The worst guy, p.12
The Worst Guy, page 12
"Yes and that's not intimidating at all," I sang.
"Excuse me but did you just suggest you find anyone intimidating? Because I'm pretty sure you could boil water with nothing more than your side-eye as a heat source."
"Has anyone ever told you that you exaggerate profusely?"
"No. Never. That is completely new information." He brushed the loose strands from my neck and twisted my ponytail around his fist. "The Acevedos are having a small party in a few weeks. You should come."
I tried to shake my head but he stroked a thumb down the line of my neck and I melted a little more. "I will have to think about that," I managed.
"What's there to think about? Acevedo's making tacos. End of deliberation."
"Maybe I have other plans," I said.
"Maybe you should cancel them."
"Maybe I don't like parties," I replied.
"Neither do I," he said. "I don't like people. They're exhausting." When I didn't respond, he continued. "You should come anyway."
"Why?"
If there was one thing I always wanted—regardless of whether it was healthy or safe—it was approval. Choose me, include me, praise me, validate me. I wanted it when it was unavailable—hello, mother; hello, father—and I wanted it when it didn't make sense. Like right now. I wanted Sebastian to tell me that he wanted me at this party. No damn sense—and also, what the fuck was wrong with me?
We were white-knuckling it through conflict resolution counseling, not coupling up for dinner parties with the friend group.
"You're thinking too hard, Shap. It's tacos and Acevedo's new residents. Hartshorn will show up at least an hour late, Emmerling's husband will do something crazy like climbing on the roof to check the shingles, and O'Rourke will tell stories about Minnesota."
"And what about you? Which role do you play?"
"I find a comfortable spot to sit and not speak to anyone. But listen, you should come along. All anyone talks about is surgery, the food is amazing, and the people are chill. You'd like it."
"That sounds…" Honestly, it sounded fun. But also overwhelming and impossible to slip away unnoticed when I was maxed out. "It sounds great but I really need some time to check my schedule."
He stopped rubbing my shoulders and peered at me. "What's the real issue?"
I pivoted to face him. "Why does it matter?"
"Because there are people falling over themselves to spend time with you but you can't be bothered, and I just want to know why."
"I am not required to explain myself to you," I said. "You're entitled to exactly nothing from me."
"Oh, trust me, honey, I'm aware." He crossed his arms over his chest. I did the same. "For the life of me, I can't understand their thinking on this but Nick and Erin have someone they want you to meet."
"What…does that mean?"
"It means Erin has a friend, some professor guy, and she thinks you two could hit it off." He scowled at this, saying, "Can't really see why they'd want to torture the guy but whatever. I'm just the asshole tasked with getting you there. Not my problem after that point."
I stared at him for a long moment, remembering in a horrible rush why that approval kink of mine was so dangerous. Every time I allowed myself to believe I'd get the inclusion and recognition I wanted, shame was waiting there to slap me back for thinking I deserved anything of the sort.
Sebastian didn't want me at the party, and I was stupid for thinking otherwise. But I wasn't going to shrink in front of this man.
"So, you drew the short straw?" I asked.
"Don't I always?" He rolled his eyes toward the sky before saying, "Since I get to spend so much quality time with you, I'm supposed to close the deal." He frowned as he looked me up and down. "Is it working?"
I reached into my bag, pulled out my phone. "Oh, yeah. It's working." I opened a text message to Acevedo. "Consider your mission accomplished. I'm telling Nick that I'll be there." I sent the message and shot Sebastian a satisfied grin. "I can't wait to meet this professor. I have a good feeling about this."
I didn't think it was possible for Sebastian's scowl to deepen but it did, turning his entire face into a dark, scruffy storm cloud.
I glanced to the café behind me. "I'm not in the mood for tea anymore."
He replied with a slow blink that seemed to indicate he wanted his hands on my neck again though not to work out my knots.
"Enjoy the coffee," I said, backing down the street. "And hating everything. Good luck with all that."
I left him staring after me and that gave me a quick jolt of pleasure but it didn't last. Before I even reached the next block, the pleasure was gone and in its place was a cold, crumbling dread.
Every time we clawed out an inch of progress, we fell back a foot. Since neither of us were willing to budge, the cycle went on repeating. I didn't know how much longer I could do this before it really started to hurt.
Chapter 15
Sara
Sara: Hey! I hear there's a thing at Nick and Erin's place in a few weeks? What's that about?
Alex: Yeah, I remember Nick mentioning that the other day, but I wasn't listening because my resident was being a fool.
Sara: Okay.
Alex: Are you thinking about coming along?
Sara: Sigh…
Sara: Stremmel and I got into an argument about the party. I texted Nick on the spot to say I'd be there.
Sara: Didn't think that one all the way through.
Alex: Ha. You and Stremmel, getting into another fight. Imagine that.
Sara: I know, I know.
Alex: You know what's funny to me? For the most part, you're cheerful and energetic, and even when you're tough, you're kind and positive about it. You are widely admired and appropriately feared. It's a great balance. I'm still working on reaching that level and will do anything to know your secrets. But the second you see Stremmel, the war paint goes on, the gloves come off, and you throw the fuck down. Stremmel breathes and you're like "I'm gonna kill that motherfucker for all his motherfucking!"
Sara: You're feared. Don't worry.
Alex: Feared, sometimes. Admired, rarely.
Sara: You're being too hard on yourself.
Alex: And you're being too hard on Stremmel. I say the same thing to Riley all the time. He lets Stremmel push his buttons and that's what's happening here.
Sara: I'm not sure if it's exactly the same…
Alex: Have you ever stopped to examine which buttons he's pushing on you?
Sara: I am very familiar with that button. I know it well.
Alex: Then maybe don't let him keep pressing it.
Sara: Yeah…I'll think about that.
Alex: Please do.
Sara: There are lots of nerve endings involved with that particular button. It's a sensitive one.
Alex: Believe me, I understand, but you can't let it run your life.
Sara: Yeah. I'll think about that.
Chapter 16
Sebastian
"Well, if this isn't the murderers row," O'Rourke called as he approached the picnic table in the park where we'd congregated for lunch. "If I have Emmerling, Acevedo, Hartshorn, and Stremmel all in one spot, is anyone cutting right now?"
Hartshorn leaned into my side, asking, "Is he going to be a pain in the ass?"
I lifted a shoulder. It was bitterly cold, not that anyone else noticed, and I was in a wretched mood. The last thing I had time for was decoding my fellow's mercurial behavior. "He was incredible yesterday. This morning too. Who knows what we'll get now."
"Neither of you are required to be assholes. You do it for free," Alex said under her breath.
"Blame me," Acevedo murmured. "I invited him." Ever the includer, Acevedo waved O'Rourke over. "I have a grilled cheese with your name on it."
"Thanks, man."
O'Rourke dropped onto the bench beside Emmerling, who sent him a measured glance. He didn't notice. "Grilled cheese?" she asked. "Really."
"It's one of the things I picked up from Minnesota," he replied. "A deep and abiding love for cheese."
"You got that…from Minnesota," she said.
O'Rourke unwrapped his sandwich, saying, "It's very close to Wisconsin and all their cheese. And it's not like good dairy farming stops at the state lines. Nah, that shit permeates."
Hartshorn bobbed his head. "I can see how that would be the case."
I leveled a stare at my fellow. "Please tell me you've cleared all your pages and consults."
"No one needs me, no one wants me," he replied around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
Nick passed a hand over his face to hide a grin. "That is one way to put it."
"Are we talking about Stremmel's problems?" O'Rourke asked. He pulled a small spiral-bound notebook from his pocket and thumbed through the pages. "Because I have thoughts I'd like to contribute."
"I'm not sure if there's ever a time when we're not talking about Stremmel's problems," Alex mused. "It's that and Hartshorn trying to get his wife pregnant again. That's all we have to entertain ourselves. Stremmel and sperm counts."
Cal glared at her. "We have never once talked about my sperm count."
Alex held up both hands, shrugged. "Not directly, no, but if Stella isn't pregnant next month, we'll be elbow deep into count, morphology, and motility."
Cal turned his glare on Nick. "Do something about this, would you?"
"I hear good things about eating walnuts though I can't say I've read the research," Nick replied. "Otherwise, stick to the basics. Avoid hot tubs and switch to boxers."
"I have read the research on the walnuts and the outcomes were positive," O'Rourke said, "for men under thirty-five."
Cal Hartshorn was in his late forties, a former army Ranger capable of killing everyone at this table with a teaspoon, our future boss as soon as the current Chief of Surgery retired, and presently grinding his molars at my fellow.
"So then, Stremmel's problems," Nick said. "What do you got for us?"
O'Rourke tapped a greasy finger to a page in his notebook. "He was an absolute monster on Monday and that wouldn't be especially strange but it's the second Monday in a row he's been a monster."
"That's just"—Alex waved a hand at me—"that's neither new nor concerning."
"No, you're right," O'Rourke conceded, tapping the page again, "but Dr. Shapiro's residents have observed the same pattern from her and they've indicated it's a new development. Of course, her worst is nowhere near Stremmel's—"
"Stand in the eye of that storm and then try saying that to me," I muttered.
O'Rourke hit me with a knowing grin. If this little fucker was going where I thought he was going, I'd borrow that murder spoon from Hartshorn and kill him here in broad daylight.
"Shapiro's residents describe her worst days as her being even more high-octane than usual—which sounds fun, it really does—but the Monday pattern is what's new here." O'Rourke pointed his triangle-cut sandwich at me. "Have to wonder what's happening to make these Mondays so monstrous all of a sudden, huh?"
Nick, Alex, and Cal stared at me. "What?" I cried. "I have no idea what her problem is."
"Then what's your problem?" Nick asked.
"I have no problems." When the group shot me unconvinced eyebrows, I added, "Nothing new. Nothing beyond my usual stable of problems."
"Where is Shapiro?" Cal asked. "Why doesn't she ever come to lunch with us?"
"She doesn't like peopling," Alex replied. "You gotta respect her boundaries."
I snorted because her boundaries were my private ropes course. Then I shoved food in my mouth and waved off all the so-called friends gaping at me.
"We're friends, we're not people," Cal argued.
"Friends are people," Nick told him.
"But she's very outgoing whenever I see her," Cal said. "Doesn't strike me as someone who needs a lot of alone time."
"Your observation doesn't make it true. Lots of people can be really strong in work settings and then require twelve hours of uninterrupted silence in order to get up the next day and do it all again," Alex said. "And you know I love you, but I don't think you guys are aware of how socially demanding you can be."
"We haven't been demanding," Cal said, looking around the table for support. "Did Shapiro say we're demanding?"
"No," Alex said firmly. "But I am telling you that you can be a lot to handle. Not everyone is prepared to be initiated into a crew that"—she held up her hand, started ticking off on her fingers—"goes jogging together, eats lunch together, hangs out after work together, has a ton of dinner parties together, even goes on vacations together." She pointed at Nick and Cal. "Believe it or not, some people leave work and elect to live their lives without the involvement of their colleagues."
"Right, so," Nick started with a gesture toward me, "what's wrong with you now?"
"Nothing is wrong with me," I replied.
"You were bellyaching to my wife on Thursday night about these conflict sessions with Shapiro," he went on. "It stands to reason you'd be pissed straight through to Monday. Am I wrong?"
"Fuck, yes, you're wrong," I replied. This was great. I didn't even have to lie, seeing as I'd pissed myself off with how I handled things with Sara after rowing. "What I do on my weekends and why it makes me miserable has nothing to do with those Thursday afternoon sessions."
Alex folded her arms on the table, leaned closer to O'Rourke. She was hooked. Entranced. "What are Friday mornings like?"
"Well," he started, "I actually learned shit these past two Fridays. That's an anomaly. Dr. Shapiro's residents indicated she was very relaxed last Friday. One of them used the word 'mellow.'"
Hell yeah, she was. I had to steal Acevedo's apple to hide my grin over that.
Cal snatched up the butcher paper from his sandwich and mine, saying, "Is there a point to any of this? We're sitting here reading the tea leaves of this bastard's behavior as if there's ever any rhyme or reason to his moods. And Shapiro, well, I don't know what to say about that. For all we know it's her residents, the ones selling stories about her down the hall, who are ticking her off. What's there to be done about any of this? Nothing." He pushed to his feet. "I gotta go find some walnuts."
"I don't have a point," O'Rourke said after Cal stalked off. "Just a few things I've noticed."
"That's great because I don't need a point," Alex said. "Though I am wondering if my residents spend this much time talking about me behind my back."
"They don't," Nick said.
At the same moment, I replied, "Of course they do."
"How are those sessions going?" Alex asked. "Any progress?"
There was no way to answer that so I didn't. "Define progress."
O'Rourke flipped a page in his notebook. "Another thing I've noticed—"
I reached for the notebook but he pinned it under his elbow. "Oh, for fuck's sake, that's enough noticing from you."
"No, I need to hear this," Alex said. "What else?"
"Everyone has noticed that they take great effort to avoid each other," O'Rourke said. "Especially on Thursdays."
"If you have this much time on your hands, I'm not giving you enough to do," I said. "Believe me, I'll fix that today."
"Right, right," O'Rourke murmured. "Because I'm so good at following directions and meeting expectations."
Nick clapped me on the shoulder. "Best of luck. That's all I've got for you. Best of luck."
I was going to need it.
Chapter 17
Sara
Alex: Do my residents talk about me behind my back?
Sara: Constantly but you have to ignore it.
Alex: Whyyyyyyyy though?
Sara: Because they're residents. They need something to gossip about and we're one of the easiest targets.
Alex: How can you be so chill about this?
Sara: I'm not. I've just compartmentalized it enough to be able to say that it's normal and it's not about me. I can disconnect myself from it.
Sara: Unless there's something you've heard that you think I should know.
Alex: It's not something you NEED to know. I'd tell you if it was. It's just chatter.
Sara: Now I have to ask. What's the chatter?
Alex: The trauma fellow appears to have befriended some of your residents.
Sara: Has to be the trauma fellow, doesn't it?
Alex: He's noticed that you and Stremmel seem to avoid each other on Thursdays.
Sara: Hmm. That's an interesting observation. Can't say I avoid him more on Thursdays than I do any other day of the week.
Alex: Like I said, chatter.
Alex: Anyway, Riley and I are going to a new restaurant tonight. Will you come with us?
Sara: I am not a great third wheel but thank you so much for thinking of me.
Alex: One of these times, I'll get you!
Sara: Just be honest…you're really looking for a third in your threesome, aren't you?
Alex: It's a damn good thing you didn't say that around my husband because he'd never be able to unhear it, babe.
Chapter 18
Sara
In this week's session, we had to complete a maze game using vague clues Milana read from a set of cards she kept in a janky old Ziploc bag. We had to navigate taped-off squares on the floor using these clues. Any time we misinterpreted the clues, we were sent back to the beginning. We went back to the beginning eleven times before Sebastian insisted that requirement be suspended.
He'd demanded my bag of trail mix upon arrival. It was mostly pretzels on account of an overly ambitious run-in with baby carrots the previous day, and he sorted out the raisins as I watched.
That evening, he'd bent me over the back of my sofa. When we were finished and I was a hoarse, boneless wreck, he left me on that sofa, a blanket tucked up to my chin and a glass of water within reach.
The following week, we roleplayed difficult conversations from a binder with Demanding Dialogues in Healthcare splashed across the front. Sebastian rolled his eyes into next month at my croutons and then helped himself to the rye, which were my least favorite.
