Page 7 of Take Me Home for Christmas

Chapter Three

Brax

Every single day as I climbed out of bed, I reminded myself to hold Mia D’Angelo at arm’s length. To be friendly, yet keep her at a distance.

But every single day, I failed. Because Mia wasn’t like any other resident. She wasn’t like any other woman, period.

I was feeling the struggle at eight on a Thursday morning as I scrubbed my hand over my unshaven jaw and took a gulp of old, cold coffee. Mia stood in the middle of the ward conversing with one of our hematology-oncology attendings, Dr. Laura March. My good friend Gabe sat charting at a nearby computer, a refugee from the toddler ward who often snuck over here where there was less commotion.

Mia and Dr. March were at the beginning of rounds, where they would stop at each room to discuss the daily plan for each patient, basically making a square lap around the nurses’ station.

I glanced up nervously, following their progress. The problem was that I knew something Mia didn’t about her favorite patient. The question was, should I tell her?

Three rooms down, they’d soon stop to see an eleven-year-old named Rylee Hunter with newly diagnosed acute lymphocytic leukemia, the most common type of childhood cancer—which also happens to be one of the most curable.

Part of our jobs as physicians was to constantly walk a tightrope between caring about our patients and not getting too involved. So we could ensure our objectivity and make good decisions. Care, but not too much. Sort of what I’d forced myself to do with Mia.

Mia, for some reason, took this particular family—Rylee, with her brunette hair and big blue eyes, and her twin sister, Reagan, who had the same bright eyes but blonde hair—to heart. I worried about her because childhood cancer was a heart-wrenching roller-coaster ride—that was obvious. Yet I also knew that Mia was amazing with all the kids on the heme-onc service, big or small. She had a gift for talking with them and their families and helping care for them, medically and emotionally, that I felt was exceptional.

I wished she would see it too. That way, we wouldn’t be in competition for the job I wanted more than anything. But whatever she chose to do, I knew she’d be amazing at it.

Just as I debated pulling her aside and letting her know the results I’d just gotten from the lab, Dr. Ted Brunner walked up to the nurses’ station. He was the senior member of Milwaukee’s best pediatric group, the “B” in BCP. “Dr. Hughes,” he said in a jovial tone, “how ya doing, buddy?” He stretched out his hand for a shake. “I stopped by to say hi to Rylee’s family. How’s she doing medically?”

I got up and shook his hand. “She’s a real trouper.” She’d tolerated all the scans, X-rays, and blood tests like a champ, andthey were almost at an end. “You’re just in time to hear what Dr. March has to say.”

“Great, great,” he said. “They’re such a nice family. Sorry to see them go through this.”

Next to him was Robin Miller, the newest BCP associate, who also happened to be seven months pregnant.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Great. Nice to see you, Brax.” She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes. I felt better when she managed a wan smile.

“Robin, how about you read through Rylee’s chart and then meet me in the room?” Ted said.

“Sure thing, Dr. Brunner,” Robin answered. Which I thought was a little unusual. Robin had been a resident in our program, but once you were out, you usually called your partners by their first names.

“Great,” Dr. Brunner said, then turned to me. “Brax, walk with me for a sec, will you?”

When Dr. Brunner gave an order, most of us jumped. So of course I did, extra high. Hell, I would’ve run a few laps around the unit if that would have helped my case.

I wanted this job more than I wanted air to breathe.

It would be the culmination of a lifetime of struggle and heartache.

Dr. Atticus Pendergast, the “P” in BCP, who had been one of the founding partners sixty years ago, was the man I owed everything to. The currency he’d invested in me, despite our brief time together—how to be a person who strives to help others, how to not just survive but even thrive—had gotten me through a lot.

Even though he’d passed on years ago, I wanted to make him proud. Show him that despite all those years I’d spent in the foster system, all the hours of working three separate jobs andapplying for every scholarship, taking every opportunity to get through college and med school—I’d finally made it, and now it was time to pay it forward.

Ted clapped me on the back and dropped his voice. “Brax, my boy, I wanted you to know that our group is very close to making a decision about our newest partner.” He beamed a big smile.

My heart began a slow, steady acceleration.

He laughed. “Don’t look so serious. Of course, you and Mia are both still in the running. You know our group is all about maximum efficiency. We’ve got the lowest wait times for our patients, and we’re the fastest at getting worried moms and dads appointments for their sick kids. That’s why we take the brightest, most-talented residents who can keep up with the intense demands of a busy practice.”

Dr. Brunner’s gaze drifted over to Robin, who was still sitting at the computer, sipping from a water bottle. Robin had been a very high-performing resident. She was well respected and well liked. I couldn’t guess what his point was.

I didn’t have to wonder for long. He dropped his voice even lower. “There are certain members of our practice who feel they shouldn’t have to pitch in and take call for someone just because they’re of a certain gender, if you know what I mean. I’m certainly all for diversity, inclusion, and equal rights, but we’re all working at maximum capacity. We want a new partner who can promise the same.”

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