Page 19 of Dr. Attending

I know it’s a jab, but it’s how we show our affection for one another. Plus, I’m not wrong because he rarely texts my sister or me back. Most of the time, he communicates by liking messages here and there.

“Noted . . . so how did the exam go?”

Ugh.

I appreciate the change in subject, but this one is just as bad. “Well, I’m pretty sure neurosurgery isn’t in my future because I bombed that.”

Today was our last module exam, and there’s not much to say about it other than the fact that it sucked. I’m just thankful to have three days off that I don’t have to spend thinking about anything related to school. Because once Labor Day is over, I’ll have to start studying for boards, and that’s something I don’t have the capacity to process at the moment.

“You don’t want to be a neurosurgeon anyway,” Parker says with a hearty chuckle. “They’re the biggest douches in the hospital.”

Typically, I would take this as an opportunity to tease him about how it takes one to know one, or spend the next five minutes entertaining his questions about school like he’s a proud parent. But I’m running on a grand total of two hours of sleep, so I’m not exactly in the mood to fake things. I need to grab some food, change out of my scrubs, and turn my brain off on the drive to the lake.

“Wait. Why did you want me to call you?” I ask, redirecting our conversation as I turn and cross the busy street outside of the medical school.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I have no idea what could be so important that he felt he needed to speak to me over the phone. Since this communication method has historically only been used for death and dying, I’m not sure what could measure up, or why we’re currently making small talk.

I hear my sister yell something I can’t make out, followed by a rustling on the line and the sound of a door closing.

“Sorry,” Parker says with an exasperated exhale.“She’s already tipsy.”

I smile because if Claire and I share any personality traits at all, it’s the inability to hold our liquor. We don’t drink together often, but when we do, it always ends in an early night. Clearly, that won’t be happening tonight, though, because it sounds like she’s already started without me.

Rude.

“I was wondering if you could pick something up for me before you leave the city.”

I stop at the corner, waiting for the light to change. “Uhhh. Sure.”

I’m happy to help since it’s his big weekend, but I’m really hoping that this errand doesn’t take too long. The last few hours on the way to the lake are through the middle of nowhere, and while I know those roads like the back of my hand, I’m not much of a night driver.

“What do you need me to pick up?” I ask as I reach up to adjust my ponytail, watching a group of pigeons pick at someone’s leftovers that litter the sidewalk. “Please don’t tell me brilliant Beau forgot his cummerbund again . . . because I would rather do just about anything than go to the mall on a holiday weekend.”

My sister’s boyfriend left his tuxedo accessories at home for Morgan and Walker’s wedding, so it wouldn’t surprise me if history was repeating itself.

Parker lets out a snort. “No. Though, the country boy is currently threatening to officiate the wedding in his boxers if he beats me in beer pong tonight because he claims that it’s stupid to wear a tux in the mountains.”

I roll my eyes affectionately. “Did you tell him that it’s stupid to wear a cat-covered scrub cap in a hospital full of adults?”

I’ve always had a soft spot for Beau because it’s impossible not to. The man is like a human golden retriever—energetic, friendly, and ridiculously attractive. He’s just one of those people who gets along with everyone that he meets, even though sometimes he does things that genuinely make me wonder how he matched into one of the most competitive medical specialties.

“I didn’t have to,” Parker replies. “Walker beat me to it. He’s keeping him in line.”

I smile as the crosswalk signal changes, and I step off the curb. I can only imagine the chaos that this weekend will bring . . . which reminds me of something.

“Speaking of that. You never told me how Morgan weaseled her way into an invitation.”

After we took our tequila shots at dinner last week, she refused to divulge anything else about the wedding. Whenever I tried to bring it up, she would start on a rant about some new ER resident she has beef with. Unsurprisingly, it’s all of them.

“First of all, Morgan wasn’t invited. She invited herself,” Parker says, and I can practically hear the bewilderment in his voice. “The little psycho showed up to our house with a twenty-slide PowerPoint presentation on why shehadto be there.”

My smile widens because I wish I had been there to see the look on my brother’s face during the whole thing.

“So you caved? You’ve gone soft, P.”

He groans. “Don’t remind me. Walker already threatened to tie her to the bed once today because she’s running around the house like a damn tornado, and I’m pretty sure she already broke one of the crystal lamps on the bar.”

“I don’t think that’s why he threatened to tie her up.” I laugh, thinking back on a conversation Morgan and I had when we were all in Vegas.

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