by Harper West
"He didn't do anything exactly," I replied. “He... he told me he loved me. We were here at the library, studying, and we took a walk, and for some reason, he just blurted out that he loved me. I don't know what the hell is going on or what's gotten into him. I don't know what to do," My voice trailed off and devolved into pained, frantic sobs. "I need to study, but I can't think about anything but him now. What am I supposed to do?"
"He told you he loved you?" McKenzie asked incredulously. "What the hell? You guys have only been dating for, what, a couple months? And he decided to drop a bomb on you when you're studying for the freaking MCAT?"
"Yeah. I don't know what he was thinking," I whined. "I don't...I don't..." I stuttered, gulping for air as I wept.
"Hey, hey, listen," she said, her voice calm and comforting. "Get your stuff packed up and go home and get some rest. Okay? You have two days before the MCAT. You need to go home and get some sleep, all right? After that, you can spend all day tomorrow studying. I'll come home soon, and we can talk and cry and watch movies or do whatever you need. Take care of yourself today. I love you, Elizabeth. You're going to be okay."
I nodded, feeling a bit stupid when I realized she couldn't see. "Okay. I love you, too, McKenzie. Thank you. I'm sorry to call you freaking out like this. I didn't know what else to do.”
"Anytime. Literally anytime. Call me back when you get home. I’ll keep my phone nearby," she replied warmly.
"Yeah. Bye." I sniffled, hanging up. I took a deep breath and got up from the bench, steadied myself, and headed back into the library.
17
Elizabeth
I tucked my dark hair behind my ears as I forced myself to focus on my textbook.
I'd been here for hours now, wedged between the cushions of the living room couch, with my anatomy book in my lap, but I'd never read beyond that first page. Each time I got to the second page, my mind wandered. I noticed the obsidian color of the inked words and how they stood out on the cream-colored pages.
I surveyed each of the colorful diagrams and, satisfied that I knew each of the parts without peeking at the labels, I started the first page over again. It was a fruitless effort. I felt something twitch in my forehead. I hoped it wasn’t the start of another migraine. I tried to ignore it.
But, each time it pulsed, my eyebrow rose as if I'd read something fascinating. That twitch picked up speed as I scanned the pages, and soon, the it became a dull throbbing that gave everything a faint-pink outline. The throbbing continued, getting worse and worse, until I was forced to look away from the page and close my eyes . I let my head roll back, letting out an even breath.
Nathan's face came to me in the dark, and the guilt set in again quickly. He'd been so honest about his feelings for me the other day. And I basically broke his heart. I forced my eyes open before I could replay the conversation again in my mind. I'd been driving myself crazy doing that. I could see hope in his eyes turn to sadness. I could recall the exact the words I'd used to tell him off. Guilt plagued me, and I pushed the heavy anatomy textbook from my lap to stretch out. I rolled over and pulled out my phone.
The screen lit up happily with a variety of time-wasting options available. I flicked through them leisurely. A few minutes of clobbering things with an animated hammer while bright colors flashed and happy music played was just what the doctor ordered. But after beating my old score, I started looking through my pictures.
Most of the recent ones were with Nathan, so I skipped over them before I drove myself crazy. I landed on some pictures McKenzie and I had taken during our first few weeks on campus. We'd driven out to this hidden lake together and wound up stripping down to our underwear to jump into the water. Kenzie and I had linked arms as we jumped together. We took a picture afterward, still dripping wet and breathing heavy, with our arms still linked. I smiled as I touched the tops of our sunburnt cheeks.
I flipped to the next picture and was surprised to see my mom's face. In the picture, she and I were sitting together in a rooftop restaurant in Athens in the middle of the afternoon. She had her arm thrown around me and her forehead pressed against mine. I couldn't remember if she'd stopped a waiter or some random passerby to take it. At the time, I was embarrassed about my sunburnt cheeks and my frizzy hair but, now, it was one of my favorite pictures. She'd taken me on this trip as a celebration after I got accepted into college. It was a reward for my hard work. Both of my parents had insisted on celebrating the news even though my dad wasn't able to get away from his own research for the trip. In the picture, both of us held onto glasses of white wine, and there were pieces of blackened fish and steamed vegetables in front of us. We both had bags underneath our eyes but smiled brightly for the picture.
I haven't been home to visit or talked to her in a while, but that wasn't unusual. She was a busy woman. On top of balancing her marriage with raising me, she managed a full workload as one of the senior attending physicians in the cardio-thoracic department of a big, downtown trauma center . Not to mention that she still managed to produce industry-innovating research every chance she got. My mom was the type of surgeon I wanted to be when I was finished with the MCAT and med school. She was the standard I held myself to, along with nearly a thousand or two other young, female soon-to-be surgeons. I tapped on her contact on my phone and hit the big, green button in the center of the screen.
The picture of the two of us in Greece filled the screen for a moment before I held it up to my ear. She picked up after two rings.
"Hello? Sweetheart?" My mom's voice was soothing through the phone, even when she seemed panicked. "Is everything all right?"
"Hi, Mom," I said, casually. "Everything's fine. I just wanted to say hello."
I felt her relax. Her voice was more even now. "Oh, good." I heard her settling into an office chair. "I'm glad you called. How are your classes going, Elizabeth?" Even though she was my mom, she always used a patient, professional tone. Sometimes, I think she speaks to me like I'm one of her patients. I'd only seen her address a few patients before—mostly people who had hurt themselves while she happened to be around—but each time, there was a soothing tone in her voice that calmed them.
"They're good!" I answered, truthfully. My classes were going well. My grades were good. I wasn't lying, but I was definitely trying to sound happier than I really was and I hoped she couldn't tell. "I recently turned in a paper where I argued for that new initiative with deep brain stimulation, and I did really well. Earned the highest grade in my class."
"I expected no less. You're quite masterful with a pen," my mother said. There were more noises from her end of the call, doors opening and closing, people shuffling around. It sounded busy."Did you mean Dr. O'Hara's new neurological project?" my mother asked, excitedly. "You should send her a copy of it! I'm sure she'd love to read it, especially now that her additional funding has been approved by the board."
I smiled as I thought about something like that happening to me someday. Petitioning a board for a grant. Having something I put forth deemed worthy of an in-depth study. Developing a new treatment or technique that could revolutionize modern medicine. It was so exciting. But, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. "I really doubt Dr. O'Hara has the time to read through a paper written by someone who isn't even a med student yet," I said as I shook my head. "But how are you? How's your day going?"
I smiled as my mother took in a deep breath. She always did that before launching into one of her best surgical stories.
This one began with her hands already inside of a patient's chest. "And as I'm holding this old man's old heart, it completely flattens in my hand! Like some sort of... punctured sports ball,. I’m telling you, honey, it looked like someone had pulled every ounce of life out of that thing." She made a small, disapproving sound with her mouth.
"And you were still able to give him a transplant with all the damage he'd done to the last one?" I asked, bewildered at the procedures the transplant team had to follow to make sure the right organs went
to the right people. How would someone even begin to determine who should live and who should die like that? TMy mom's velvety voice brought me back to reality.
"That's how it works," she tsaid. "I can't say that I agree with giving him a perfectly viable heart, especially after the way he treated the last one, but it isn't up to me." She spoke with perfect, practiced indifference. She told me that was going to be the part of the job I'd struggle with the most. I cared for other people. I couldn’t always detach emotionally. But she also assured me that caring for people was the source of my power. It was something I was born with that couldn't really be taught. "But you'll learn all about that process in med school, and by the time you're done with that, you'll be a doctor! My little girl, a doctor!" My mother was swooning over the future as I laughed and rolled my eyes.
"Mom, that's years away..."
But, my mom was on a roll. She continued on about the private practice we'd open together. going over every single detail from the name we'd put on the sign above the front door down to the receptionists we'd hire to fetch us coffee and lunch. "And we could get matching business cards that say co-owner and co-owner on them!" she finished with a bright giggle.
"That sounds great, Mom," I said. It did sound great. But, for whatever reason, I was thinking about Nathan.
I pictured him sitting next to me on the couch as my mom rambled on about our business. He'd be there to remind me how amazing it was that my mom believed in my skills enough to go into business with me. Even though I’m not sure I want to do exactly that. Nathan is great at putting things into perspective and I already missed him for that. The twist of guilt in my stomach came back once more as I thought of telling my mom about the real reason I called. I didn't want to tell her that I'd let myself get distracted by a boy—a football player, no less— but I couldn’t help where my minds was at. Would she think less of me as a med student if I told her that something was keeping me from studying for the MCATs?
"And we could get lunch from that sandwich place in the city that you really like!" my mom said. I realized she’d been talking this whole time and I had no idea what about.
“Sounds great, Mom. Maybe on Friday?" I looked over to see the time. "Oh, actually, Mom, I have to go."
"That's okay, honey. I'm swamped over here, too." We quickly said our goodbyes, promising to call more often as we did. As soon as the call ended, I rested my head on the back of the couch and closed my eyes again. Not even a later, my phone vibrated against my leg. I picked it up, expecting to see a message from my mom reminding me to send my paper to Dr. O'Hara, but, instead, Nathan's name popped up.
I took a deep, cleansing breath before reading it. The text wasn't long, but it brought back the twitch in the center of my forehead.
Nathan: Hey, I just wanted to apologize if what I said made you uncomfortable. I don't want to move too fast for you or scare you off, but I needed to be honest.
There was a huge part of me that wanted to woman up and tell him that I felt the same way. That he was always on my mind. That I dreamed of him every night. Nathan was sweet, and I enjoyed spending time with him, but the timing for the two of us just wasn't right. In my near future, I saw nothing but classrooms, exams, internships, residencies, papers, rounds, and patients. I'd worked my whole life to get into medical school. It's been my dream since childhood and I'll be damned if I was going to get distracted by a relationship. If I had meet Nathan just a year earlier, or maybe a few months down the road, this would be different. But now? Impossible. We both had careers to think about.
I started typing before I could talk myself out of it.
Elizabeth: Hi, Nathan.
Even typing his name was difficult. I kept going before I could chicken out. But there was no reason to string him along if I was ready to end things. I wasn't truly ready to part ways with him, but it didn’t change the fact that we both had too much at stake to be distracted by romance. I resumed typing with newfound strength.
Elizabeth: I do understand why you said what you said. I'm glad you were honest, but I just don't feel this is the right time for us.
I reconsidered my last message for a moment, but typed it anyway.
Elizabeth: I think it would be best if we stopped seeing each other.
I heard the woosh sound, telling me that the message was sent and I didn't want to drive myself crazy waiting around for a replay, so I held my finger over the power button and turned off my phone. I never did that. I told myself that the last little vibration was nothing. Just the turning off thing. It definitely wasn't a message from Nathan. I left my phone on top of my desk, knowing I wouldn't need it.
I looked at the clock, grateful that I still had time to get down to the testing center tonight. I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder as I left the dorm apartments. The cold air blew my hair around my face. I kept looking around, on the off chance that Nathan had received my text and had started sprinting toward my room.
Despite the sunshine, the air was so cold that it burned in my throat as I trudged up the main hill on campus. When I reached the testing center, my nose was bright red, and the blonde woman behind the counter straightened in her office chair to greet me. "Hey there. How can I help you today?"
I gathered my courage and took a deep breath. This was it. "I'm here to take the MCAT."
I watched her eyebrows raise, but she smiled at me and gathered a loose packet of materials. She said something about her cousin being an orthodontist in Elmdale, but I wasn't listening. I was trying to block out everything but this test. She kept chatting and I just nodded politely until we reached an empty testing station. All the studying I had done earlier in the day had left me feeling tapped out. I just needed to release it all before my brain exploded.
"Good luck," she whispered to me as she walked away.
I set my bag on the floor, letting it rest against the side of the desk like everyone in the rows in front of me. The packets that the receptionist had handed me were actually workbooks to jot down any notes. There was a cup of water on the other side of the monitor, but there were no ice cubes in it.
I sat down and booted up the monitor, reading "MCAT" in bold, blocky text. On top of the keyboard, there was a flimsy pair of headphones that I pulled over my ears as a robotic voice began speaking. "The first sessions will begin in three…two…” the AI with a slight British inflection continued counting down, ignoring my calls for a few more moments of peace before the test. "One..."
The first few questions flew by, but as the content focused more on anatomy—specifically the material I'd been struggling to get through earlier—my eyes glazed over. There was a brief moment where I thought about giving up, but I stopped myself. I thought of my mother sitting behind her desk and believing in me fully.
I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. I clicked on the correct answer and moved onto the next question with a smile tugging at the edges of my mouth.
18
Nathan
I ran my fingers through my hair.
It was soaked in sweat. I usually loved practice. And, right now, I needed it. It gave me an opportunity to work out all the nervous energy in my system. God, I was such a fucking idiot. What the hell was I thinking? We hadn't even been dating that long, and I went ahead and blurted out that I loved her. Geez, of course, she was spooked. If I could go back and change things, I'd do everything differently. Well, maybe I would have waited for her to say it first.
"All right, Nathan," my coach called, pulling me back from my thoughts. "One more run, and then it's back to the lockers."
I shoved my mouth guard back in, crouched low, and readied myself. As the coach blew the whistle, we ran the play. I slipped as I sprinted across the damp grass of the football field, but years of training, allowed me to recover quickly. Duncan tossed the ball and it flew through the air, sailing straight towards me. I sprinted through the clearing and jumped, barely catching it with the tips of my fingers. I pulled it to my chest. But, my feet went
out from under me as I landed and I crashed to the ground, my helmet hitting the grass.
My mother's words rang in my ears. Football is such a a dangerous sport. You’re already lucky enough to be handsome and intelligent. Why risk your brain cells for a few minutes of glory on the field? She never understood the rush, but that was okay. I lived for moments like this.
Picking myself off the ground, I held the ball high. Everyone cheered. It was a spectacular catch. I mean, that moment was something straight out of a movie. I felt like I was walking on a cloud as practice ended. I wasn't ready to go back to reality yet. Elizabeth was avoiding me. I jogged across the damp field, suddenly feeling pain and soreness from that fall.
"Christ, Nathan, that was a hell of a save there. Too bad it's not a real game. Can you imagine if the NFL recruiters were to watch that?" Duncan said, clapping my shoulder.
I nodded at my teammate. "Thanks, you weren't so bad yourself."
"Eh, football’s okay," he said with a shrug. He shook his head and sweat droplets flew everywhere. "Don't get me wrong, I love it. It got me to this college in the first place. But I'm not interested in the NFL."
"What are you gonna do after graduation?" I asked, curious now. I realized that Christopher Duncan and I hadn't spent much time talking.
“Well, my major is economics," he said.
“That's cool. What'll you do with that?" I asked.
"My grandfather said he'd let me intern at his company. I want to be a financial risk analyst," he answered.
“Wow, man. I had no idea you were into that world. I didn't really know anything about you outside of football.”
Duncan laughed, but it was short-lived. Kyler passed by, glaring a me. And I definitely didn't miss the way he balled his fists and clenched his jaw.
Clearly, he still hadn't forgiven me for kicking his ass at that party, but what the hell was I supposed to do? He treated girls like crap. Did he really think that he'd be able to do that for the rest of his life without someone's boyfriend getting in the way? Thinking about him putting the moves on Elizabeth that way, like he was totally entitled to touch her and talk about her like she was an object, had my skin crawling. I was itching to grab his stupid face and punch his lights out all over again.
