OPEN YOUR HEART: Material Girls 1

by Henry, Sophia

  “We complement each other,” I continue. “We’re both career-driven, compassionate, introverted, dorks.”

  My words bring a smile to Liz’s lips. “You’re the furthest thing from a dork.”

  “You’re only saying that because you know me now. If you would’ve known teenage me, you’d totally agree.”

  “I guess I see you as this wild, bold, extroverted personality.”

  My head swivels right and left, looking for an imaginary bold, wild, extroverted person behind me. “Who? Me? Where the hell did you get that impression?”

  “Every time I’m with you. You exude an easy confidence.” She reaches up and flattens my collar.

  Was my collar popped out there? Please tell me my collar was not popped while I was around all those Chads.

  I grab her hand and squeeze it. “One more reason I like being with you. You see me as the person I hope to be someday.”

  “You already are that person.”

  “Sometimes I think so and then I think about a night like tonight, where I didn’t feel confident at all. I let my insecurity get the best of me. Instead of being myself and proud of who I am, I ran away and hung out where it was comfortable.”

  “I get it. I’ve been really lost recently.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, babe. You’re still confident, I just sense that you’re low. Wanna talk about it?”

  Liz closes her eyes, then she drops her head in her hands. “I—geez—I honestly don’t think I’ll ever be able operate again. I’m going to have to quit the surgical program and start over. And I can’t deal with it right now.”

  Jesus. That was not what I expected to come out of her mouth.

  I throw my arms around her, even though I’m completely taken aback. I knew Liz had been going to physical therapy to get her hand strong enough to operate after the accident, but I didn’t realize her injury was that bad. I didn’t realize she’s been dealing with the weight of losing her entire career.

  “I’m sorry, babe. What can I do?” I say as I squeeze her harder, trying to transfer my energy to her.

  “I haven’t told anyone, Austin. I’m scared. If I’m not a surgeon, what am I? What do I do from here?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Liz is silent. And I realize it’s probably an insensitive question. She’s on the verge of losing her career, and I’m throwing back the question she’s probably been stressing over since she realized her injury was career-ending. But I’ve found that it helps when someone else says it. It makes the brain recalibrate.

  “If you couldn’t be a surgeon, what would you do?”

  “Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to help people. I wanted to be a teacher, a firefighter, a doctor. But sometimes I don’t feel like I’m making a difference in the bigger picture with the path I chose. Doing that is almost impossible in this country.”

  My heart swells, because we’re becoming closer than I ever imagined we would. Sure, I dreamed that we would have this kind of relationship, but I didn’t expect it. “What do you mean?”

  “Healthcare is big business in America,” she says. “There’s a lot of money in making people sick and keeping people sick.”

  “Go on.”

  Her body tenses, but she continues, “We live in a country of convenience. We live in a country that doesn’t regulate food like they should. It makes people sick. It makes them obese. It causes disease. So who do they need? Doctors. And medication. Do you think the people who profit off our unhealthy society are really going to try to stop it? Nope. It’s about a paycheck. It’s actually about millions of paychecks. Imagine how many people would be out of jobs if we had a healthier country.

  “Can you really say you’re a doctor who cares about your patients if you aren’t actively and loudly seeking regulations on what goes into food and looking for ways to make people healthier?”

  “Dang. That doesn’t sound like anything any doctor I’ve ever met would say.”

  She rubs the crown of her head with her fingers. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You’re right, though.” I use the tip of my forefinger to draw invisible stars on her palm. “Disease will never go away. Too much money to be made. Too many people with jobs in that field. I mean, back in the day, it was revered to find cures or vaccinations. Now it’s like ‘Shhh! We can’t tell anyone about that.’”

  She laughs humorlessly. “Right? If someone came up with a cure for cancer, think of how many people would lose their jobs.”

  “Not just in the healthcare industry either. What about all the charities that make money off sickness?” I add.

  “I am aware.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Say it, Liz.”

  “Say what?”

  “You totally want to blast a charity right now. I can see it.”

  “As in any industry, there are charities that take advantage of people. I, personally, don’t believe the president of a nonprofit should make hundreds of thousands of dollars per year. I question their motives. Are they in it for the cause or the paycheck? I’m not against someone wanting to make money. But if you want six and seven-figure salaries, you should be the president of a for-profit company.”

  “I get it, totally. And I love how passionate you are about it. About justice. About doing things for the right reasons. About not taking advantage of people. It’s beautiful.”

  She looks toward the window, avoiding my eyes. “Strength is beautiful. People who know what they want to do. People who start a path and finish it.” Almost instantly, the fire is gone. I’ve hit a nerve, and now I have to figure out the real reason so I can help her.

  “Why are you so hard on yourself? It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was my fault. I was driving. I lost control. I crashed my car and ruined my hand. I destroyed my career.”

  “Okay, fine. If you want to get super-technical, yes, it was your fault in the sense of you were driving. But you didn’t do it on purpose. You didn’t think, ‘Hey, I should fuck up my hand so I can’t be a surgeon anymore.’ It was an accident.”

  “You know what’s sad, Austin?” she asks, then automatically continues, “Sometimes I feel relief because it gave me an out.”

  “An out?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been so focused on surgery, but the more I saw people struggling to afford even basic care, the more I wanted to help them. Healthcare isn’t just for the rich. For some reason we vilify people who can’t afford care. It’s sad. And it’s not the attitude about people that I want to have, despite—” She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

  It’s almost as if a lightbulb pops up over my head.

  At first, I questioned my attraction to Liz—the connection was palpable—but I didn’t understand the energy that brought us together because I didn’t really know her yet. But now I do. I see her beautiful heart—and I finally see her internal struggle.

  This injury, and the loss of her career as a surgeon is hard on her, of course, but the deeper struggle is that she doesn’t want to disappoint her parents. Not only that, but her fundamental feelings about healthcare go against her parents’ values. She’s having trouble breaking free from the people who gave her the means to her career.

  I wrap my arms around her and bring her into my chest. “It’s okay to admit that you want something different than what your parents want for you,” I say before placing my lips on her head. “You’ll never be happy until you take the path that’s in your heart. The quicker you break free from the expectations of others, the quicker you’ll feel good about the one you chose yourself.”

  Her body shakes against mine, silently sobbing and nodding. I rock her gently, letting her know that I’ll hold her for as long as she needs. I’m here for her through whatever comes next.

  After a minute, she leans back and I loosen my grip. She tucks a leg under her, then grabs my hands, placin
g them in her lap.

  “Admitting is the first step.” She sniffs.

  “Absolutely. Now we can plan, right? How can you help people in the way you’d feel good about? You’re already a doctor. Can’t you just open an office or something?”

  “I wish it were that easy.” She lets go of one hand to wipe her cheek. “I still have to complete a residency. I’ve been in surgery for three years. Changing my specialty means I start over. Or at least from year two. I think the first would count toward a family-medicine residency. I’ll have to check.”

  “Okay. So that’s your plan?”

  “Yeah. That’s my plan,” she says quietly.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so flippant. I know it hurts, Liz. All those years—”

  “Wasted,” she finishes.

  “No. Not wasted. You gained amazing experience. You’ll be able to take that into helping patients in the future. What if someone needs care after surgery? You know what to do. Maybe one of those procedure things you know how to do.”

  She laughs, but I know it’s with me, not at me. I have no clue what the fuck she’s talking about when she starts going off about central lines and PV catheters and bronchoscopies. All that shit is a foreign language to me, but I love listening because she’s passionate about her work.

  Liz slides her palm across my cheek. “Thank you.”

  “I see you, Liz. I see your beautiful soul. I see the way you treat others and the love you have for your career. You’re going to accomplish amazing things, no matter how it works out.” She closes her eyes as I speak, so I lean over and kiss her eyelids. “It will work out.”

  When she opens her eyes, they’re glassy with tears. “How did I get so lucky to find you, Austin?”

  “The universe brought us together for a reason, babe. I really believe that. There are no coincidences. We never would have met if it weren’t meant to be.”

  “Is it weird to feel this much for you so quickly? Because no one else has ever made me feel as special as you make me feel.”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy. I’m so completely smitten with you it scares me.”

  “I’m sorry I put you in an awkward situation tonight, but I’m glad we can work through it. Thank you for forgiving me.”

  “You know how you can make it up to me?” I ask.

  “How?”

  I pat the bed and lift my eyebrows suggestively. She cocks her head in disbelief.

  “Really? Here? Now?”

  “I can’t help it,” I admit sheepishly. “I love your mind. And your heart. And the fact that we can talk about all this stuff like adults. It got me all excited.” I watch Liz’s gaze drop to my crotch, where my dick is practically busting out of my swim trunks, and smile. “Then my mind veered off into how fucking hot you are and how much you turn me on. I have a short attention span.”

  “I’ve never had sex in this bed,” she says quietly.

  Our eyes meet. Anticipation hangs thick in the air, making my heart beat faster. I raise my eyebrows.

  Liz breaks the eye contact first, glancing at the door. “The party is still going. All those people are—”

  “Outside.” I drop to my knees in front of her and slide my hands up the outside of her thighs. “Not in here.”

  She bites her bottom lip and grabs the hem of her dress, pulling it up to reveal her long, tanned legs, which fall open easily. I can’t keep the smile off my face when I realize she’s not wearing any underwear. I slide my hands under her ass and pull her closer to my mouth.

  She immediately responds with a moan, which makes me go all-in, full force. Though, I’d love to push into her and feel her tight pussy squeezing my cock, I want this to be about her—her pleasure, her release. We can fuck later, when we aren’t in her parent’s house.

  “Just lie back and relax, baby. I got you.”

  * * *

  After we’ve both had a few minutes to pull ourselves together, we join hands and head down the spiral staircase. I feel like king of the world. Or maybe the scoundrel who stole the king’s girl. Either way, I’m on cloud nine.

  The discomfort of the situation and the ability to talk through it gave me confidence in our relationship. I feel completely bonded to Liz. Nothing can get in the way. Nothing will tear us apart.

  Except maybe the couple staring coldly at us from the bottom of the stairs. Though I haven’t met him yet, I’ve seen Harris Commons on TV and in the local news enough to know who he is. He’s one of the most influential people in Charlotte, seemingly involved in everything.

  “Daddy!” Liz says with excitement. Maybe she doesn’t see the look of absolute disgust in her parents’ eyes as we descend the stairs. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. “This is Austin.”

  Harris seems relatively fine, but Cookie is glaring at me. If looks could kill, I would have never been born.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Austin,” Harris says.

  Well, that wasn’t so bad.

  “What were you doing upstairs? The party is outside,” Harris asks.

  “I needed a break from the party, so I was showing Austin around the house.”

  “We don’t need people roaming around in places where no one is around. Last time that happened your grandmother’s pearls went missing.” Cookie glances at me.

  Ahhh! There it is! The insulting insinuation that I’m a thief. I expected nothing less from the Commons family. Thanks, Cookie.

  “Mom!” Liz snaps. She grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly.

  “This is never going to work. End it now,” Cookie says in a hushed tone. Instead of answering, Liz shakes her head and tugs me past her parents.

  When I first met Liz, I assumed she had a kick-ass mom because I couldn’t believe a guy like Harris Commons could raise human beings as awesome as her and her sisters. One night around her just proved that my initial assumption was completely wrong.

  Cookie Commons is a complete and total bee-yotch.

  8

  Liz

  Because my schedule at the hospital has been absolutely crazy over the last few weeks, I had to cancel a few physical therapy appointments. I didn’t think much of it because I know the therapy isn’t doing any good, but then had a checkup with Dr. Sharma, the surgeon who operated on my hand, and he railed me for missing appointments. Then he ordered x-rays to see how I’m healing. I made sure to schedule an appointment as soon as I could. I’ve got to get my head on straight. The last thing I need is Dr. Sharma reporting to Dr. Crowder that I’m not doing what I need to do to rehab my hand.

  When I arrive at Vikram Patel’s office, I’m filled with anxiety. I know he and Dr. Sharma have already had a chance to go over my x-rays before today’s appointment, and I feel like I’m about to be exposed as a fraud.

  “When am I going to be able to do the good stuff?” I ask before Vik starts leading me through exercises that aren’t doing me any good.

  His warm, brown eyes flicker and a small smile creeps across his lips. “The good stuff?”

  I press my lips together to hold back my own smile. I’m not interested in Vik, but it doesn’t mean I’m immune to his charm.

  Any woman in her right mind would be falling at Vik’s feet. Which is probably why my parents strongly suggested Vik over Cindy, the sweet, portly, Paula Dean look-a-like who works in the same practice. He is exactly the type of man they want me to fall in love with. From his fashionably cut, perfectly gelled, dark hair, to his smooth, brown skin, right down to the five o’ clock shadow dusting his upper lip and jawline, he’s the complete package.

  There’s also the insignificant detail that before he moved to the States, he was a former Mr. India contestant. He didn’t win that particular contest, but he quickly won the hearts of the ladies at the hospital. I’d heard about him long before I met him.

  Too bad my parents don’t understand cultural differences and the fact that no matter how many non-Indian chicks he dates to get it out of his system, he’s going to marry an India
n girl someday. That’s not me being stereotypical. Vik told me that himself.

  Maybe they do understand and they don’t care. Anything to get me away from Austin.

  “Strengthening my grip? Keeping a steady hand during intricate procedures?”

  Vik’s long pause is enough to tell me what’s coming next. When he speaks, his voice is low, “I spoke with Dr. Sharma about the x-rays you had last week. Everything is healing well, Liz, but as you knew, with an injury like this you may never have full use of your hand. At least not for things like operating.”

  Tears spring to my eyes even though he’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. It’s been months and it’s physically impossible for me to hold a scalpel strongly enough or still enough to make precision cuts.

  Someone else knows my dirty secret. I can’t prolong the inevitable anymore. I’ll never be able to go back to surgery.

  How will I face my peers? My family? My friends? Being a surgeon is who I am.

  “I’m sorry, Liz.” Vik places his hand over mine. “Look, that’s the worst-case scenario. We can keep working on it.” He’s got a great bedside manner, so gentle when giving people bad news. I can’t imagine him getting angry or raising his voice.

  “It’s okay,” I say after a slight pause to compose myself. I’ll never let any of my colleagues see me cry. There’s no place for weakness, even in the face of soul-crushing news.

  “Do you want to continue today?”

  I shake my head. “No. It’s not really necessary anymore is it?”

  Vik sighs. “My next appointment isn’t until two. Wanna grab a bite next door?”

  It’s almost noon, and I really should eat before I get back to the hospital. I have a few procedures today and patients to check in on. Once I get there I won’t get a break.

  “We can go to Grabbagreen,” he says in a singsong voice as he records his notes from our session into his tablet. “I know you love that place.”

  Vik trying to cheer me up, by offering to go to my favorite cafe near his office, is seriously the cutest thing, though I long to be with Austin.