Great. A cold from the airplane, probably.
He pulled his phone out to check the time; it wasn’t even six, he had plenty of time to shower and get down to the continental breakfast. And—he had a text.
It was just Mark, thank God. hey man how’s sd?
good. so fucking tired
Pete Wendling asked me how ur doing
what did you tell him?
you were busy lately
thanks
yeah i don’t narc
He set the phone down. It buzzed again.
he seemed pretty worried tho. what’s the deal?
I quit the work group. Mark was at a different location for that rotation, so there’d been no reason for him to notice. No reason to tell him.
whoa. Another moment of silence. why?
He didn’t answer that one. Just got up and showered, and went down to eat the little rocklike rolls and suck down as much of the crappy coffee as he could before the day started.
There was a talk on inguinal hernia repair he really didn’t want to miss.
* * *
When he got back, he had three weeks left on pediatric surgery. He buckled down, got through it.
Mark convinced him to come out for drinks one night and he found himself telling Mark the whole story: Justin’s face, so tender and concerned, and how shocked Eli had looked.
“I don’t even know what the fuck happened,” he said. “I feel like I fucked up.”
“You didn’t fuck up.”
“I was—making out with my, my ex, in the break room. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Hey, man. Nothing.”
“So unprofessional.”
“We’ve all done shit. Mostly worse shit.” Mark raised his eyebrows, inviting Neil to remind Mark of all the things he’d pulled, but Neil couldn’t get into it.
“Ugh. Anyway. I just don’t want to go back and see his face again.”
“Newcombe’s?”
“Yeah.”
Mark nodded sympathetically.
“And I have that fucking Transplant rotation coming up. I just want to skip all this bullshit and go straight to being an attending.”
“Understandable,” said Mark. “You want another drink?”
“Christ, yes. Do I ever.”
He woke up the next morning feeling like shit, but he usually did anyway.
Chapter Nine
Going back to the main Kingsland Medical Center in March was nerve-racking in an unfortunate way. There’d be people to run into. People. Right.
Also, “running into” suggested more chance and less design, which was definitely not what happened when Pete showed up his third night back, just as he was settling into call.
“Heard you were back.” Pete leaned comfortably against the cubicle where Neil had retreated.
Neil sighed. “Yeah. I’m back.”
“Less swamped?”
“Hardly.”
“Neil, look. I don’t know what happened, and it’s none of my business if you don’t want to tell me, but I know you were putting a lot of time and effort into that work group. Why did you up and leave it?”
Neil leaned forward, slowly, until he could prop his elbows on his knees and then rest his forehead on his clasped hands. “I just don’t think I can work with Eli right now.”
There was a pause, and then the scuffing sound of Pete pulling out a chair and dragging it to the cube.
“Back up.” Pete’s voice was as serious as Neil had ever heard it. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Neil shut his eyes tightly. Then he opened them, and without lifting his head, he said, “My ex-boyfriend was thinking about moving down here, and if he was going to be here, he was thinking maybe we could give it another shot. He came by the hospital. We were kissing in the break room when Eli came in, looking for somebody. It was...it was very awkward. And it ended up not working out. So. It’s been a rough month.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He let a few beats of silence go by.
Pete said, contemplatively, “So. You’re thinking there was a chance at a happy ending you missed out on?”
“Yeah.”
“That sucks.”
Neil laughed shortly, feeling it like a sting. “Yeah.”
“But it’s not Eli’s fault. And I
know he’d rather you came back to the work group. However awkward it was for you, he certainly doesn’t think less of you.”
“It was unprofessional.”
Pete snorted derisively. “You’ve seen what these assholes get like if you get one drink in them. That’s nothing.”
It was hard to say the next part; it felt like he had to drag the words out his mouth. “I think he was uncomfortable.”
“I think he got over it.”
“No offense, Pete, but—” Neil stopped to wet his lips with his tongue. “I don’t know if you’d know that.”
“Oh, I think I would. I’ve known that jackass for, what, twenty years? He’s moping around. I think he thinks you quit the group because you hate him or something.”
Neil choked out a laugh at that. “Come on.”
“No, I’m serious! He keeps saying ‘Well, that project was going to be Neil’s,’ with this look on his face like somebody kicked a puppy.”
Neil sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hand. “So, what? You’re here to get me back in the work group? I thought you figured it was pretty much useless.”
“Only mostly useless. If they do accomplish anything, it’ll be because there’s you and Eli on the team.”
Neil leaned back, resting his head against the cube wall, looking up at the ceiling. “Pete, no offense, but you need to learn to pick your mentees better.”
“You need to learn that saying ‘mentee’ makes you sound like a dipshit. Come on. There’s a meeting week after next. Come to that one.”
“...all right.”
“See, was that so hard?” Pete clapped him on the shoulder. “And don’t spend too much time thinking about your ex. He was an ex for a reason. Sounds like you just remembered what that was before you got in too deep on round two.”
Neil managed to smile weakly up at him as Pete stood. “Thanks.”
“Now, for God’s sake, never have a personal issue we have to talk about again.”
“We really didn’t have to talk about this one. That was all you.”
“Hey, I got you back in the work group, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. I suppose. Thanks.”
Pete gave him a little half wave and vanished. Neil sighed heavily and went back to going over the medication orders he needed to approve in the computer.
