Page 20 of Healing Hearts
Brooke: Hi there. It’s Brooke. Did you make it home yet?
Me: Yes. I just walked in. How was your day?
Brooke: Probably not as crazy as yours although I did have a bit of a vomit session happen in the middle of the library. Apparently, once one kid throws up, they all start throwing up. Kind of like dominoes.
Me: LOL - I totally get that. I was a sympathetic vomiter when I was a kid, but you get over that pretty quickly in medical school.
Brooke: I bet you do! LOL
Me: Hey, I’m sorry about canceling our coffee date for this afternoon.
Brooke: Don't worry about it. I just hope everything's okay at the hospital.
I smile faintly, her understanding warming something in me that has felt frozen for far too long. Quickly, I type back.
Me: Everything’s okay. It was a horrific car accident, but everyone survived, thankfully. It was touch and go for a while, though.
Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s after ten. Why is she still awake? Doesn’t she have to be at school early tomorrow?
Her reply comes quickly.
Brooke: I’m glad to hear that. Don’t worry about our date, get some rest and we’ll have coffee another time. Good night, Trevor.
Me: Good night, Brooke.
I stare at her name on my screen, a small smile tugging at my lips. Her response is a stark contrast to what Vivian’s would have been—demanding, accusatory, impatient. Brooke’s empathy and kindness are like a balm to my frayed nerves. They are as different as night and day.
I smile despite my exhaustion. Her understanding warms something inside me that's been cold for far too long. When Igot to the hospital and realized that I would need to cancel our coffee date for this afternoon, my fear was that she would be mad or upset, but that was just my gut’s practiced reaction from my time with Vivian.Shewouldn’t have been as understanding as Brooke was.
Shrugging off my jacket, I grab my saxophone case. The brass is cool and familiar in my hands as I begin to play, a slow, soulful melody rising in the quiet room. I close my eyes, picturing Brooke curled up in one of those cozy library armchairs, listening to my curated music. Would she like my music? Would those expressive green eyes light up? A sudden thought makes me pause mid-note
Oh god. What if she hates jazz music? I’m not sure we could move on if she did.
The absurdity of the idea makes me chuckle, and I pick up the tempo, letting the music reflect my amusement. But the upbeat notes soon give way to a more reflective tune, mirroring the exhaustion and tension I can’t quite shake. The weight of the day presses on me—the constant life-or-death stakes, the lingering presence of Vivian, and the frustration of knowing she’s making a point of inserting herself into my professional space.
Today had been a close call - too close. I hatetoo closecalls. They rattle me to the core thinking that I’m the only person in the room that can decide if this person lives or dies. Their life literally depends on me knowing what the fuck I’m doing and some days…I can’t believe the miracles I’m able to pull out of my ass. There is definitely a higher power that helps me.
Definitely.
Vivian's persistent presence in the emergency room and operating room today only added to the chaos. It was just like we were back in our dating days, when she would constantlykeep track of my whereabouts, activities, and company. Except we’re not dating anymore.
Every time I turned around, she was standing there watching me...hovering. Even though we’ve been broken up for two years, she seems unable to let go of her controlling habits, and I’m wondering how we can possibly work together if she’s going to continue like this. I can’t help but feel suffocated by her overbearing behavior. I’m longing for a sense of space and autonomy from her that seems out of reach right now.
"Focus on the music," I tell myself recalling what my music mentor would repeat when he’d noticed I was getting into my head and not into my music. I start pouring my frustration and longing into each note, and it helps not only my playing, but my music creativity, too.
Thinking about Brooke helps a lot, as well. As the melody winds down, I realize I'm smiling. For the first time in ages, I feel a spark of hope.
A sharp knock at the door cuts through the final notes of my song. I lower the sax, my brow furrowed. Who the hell can that be at this hour? Setting down the saxophone, I stride to the door, half expecting to find Vivian on the other side. I don’t think she knows exactly where I live, I wouldn’t put it past her to dig up my home address and show up unannounced and uninvited.
Instead, it’s Parker Trevino, a familiar grin on his face as he holds up a six-pack of craft beer. “Figured you might need this after the day I’ve heard you had today.”
I chuckle, stepping aside to let him in. “You have no idea. Come on in.”
We settle on the couch, cracking open the beers. The first sip is a welcome relief, cutting through the tension in my chest. Parker nods toward the saxophone resting on its stand. “Sounded good from the hallway. That something new you’re working on?”
“Yeah,” I admit, rolling the bottle between my palms. “Still a work in progress.”
“Well, it sounds great so far,” he says, taking another swig. “So, rough day at the hospital?”
