Page 14 of Dr. Attending

Parker and I have had a handful of conversations like this over the years, but they were always related to our background and family dynamics. Nothing remotely like this. Nothing vulnerable and raw.

But the more that I think about it, the more his admission makes sense. Even though we were close, our friendship has always felt like a competition. While the magnitude has somewhat faded over the years now that we’re not in medical school, the inherent rivalry between us hasn’t quite disappeared.

It’s almost like we each have something the other desperately wants. Parker is logical, focused, and has an aptitude for surgery that I’ve always dreamed of. And while he might be more talented in the operating room, I have much better people skills and connect with patients on a different level than he does.

It’s strange, but it almost feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to myself, but looking at Parker now, it’s finally so clear—he might have been jealous of me, but I was jealous of him too.

I would have done anything to make it seem like I had the upper hand in our friendship. Anything, like finding Cassidy’s look-alike on a dating app and bringing her to Thanksgiving dinner, just to prove that I wasn’t bothered by their relationship—to prove I hadn’t actually lost or been bested by him.

In a way, I’m thankful for my petty behavior because it brought me my son. But looking back, I can’t help but shake my head at how childish I was. How desperate I was to protect my foolish pride.

“Well,” I finally say. “I can’t speak for everyone . . . but I hope you know by now that Cass definitely prefers you over me.”

Parker’s mouth twists into a reluctant smile. “She’s told me once or twice.”

“And I prefer it too . . . you’re great together, man. I really am happy for you.”

As important as Cassidy is to me, in my heart I’ve always known that we were never truly right for each other. We were an arrangement of sorts, planned by our families over the years because they thought it would make the perfect story.

But I’ve learned a thing or two about stories over the past year. And while they don’t always end the way that the reader or the writer expect them to, sometimes that’s for the best. Sometimes that’s what we need.

Chapter 5

Caroline

“Cheers to debt and depression,” I say as seriously as I can manage after two espresso martinis.

The alcohol is pulsing through my veins, and I probably shouldn’t have asked for a third drink since I’m definitely going to be hungover in the morning. But I can’t bring myself to care. That’s a tomorrow problem. Tonight, my mind needs to wander far, far away from the monotony of neuroendocrine disorders and toward a little bit of fun.

Morgan peers up at me over the rim of her massive glass.

She’s already on her third grande margarita, but she somehow holds her liquor much better than I do. I’ll never understand it because I’m a solid eight inches taller than her at five foot ten, so logically I should have a higher tolerance based on body mass. But when we went to Vegas together for my brother’s bachelor party this spring, she outdrank me by a mile. And who spent the night cradling the toilet? Little old me.

“I’m all for the dramatics,” Morgan replies with a sloppy grin, “but we both know that you don’t have debt. And you’re not depressed. You just need to take a trip to pound town.”

I let out a snort and lean back against the wooden restaurant chair.

“Remind me to tell that to my patients when I get to clerkship.” I point my finger at her for emphasis. “You’re not sick, Mrs. Doe. You really just need to get boned.”

“Finally, a doctor who gets it.” Morgan giggles into her drink before placing the glass on the sticky table. “Also, clerkship is a stupid fucking name. Why not just call it clinical and preclinical? They make it sound like you’re counting money at a bank, or something.”

“You know us doctors . . . gotta ruin everything.”

Including our mental health.

I have to keep reminding myself that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. That my perspective will shift once I get out of the classroom and into the hospital. But damn . . . there are some days that I come dangerously close to calling it quits and applying for a job at the QuikTrip near campus. At least I’d have access to unlimited energy drinks.

Morgan raises her glass for a toast as the waiter hands me a fresh drink. “Couldn’t agree with you more. Cheers to that. And cheers to orgasms.”

Her glass clinks against mine so hard that her frozen margarita sloshes over the rim and onto her hand. On instinct, I reach down to offer her my napkin but she waves it away, instead licking the drink off her hand like it’s the salt from a tequila shot.

“Orgasms might not make you richer, but they will make you less depressed.”

I laugh because I never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. That’s actually why I called her to see if she wanted to get dinner tonight—she breaks me out of my shell. Technically,she’s my sister-in-law’s best friend, but we became close when we roomed together during the Vegas trip. I like being around her because she doesn’t take anything too seriously. She reminds me that life can be fun. That I don’t have to be the perfect Barbie doll that I was conditioned to be my entire life, and I wont be judged for it.

“You think orgasms cure everything.”

“Because they do,” she argues, pulling out her phone to reply to a text message. “Best drug on the market.”

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