Page 125 of Grumpy on the Mountain
Even when the miracle I needed most was slipping away with every breath.
"That's very wise and therapeutic of you," I say, deflecting with humor like I always do. "Did you get that from one of those medical psychology journals you pretend not to read?"
"I got it from watching my best friend slowly destroy herself trying to fix something that was never her fault."
The gentleness in Piper's voice makes my throat tight. She was there during my residency when I worked twice as hard as everyone else, determined to honor my father's death by saving others. She held my hair back when the stress made me physically sick in our third year. She's the one who found me in the supply closet after Tyler died, destroyed in a way I had never been before.
"Three months," I say quietly into the phone. "The contract here is for three months. That's three months to figure out how to be a doctor without bleeding out emotionally every time."
"Three months to remember that you're allowed to be human," Piper corrects. "And who knows? Maybe you'll fall in love with small-town medicine. Maybe you'll meet some sexy lumberjack who chops wood… shirtless!Andmakes his own maple syrup."
I nearly choke on my coffee.
"Piper, this isn't a movie. I'm here to heal, not to find romance with some flannel-wearing—"
"Hey, don't knock flannel until you've seen it on the right man," she interrupts with a laugh. "Besides, when's the last time you got laid? And don't say that disaster with Dr. Richardson counts. Mediocre hospital sex absolutely does not count."
"We are not discussing my sex life."
"Correct. We're discussing yourlackof a sex life. There's a difference."
"Piper—"
"I'm just saying, maybe this mountain adventure is exactly what you need in more ways than one. Fresh air, gorgeous scenery, a chance to remember what it feels like to want something other than perfect surgical outcomes."
I'm about to argue when movement outside the window catches my eye. A hawk circles overhead, riding the wind with grace, and for a moment I'm struck by how different this view is from my Chicago apartment.
No sirens, no traffic, no constant reminder of the city chaos I've been living in for years.
"It is beautiful here," I admit.
"Good. And the people?"
"I stopped at this café yesterday. Cute name… Bear Paw Café. The owner remembered my name after five minutes. She gave me extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate and asked about my 'settling in process' like I was a rescue animal being rehabilitated."
"That's adorable. See? Small-town charm."
"It's definitely different." I think about the lady's smile, the way she seemed to see straight through me. "Everyone's so... present. Like they actually have time to care about strangers."
"Because they're not running on adrenaline and caffeine, trying to save the world one trauma at a time," Piper points out. "Speaking of which, I should probably get going. I'm covering an extra shift tonight, and if I don't eat something that isn't vending machine food, I'm going to pass out on a patient."
"Piper."
"I know, I know. Practice what I preach. But seriously, Brooke… try to actually enjoy yourself, okay? Do something completely un-doctor-like. Take a hike, learn to fish, burndinner attempting to cook over an open fire. Be bad at something that doesn't matter."
"Be bad at something that doesn't matter," I repeat thoughtfully, watching the hawk outside.
"Exactly. And text me pictures of the sexy mountain men. For… you know… research purposes."
"There are no sexy mountain men!"
"Oh, there will be," Piper says with smug satisfaction. "Love you, babe. Don't overthink everything."
The line goes dead, leaving me alone with my coffee and the absurd idea that I should intentionally be bad at something.
Which is exactly when my eyes land on the neat stack of firewood beside the cabin.
Sure enough, half an hour and three more YouTube tutorials later, I'm standing in my athletic wear freezing my ass off in the cold mountain air.
