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Chapter no 26

The Devil Wears Scrubs

Even in my dreams, I am working. Youโ€™d think I could take six or seven hours off from my job, but apparently I canโ€™t.

In my dream, Iโ€™m in the hospital, working up a new admission while Alyssa watches me. The patient has pain and I ask where the pain is.ย Everywhere,ย the patient tells me. I ask him to be more specific.ย Everywhere in my body,ย he clarifies. I try to write down his comment but I canโ€™t find my notes. Or a pen.

You have to be more prepared, Jane,ย Alyssa snaps at me. I apologize and start searching for a pen in my pockets, but just keep pulling out packets and packets of gauze while Alyssa continues to scream at me.

Unbelievable. Even in my dreams, I canโ€™t stand up to Alyssa and tell her what I really think of her.

I wake up from my post-call nap feeling completely disoriented as usual. I probably would have slept well into the evening, but I get woken up by my cell phone ringing. I grab for it, and mumble, โ€œโ€™Lo?โ€

A familiar voice says into the phone: โ€œI can pick you up in one hour.

Just name the restaurant.โ€

Itโ€™s S*xy Surgeon. I texted him my triumph in the urine tox, and heโ€™s ready to make good on his end of the bet: buying me dinner. Except I am so damn tired. โ€œOh,โ€ I say.

โ€œI found at least five restaurants in New York that all have chairs and waiters,โ€ he says. โ€œWe can go wherever you want. Skyโ€™s the limit, babe.โ€

I groan. โ€œIโ€™m so tired. I just want pizza.โ€ โ€œJane, you are my kind of woman.โ€

An hour later, Ryan and I are heading out to the nearest pizza joint. Even though this isnโ€™t exact how I pictured our romantic evening together, I have to admit, he made the effort. For one thing, heโ€™s not wearing scrubs. Heโ€™s wearing a navy blue T-shirt and faded blue jeans, and I can tell heโ€™s showered and shaved recently. I can smell his aftershave and itโ€™s making me a little giddy.

Luckily, the closest pizza parlor is actually very good. I must be hungry because I can smell the oil and cheese halfway down the block, and my stomach rumbles. As we walk in, theyโ€™re pulling a fresh pie out of the oven and the cheese is all hot and bubbly. I order two slices of

cheese pizza at the counter and Ryan gets three. There are all sorts of crazy toppings on the pizzas, like one slice has ziti on it, but I feel like a really good pizza doesnโ€™t need anything but the pizza.

โ€œYouโ€™re a pizza snob, I bet,โ€ Ryan says to me as we settle into our seats. He slides his three paper plates of pizza onto the red-and-white- checked tablecloth.

โ€œWhat does that mean?โ€ (I actually know what he means. I am totally a pizza snob.)

โ€œYouโ€™ve got to have your pizza the classic New York-style, or else it wonโ€™t do,โ€ he says. โ€œLike you probably think Chicago deep dish is disgusting.โ€

โ€œWell,โ€ I say, โ€œnotย disgusting, butโ€ฆ wellโ€ฆโ€ Ryan grins at me. โ€œPizza snob.โ€

I huff at him and take a bite of my pizza, which is still piping hot from the oven. I can tell that Iโ€™m going to polish this off in like two minutes. I try to slow down for Ryanโ€™s sake.

โ€œWhere are you from?โ€ he asks me. He takes a guess: โ€œBrooklyn?โ€ โ€œNo, Queens.โ€

Ryan lifts his hand in the air so I can high-five him. Which I do, mostly as an excuse to touch him.

โ€œWhy am I high-fiving you?โ€ I ask.

He points to his chest. โ€œIโ€™m from Fresh Meadow.โ€ โ€œJamaica,โ€ I say.

โ€œTell me,โ€ he says, โ€œwhen you say that to most people, do they ask you how come you donโ€™t have a Caribbean accent?โ€

I laugh. โ€œYes!โ€

Ryan shakes his head. โ€œPeople are so dumb.โ€

I find out from Ryan that his father is a lawyer and his mother a teacher. Heโ€™s got two siblings, an older brother and an older sister.

โ€œMy sister Maggie went the teacher route too,โ€ he says. โ€œSheโ€™s got two kids and lives in Long Island.โ€

โ€œHow about your brother?โ€ I ask.

Ryan hesitates. โ€œSean isโ€ฆ still figuring things out.โ€

For some reason, I get the sense that Ryan is being kind of evasive when he talks about his family. I canโ€™t imagine why, because the Reillys seem pretty picture perfect compared to what I grew up with. He certainly has nothing to be ashamed of.

โ€œBy the way,โ€ Ryan says to me as he finishes off the crust of his first slice. โ€œWhat can I do to make you smile a little more at work? Seriously, you walk around looking like someone just died.โ€

I jut out my chin. โ€œMaybe someoneย didย just die.โ€ โ€œItโ€™s a hospital, Jane. Not a morgue.โ€

โ€œWell, sorry.โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t apologize,โ€ he says. โ€œI just feel bad youโ€™re so unhappy.โ€

โ€œIย amย an intern,โ€ I point out. โ€œWerenโ€™t you miserable as an intern?โ€ โ€œNo way.โ€ Ryan looks me in the eyes and I can tell he means it. โ€œAs

long as I got to be in the OR, I was happy. I freakinโ€™ love operating.โ€ โ€œGoody for you.โ€

โ€œCome on,โ€ he says. โ€œI know youโ€™re inย Medicineย and all, but you canโ€™t be unhappyย allย the time. I mean, whyโ€™d you go to med school in the first place?โ€

โ€œTo help people,โ€ I answer, almost automatically.

โ€œOkay, liar,โ€ Ryan laughs. โ€œIโ€™m not the admissions committee, you know. You can be honest.โ€

Can I? I study Ryanโ€™s face and decide to trust him. โ€œMy dad left my mom when I was little,โ€ I say. โ€œShe was broke my whole childhood, andโ€ฆ she didnโ€™t want that to happen to me.โ€

Ryan is quiet for a minute. โ€œIf thatโ€™s the reason you went to med school,โ€ he says, โ€œno wonder youโ€™re miserable.โ€

โ€œGee, thanks.โ€ I throw a crumbled up napkin at him and he ducks. โ€œItโ€™s not entirely awful. I mean, I really do like helping people. I like knowing that the purpose of my job is to make sick people well. Most of the time itโ€™s just routine and following algorithms, but every once in a while, you get to really make a difference.โ€

โ€œYou sound like youโ€™re in a pageant,โ€ he comments. He raises the pitch of his voice mockingly: โ€œMy name is Jane McGill and I want to make sick people well.โ€

I throw a second napkin at him and this one hits him square in the chest, leaving behind a glob of tomato sauce. โ€œHey!โ€ he protests.

โ€œYouโ€™re obnoxious.โ€

Ryan grins. โ€œYou totally had that coming. Anyway, you know you love it.โ€

Gah! I hate that I find him so s*xy when heโ€™s been a complete jackass. And I hate it worse that he knows it.

After we finish off our pizza slices (and go back for secondsโ€ฆ thank God scrubs have drawstrings), Ryan insists on walking me home. When we get to my front door, he hesitates.

โ€œDo you want to come in?โ€ I offer. I tug playfully at the sleeve of his shirt. โ€œIโ€™ll let you get to second base.โ€

His eyes light up. โ€œYeah? I thought I lost that bet.โ€

โ€œWe can call it a draw.โ€

We fall into the apartment together, kissing and groping wildly at each other. Funny how Iโ€™m not tired at all anymore. And if Julia comes out and interrupts this, I swear to God I will murder her.

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