Page 97 of Yearn
I set the table, silverware aligned like instruments before an attending asked for them. When I wiped the counter, I saw a sticky fingerprint I knew wasn’t mine and smiled while I scrubbed it clean.
Hey. If I end up losing my passion for medical studies, I could be a house-husband. Granted, it would be in a mansion with a chef, but still. . .
Smiling, I tossed the rag in the sink, moved toward the hallway, and paused.
How is she doing?
I could see her through the crack of the office door, hunched over her laptop.
A frown line carved between her brows.
I wanted to smooth it with my thumb.
She had a legal pad full of handwriting that made me ache with respect; it looked like a map to a prison break.
Chuckling to myself, I watched as she reached for a statute volume, flipped it open, scanned the pages, and then flipped again.
She rubbed her temple and kept going.
She works so hard.
I thought of the female residents who staggered out of a sixteen-hour day and still charted, still called families, still pulled their hair into ties that had already lost their stretch and went back for more shifts.
I’d seen surgeons collapse after twelve-hour operations.
Meanwhile, Teyonah bested all of them to me, she did the same with motherhood and work, everyday rising up to fight again.
It’s not just her curvy body that has me going crazy. She’s so strong. That’s also why I can’t get her out of my mind.
She was the only diagnosis I craved—symptoms I would chase forever.
The rice popped.
Oh shit.
I quickly returned to the kitchen, grabbed a wooden spoon, stirred, and checked the clock.
If I wanted to give her the bedtime she’d promised the kids, I had to buy her a few minutes.
I plated dinner.
Once done, I yelled out, “Dinner is ready!”
Is this going to be a shit show? Or did I do a good job with the food?
Chapter eighteen
A Seat at the Table
Dominic
Oliver came in the kitchen at a gallop that would have failed every inpatient safety lecture.
J followed, pretending they were above excitement even as they took the seat that put them closest to the drumstick pile.
I thought of what I had seen Teyonah do tons of times during dinner, when I watched them from the backyard. “Hands?”
They made a show of groaning and went to wash them.
