I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. None. And I wasn’t going to ask her. I waited a few moments before leaving the supply closet to
give her a chance to clear the area. Then I did my best to stay on my own side of the ER for the rest of my shift.
I wondered if I could keep doing this. I was miserable here. I was miserable at Memorial, and I would probably be miserable wherever else I went too. Maybe this was my life now, just existing and hating every minute of it.
It occurred to me that maybe Amy had been right to give up on me. How could I be lovable when I wasn’t even likable?
I wrapped up my last patient and was heading to the locker room when Zander came out of room seven, the one Benny was in.
“Maddox!” He grinned at me. “There you are. I was gonna go hunt your ass down.”
Dr. Zander Reese was a nephrologist. A kidney specialist and a good one. He was also my best friend. We’d been roommates in med school and through our residencies. He was one of the selling points of this move. Knowing someone here had been a plus. It was nice to finally see a familiar face, one that wasn’t scowling at me.
Maybe Zander was Benny’s kidney specialist? I peered past him to see into the room, but the curtain was across the sliding glass door.
I wondered if she was still there. Probably.
I felt like I should apologize to her for the comment in the supply closet, but it seemed like the more I talked, the worse things got.
Zander smacked me on the shoulder. “Hey, sorry I missed you yesterday, bud, I had rounds at the dialysis clinic.” He nodded down the hallway. “Gibson sent me to look for you. You’re off right now, right? Wanna get a drink? We’re thinking Mafi’s across the street.”
I liked Mafi’s. And I liked that it was a place I’d been to before. He’d probably picked it for that exact reason.
Places I knew were less stressful for me because I had a sense of how loud it was going to be, how crowded. I wouldn’t have to ask anyone where the restrooms were.
Sometimes I’d Google a place just to see what I could before going. Figure out what I’d order, what the parking situation would be like. Or if there was a big dinner or a party I had to go to, I’d walk through the venue the day before, so when I got there, I’d feel more oriented and less stressed before having to deal with a large social commitment.
I’d done that here too. I’d toured Royaume twice before I took the transfer. Zander was here, I knew Gibson, I knew the job, I’d felt comfortable with the move.
But sometimes even the most thorough due diligence couldn’t show you the heart of a thing…
Zander was waiting for my reply.
Normally after a day like today I’d just want to go home. But I needed to have a positive social interaction so the last one wouldn’t be all I could think about. If I didn’t put something between me and what happened, I’d fixate on it the rest of the night.
“Sure,” I said. “Let me get changed. I’ll meet you guys there.”
I found them in the restaurant thirty minutes later. Gibson waved me over with a friendly smile. He was one of those easy people everyone liked.
Gibson and I went way back. We’d never worked together, but we’d had the same job for the last few years and ended up at enough of the same conferences to get pretty well acquainted. Plus he knew Mom. Most doctors did. She was a well-respected physician in her own right.
He smiled at me as I sat down. “Maddox. How’s the new job treating you?”
“Good,” I lied.
“And how’s Amy?” he asked.
“Fine. We broke up eight months ago.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Ouch. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry. Is that why you transferred?”
I picked up a menu and looked at it, though I didn’t need to. I’d already checked it out online. “In part, yes,” I said. “She’s getting married, actually. To Jeremiah.”
Zander stared at me. “Are you kidding me?” “I’m afraid not.”
Gibson leaned back in the booth. “And what does your mother have to say about that?”
“Plenty,” I mumbled.
Zander nodded at me. “At least you got the dog,” he said. “There is that.”
I’d adopted Lieutenant Dan when Amy and I were together. He was my dog, but we’d shared him pretty equally, and Amy loved him just as much as I did. I half-expected her to ask for partial custody, but luckily she didn’t fight me on it. She didn’t fight me for much, come to think of it. There was nothing to fight over. We’d never lived together, didn’t have kids.
I looked up at Gibson over the menu. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something. There’s a doctor here, Briana—Zander, I think you’re treating her brother?”
“Dr. Ortiz,” Gibson said a little warily. “Is she giving you problems?” “No. She said something to me about you pulling strings for me? She
seemed upset about it. Do you know what that’s about?”
He blew a breath through his lips. “She’s up to replace me when I go. I mentioned to her that I’ve put off retiring to give the staff a chance to get to know you before we vote on the next chief. She was not happy with me.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. Well, that would do it. “I have no interest in the position, Gibson.”
He looked surprised. “No? I just assumed you’d take a stab at it. You took a pretty big step down coming here.”
“My chief days are over. I came here to simplify my life.” And was failing miserably…
He let out a sigh. “Okay. Well, I can respect that.”
“Seems a little unfair to delay the vote on my behalf,” I said. “I can understand why she’d be frustrated.”
“Eh, it wouldn’t have mattered,” Gibson said dismissively. “No shade to you, I’m sure you’d put up a heck of a fight, but it’d be a landslide in her favor no matter how long I waited. Her team loves her and she’s a hell of a physician.”
“Then why bother putting off the vote?” I asked.
He picked up his menu and started to look it over. “I don’t like the optics of her running unchallenged. It takes validity out of the win and I don’t want anyone whispering under their breath that she got it because there was no one else. It’s not fair to her and it’s not a good way to enter a position of leadership.”
Zander bobbed his head. “So you put her up against an obvious front- runner—and let her obliterate him.” He looked impressed. “I like it.” He nodded at me. “Fucked up for you, but I do like it.”
I also liked it. Not the me losing part, but the reason for it. At least it had been well intentioned.
“As noble as it sounds, I’m still going to have to opt out,” I said.
Gibson nodded. “Noted. Well, I’m sticking around anyway in case someone else brave enough to challenge her surfaces. And honestly, I’m happy for the extra couple of months. I’m not ready to leave yet. Quitting after twenty years is a lot. And spending all that time with Jodi? I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”
“You’re not,” Zander said. “Trust me. I look forward to my husband’s curling trips all year so I can get some peace.”
Gibson shook his head over his menu. “I suppose you don’t take a job like this one if you’re happy at home. Unless you’re in your position. I’d imagine Amy didn’t care, since she saw you at work anyway.”
“She cared,” I muttered. I didn’t elaborate. “And anyway, I didn’t really want the chief position then either. I was sort of pushed into it by the team. It’s not really my thing.”
Gibson waved me off. “If they pushed you into it, it’s your thing. You’re diplomatic, fair, and you don’t lean toward drama. They respected you. Briana’s the same way, actually. Though a little bit more of a bulldog.”
Zander raised a finger at a server to call her over. “Briana will make a good chief—if you ever get the hell out of here.”
Gibson chuckled.
“How’s the anxiety?” Zander asked me. “Not easy being the new guy.” “It’s been okay,” I lied again.
“Starting a new job has gotta be like your own personal hell,” Zander went on. “The grown-up version of standing up in front of the class and introducing yourself.”
I scoffed. It was exactly like that. Only I was naked too and my dog ate my homework.
Luckily our server came over before I had to get more into it. Zander ordered one of every appetizer for the table, so the guys didn’t order any entrées, but I got a salad. I’d try what came, but I wouldn’t fill up on fried foods and sodium.
When my mental health was struggling, I had a strict self-care regime. The second I started to notice the glitchy, staticky feeling creeping in, I made a concerted effort to exercise and get enough sleep. I cut out alcohol, processed sugar, and carbs, tried to eat more whole foods. Journaled. It all helped. And right now I needed all the help I could get. I was teetering on some precipice, trying not to fall. Amy and Jeremiah, my family, my new job—all of it prodding me to the drop-off.
The guys’ cocktails were delivered, and I got my club soda and lime. They went into stories about their patients as I sat back and enjoyed the distraction. I was glad I came. I needed this. A reminder that there were people who liked me.
Interactions like this one didn’t wear me out. They knew me. They didn’t take it personally if I slipped into silence and just listened. They didn’t give me a hard time about not having any alcohol, which is something I never did either, to anyone. You never knew what someone’s reason was for not drinking.
These friends were easy. Not all of them were.
Different people had different energy demands. Some people took more from me than others. Dad, for example, was low energy. I could spend days
with him in his workshop and never feel like I needed a break. Jill and Jane were easy too. But Mom and Jeremiah and Jewel? They were high-energy people who could drain me in a matter of minutes. There was only so much of them I could handle.
Amy was the highest-energy of all. There was never silence. She had to fill every moment.
In the beginning, I liked it. I didn’t have to be charming or force conversation. She’d do it all, and I’d get to sit and listen and laugh at her stories, and she never needed me to contribute. Listening was my contribution. When we went to parties, she handled all the small talk with everyone and I got to just be there. It took pressure off me. My family loved her. It was easy. I think my reserved personality made her feel listened to and the center of attention, the way she liked. And it made me the opposite. She made me invisible, the way I liked.
But then one day I realized I knew everything about her and she knew nothing about me. Nothing. And I was lonely, even though I was with someone. So I finally brought it up to her and…well. Here we were.
Gibson nodded to Zander. “Did I see Benny come through today?” “Yeah. Infected catheter.”
I sat up. “Briana told me about him,” I said, suddenly interested in participating in the conversation. “Autoimmune disease.”
“Man, shit luck for that kid. Zero to kidney failure in eighteen months.” “Is his sister donating a kidney?” I asked.
Zander took a swallow of his bourbon. “Not a match. So far nobody is.”
Gibson shook his head. “Poor kid. Lost his job, girlfriend broke up with him.”
“That pissed me off,” Zander said, tipping his glass at Gibson. “Why’d she break up with him?” I asked.
“Couldn’t handle it,” Gibson said. “No end in sight, didn’t want to wait it out.”
I shook my head. “How long does someone like that wait on the transplant list? It can’t be that long.”
Zander bobbed his head. “Depends. Can be anywhere from three to seven years. But he’s got a rare blood type—the rarest blood type, actually. Might be longer for him.”
I sat back in my seat. “Longer than seven years,” I breathed. “God, I can’t imagine.” No wonder his sister was so upset.
I hadn’t meant to be insensitive with my comment about dialysis. I’d meant it to be reassuring—because it was true. Dialysis would keep him alive. But the quality of his life would suffer in the meantime. Today had been a prime example of it.
Besides the health roller coaster, he’d be strapped to a dialysis machine for four hours a day every other day. He couldn’t have too much liquid, since his body couldn’t get rid of it. No soup or ice cream or watermelon. No drinks with friends. Not even a Coke. Nothing salty because he wouldn’t be able to handle the sodium, nothing fried. He couldn’t do the thing I was doing right now, eating random appetizers and thinking nothing of it.
“Will his autoimmune disease damage his new kidney when he gets one?” I asked.
Zander shrugged. “We got it under control. Only about a ten percent chance of recurrence. He’ll have a normal life if he gets a donor. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
I went quiet for a long moment.
I thought about what Briana said, how her brother just wanted to be normal. I knew what it was like to have your life controlled by an outside
factor. My anxiety was limiting too. But this? It had to be hard. Especially for such a young man.
What had I been doing at twenty-seven? I took that backpacking trip to Machu Picchu with Zander, went camping a lot. Things I took for granted. Things that wouldn’t be possible on dialysis, that’s for sure.
“He’s got a better chance of getting a deceased donor,” Zander continued. “But the organ won’t last as long, and they don’t take as well either. Higher chance of rejection. Ideally he’d get a living donor, but none of the family’s a match, and with his blood type…”
“What’s the recovery like for a living donor?” I asked.
“Not too bad. Couple of weeks. Why? You thinking about it?” “I’ve always considered it after Mom.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” Zander said. “That was—what? Twenty years ago now?”
I nodded. “Just about.”
Mom had lupus. She’d gone into kidney failure when I was in high school. Never got to the transplant list, though, because her best friend, Dorothy, stepped in and gave her one of hers. Mom was lucky. She never even had to do dialysis.
We were all kids at the time, so none of us could help, and Dad wasn’t a good candidate because of his high blood pressure.
I’d been deeply moved by the gesture.
“I always promised myself when I was old enough, I’d pay it forward,” I said.
“What’s your blood type?” Zander asked. “O.”
He sat up a little straighter. “Universal donor.” He seemed to study me now. “Any health issues?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Want me to set up the labs? Just to see? No commitment. The family won’t know.”
I thought about it for a moment.
What was the harm in seeing? I might not be a match in the end, and I could always say no.
I shrugged. “Okay. Sure.”
