Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Soon after I arrive, a wave of elegantly dressed servers start to usher us into the small banquet room where a handful of circular tables are arranged in front of a stage. This is the part I’ve been dreading. I’ve been to these ceremonies before; I know how they go. As a resident, I was all but forced to attend every year, not only to congratulate my colleagues, but to suck up to our attendings and the hospital department heads. It was an easy way to show my commitment to the program.
On cue, the younger residents fill the back tables, here as a formality more than anything. No doubt they’re grumbling about how much studying they could be doing right now—at least that’s what I used to complain about.
Up front, I find the place setting that reads “Dr. Natalie Martin” in gilded cursive, and I feel embarrassed when I realize my table, which is big enough for ten, will only be filled by two people: Noah and me.
The other residents are joined by their parents, aunts and uncles, friends, spouses, and even young children. I’m the only one who’s still single.
Noah pulls my chair out for me and I sit down.
“Did you invite Lindsey?” he asks, looking worried.
“She couldn’t come—on call. Babies wait for no one, y’know.”
“Ah.”
He takes the seat on my left and I stifle a groan.
“Don’t say it. I already know this is awkward. At least at your graduation, your table was filled with friends.”
My cheeks burn when the volume in the banquet hall grows even louder. I wish I had thought ahead and paid good money to desperate people so they could fill these vacant seats and pretend to be my loved ones. I would have given them a script and everything. Yes, you, tell me you’re proud. And you, you’ll play the tone-deaf uncle. Make more bad jokes.
“You have it wrong,” Noah points out. “Connor was the one who needed two tables. I think he set an all-time record.”
That name does funny things to my already on-edge nerves. I reach for my drink.
“Just let me down this champagne and then I won’t even notice that I’m basically sitting here all by myself.”
I raise the glass to my mouth and take a sip just as a heavy hand hits my shoulder. I sputter and choke. Champagne dribbles down my chin.
“Ah, sorry, Natalie.” The jovial voice of my mentor is accompanied by a few gentle pats on my back, as if he’s trying to dislodge the sparkling wine from my lungs.
I finally regain control of my breathing and smile up at him as he takes the open seat beside Noah.
“I hoped you’d have room for me at your table,” Dr. Patel says. “Mind if I join?”
It’s an honor, really. Dr. Patel is a vice chairman of the surgical department and someone whose ass I’ve kissed regularly for the last five years. He’s also the doctor who revoked my log-in privileges this weekend.
“Please, join us,” I insist with a welcoming smile.
His grin is half-hidden behind his salt and pepper mustache, and his round glasses barely conceal the twinkle in his brown eyes when he asks if I did anything fun with my free afternoon.
I blanche, knowing from the cheeky lilt in his tone that he already knows the answer.
“Did Lois rat me out?”
He chuckles. “You know I’d never reveal my source, especially when the source inspires as much fear as Lois does.”
I’m slightly embarrassed to have been caught. I give him a small smile. “I swear I’ll stay away until Monday. How’s that?”
He nods. “I’ll consider it a win.”
Noah laughs and shakes his head, not quite relating to my desperate need to stay married to medicine. Noah has a life. I don’t.
Even worse, Noah has friends and regular dates and is still really good at his job. Case in point, he’s leaving his post at BHUMB for the next few months to go on sabbatical. Part of his time will be spent setting up and running cleft palate clinics in underserved communities. The remainder of his time will be spent training surgeons at other programs on the surgical techniques he presented at the ASPS conference earlier this year. Yes, Noah is so damn good at what he does, programs like Baylor and Johns Hopkins and Columbia want him any way they can get him, even just for a week or two on-site.
Did I already mention the cheekbones? The French model vibes?
My brother should be a total tool, but he’s not.
He aims a smile my way just as the salad course is placed in front of us and Dr. Patel launches into the story of the first time he supervised me in surgery.
My brother is brimming with glee to hear it. I squash myself lower in my chair, knowing where this is headed.