22

London, are you even listening to me?”

London sat up in her chair and looked over at her phone, which she’d propped against a stained coffee mug on her desk. Her mother glowered at her on the screen, that telltale V creasing the center of her forehead.

“Remember when you used to tell me to stop scowling, or my face would stay that way?” London asked her. “Now I understand what you were talking about.”

“Dammit.” Janette started massaging her forehead. “I’ve been meaning to schedule a Botox treatment. A regular facial isn’t doing shit for me anymore.”

“You look fine, Mom. Now, what were you saying? Because, you’re right, I wasn’t listening. I have a complicated surgery on my schedule today and I’ve got a list of important things I need to take care of before it starts,” she said as she scrolled through pages of locally dyed yarn from a shop just east of Austin.

Her idea of what was important probably differed from her mom’s, but whatever.

Besides, this wasn’t just yarn shopping, it was technically research for the outing her mom and April had insisted she have with Nina.

London had been at a loss trying to figure out where she and her sister should go for that conversation she was already dreading more than just about anything she’d dreaded in her life. She’d stalked Nina’s Instagram page, which was a shitty way to have to get to know your own sister, but that’s where she found herself.

London had learned that Nina wasn’t just into wearing jewelry; she liked making it, specifically charm bangles. She’d even sold a few pieces.

She’d decided she would take Nina shopping for jewelry-making supplies, and in the process of seeking out stores, had discovered an entire craft village in a small town about a half hour away. Now her biggest issue was limiting the amount of money she spent on hand-dyed yarn from one of the village’s cute yarn shops. Even though her nightly rendezvous with Drew these past few weeks had stolen much of her crocheting time, she was still buying up yarn like sheep were about to go on strike.

She put several skeins of dyed wool in her cart—only to remind herself to check them out once she could look at them in person—then minimized the page and turned her attention to the phone.

“I’m sorry,” London said again. “Now, what were you saying? Something about Renaldo? And nothing that will make me want to find mind bleach, please! I’m still your daughter, and I don’t need to hear about your sex life.”

Lord knows her mother had no problem sharing.

Granted, it had been much harder to listen to Janette go on and on about the younger man she was dating—he was forty-eight to her sixty—before London started hooking up with Drew. Still, she didn’t need to know the details.

“I was trying to tell you that we broke up,” her mother said. “Renaldo was too much of a homebody for me. He thought a drive down to San Antonio counted as a vacation.”

London would think the same.

“I tried to convince April to come with me to Vegas for the weekend,” her mother continued. “But with Nina going on her little trip to Houston and Kenneth having some conference or something, she’s stuck at home with Miles and Koko.”

“Excuse me?” London picked up the phone and brought it closer to her face. “Where is Nina going this weekend?”

“To Houston,” her mother said. Her eyes grew wide. “April didn’t tell you? Their band made the finals of some competition.”

“She’s letting her go on a trip with the marching band? The same marching band with the drummer Nina tried to send nudes to? What the fuck!”

Janette held her hands up. “I thought the same thing, but she’s not my child. Now, if that had been you, your butt would have been banished to your room for a month. But they don’t raise kids that way anymore.”

As footloose and fancy-free as her mother was these days, she’d had no qualms about being strict when it came to her only daughter. Of course, London hadn’t given her mom a reason to be strict back when she was Nina’s age.

She dropped her head into her palm. She should be buying her sister condoms instead of jewelry-making supplies.

“Well, I guess my weekend just opened up,” she said.

“Wanna go to Vegas?” her mom asked. London stared wordlessly at her. “Fine.” Janette rolled her eyes. “I need to find a more spontaneous group of friends. And younger. You people make me feel old.”

“You would tire out a bunch of middle schoolers,” London told her.

An alert popped up on her phone, reminding her to eat before today’s surgery. The fact that her phone had to tell her when to have lunch said so much about the current state of her life.

And, of course, she hadn’t thought to bring any lunch from home. Nor did she have time to go to the cafeteria for their rubber chicken and clumpy mashed potato special.

“I need to go, Mom. If you do go to Vegas, try not to marry a stranger at some chapel on the Strip, okay?”

“I make no promises,” Janette said before ending the call.

She would totally come back with a husband. Or, at the very least, a new, younger boyfriend.

Shit, maybe she should join her mom in Vegas, now that she wouldn’t be visiting the craft village. She’d probably spend less money at a casino than she would at the yarn shops.

She didn’t need Vegas or a yarn shop to have a good time. She had friends.

Except Samiah was on her way to Philadelphia to meet Daniel’s family, and Taylor had texted last night, canceling their plans for Thai food and math homework in exchange for a cookout at Jamar’s parents’ home near Houston.

“Thank goodness for Drew,” London muttered.

She sat up straight. It was hard to believe those four words had even crossed her lips. What kind of upside-down reality was she living in?

The kind where she was actually looking forward to seeing Drew Sullivan at the end of the day.

The most surprising part? The sex wasn’t the only reason she looked forward to seeing him. Sex had become more like dessert at the end of a good meal—the icing on a cake layered with thoughtful conversation, unbearably silly jokes, and the kind of teasing, lighthearted flirting a girl could become addicted to.

She was comparing time with Drew Sullivan to cake! She truly was living in the Upside Down.

London opened her bottom desk drawer and stared at her stash of snacks: a bag of salted peanuts, Funyuns, and two fun-size Kit Kat bars.

Was there any wonder why she was prehypertensive? She sighed and closed the drawer.

She quickly made her way down to the cafeteria and grabbed a premade spinach, feta, and grilled chicken salad, then spent ten minutes that she really couldn’t spare answering questions about the audit from the cafeteria’s cashier. London had been tasked with educating the nurses and fellow surgical residents about Trident’s role at County, but it seemed as if everyone came to her with their inquiries.

She brought the salad back to her office and scarfed it down while simultaneously reviewing the last of the charts she needed to tend to before Ahmad’s surgery. Then she texted the anesthesiologist, Dr. Samuels, to let him know she would be meeting the rest of the surgical team in the prep room so they could have one final walk-through of today’s surgery.

His response to her text had the same dip London had seen on Janette forming in the middle of her own forehead.

She reread his text. “Change of plans?”

She locked up her office and hustled to the other side of the wing, down the corridor to where the patients’ rooms were located. She arrived at Ahmad’s room to find his parents and Dr. Peter Foster from Oncology standing around Ahmad’s bed. The pensive look on the fifteen-year-old’s face sent a trickle of unease down London’s spine.

What in the hell was Peter Foster even doing in here? The hematology-oncology resident had been working at County for only about four months, and as far as she knew, had nothing to do with Ahmad’s care.

“Good morning, Dr. Foster.” She nodded curtly. “How are you, Sarah? Charles?” she directed to Ahmad’s parents in a friendlier tone. Then she turned to the teen. “Are we ready for today?”

Ahmad looked apologetic. And scared. “Um, I—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson have elected not to go through with the surgery,” Dr. Foster said.

London’s head swung around, her eyes wide. She was able to stop the what the fuck from flying from her mouth just in time.

“Really?” she said instead. “When did this come about? And why? We’ve discussed Ahmad’s condition and—”

“Dr. Foster explained that another surgery isn’t the best course of action right now,” Sarah said. “Apparently there’s a clinical trial that Ahmad may be eligible to participate in that would be better for his type of cancer. And less invasive than surgery.”

“And less risky,” Charles Jefferson added. “Ahmad has gone through so many surgeries already.”

London had to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths without it looking as though she was trying to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths.

“I understand your hesitancy,” London said. “As you know, there are always risks with surgeries, but we have done everything we can to mitigate those risks. And as much as I respect my colleague here, I have to disagree with his assessment regarding the clinical trial. There’s an inherent risk just by the nature of it being a trial.”

In coordinated movements that were so synchronized it seemed scary, Sarah and Charles Jefferson looked at each other before looking to their son and then to Dr. Foster and then to London.

“I think we’ll take our chances with the trial for now,” Sarah said. “We can always revisit the idea of surgery, right?”

“His tumor can grow,” London pointed out.

“Or it can shrink with the treatment he’ll receive as part of the trial,” Dr. Foster said.

London avoided glancing at him because she knew she would go completely apeshit if she saw his face, which would not be a good look in front of a patient and his parents.

She smiled at the Jeffersons and sent Ahmad an it’ll be okay wink before turning and saying, “Dr. Foster, can I have a minute?”

His overly bored expression as he followed her out of the hospital room sent London’s rage into the stratosphere. She did her best to maintain her calm as she marched down the hallway. She dipped into the unoccupied jungle-themed room. The moment Peter Foster closed the door behind him, she whirled around and went in.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” London yelled, so angry she could barely form the words.

“You do not have ownership over a patient,” he countered.

“I have been part of Ahmad Jefferson’s care for the past three years. How dare you even talk to his parents without consulting me or the attending surgeon on this case, let alone suggest they cancel his surgery!”

A dull pain began to pound at the base of her skull.

“It didn’t take much convincing for them to change their minds, which should tell you that they don’t want their son going through another surgery. The problem with you surgeons is that you don’t consider an alternative treatment. You think slicing into someone is the only way to go. And from what I’ve heard about you, you’re more arrogant than most.”

This motherfucker…

“Don’t ever try to pull something like this again,” London said.

She swayed slightly as a wave of dizziness slammed into her.

“Dr. Kelley?”

Foster reached for her, but London slapped his hand away.

“Stay away from me and stay away from my patients,” she told him. “Go peddle your clinical trials to some…one…”

London felt herself tipping over but could do nothing to stop the fall. Peter Foster caught her before she tumbled to the floor. She tried to right herself but couldn’t seem to do it. Her limbs were rubbery, her balance completely off.

“Dr. Kelley!”

She heard Foster’s voice coming from what seemed like yards away, even though he was right next to her, propping her up. The monkeys painted on the walls looked as if they were really swinging from the tree limbs. London blinked hard.

Foster walked her over to the hospital bed. She sat, but she refused his offer to help her lie down.

“I’m okay,” she said.

She was not. Her vision was clearing, and Foster’s words no longer sounded as if he were speaking to her from the bottom of the ocean, but she wasn’t sure she could honestly categorize how she felt as being okay.

Kia Jackson rushed into the room, with an entourage following in her wake. London didn’t even try to avoid their fussing.

Twenty minutes after that mortifying episode, which was made even more cringeworthy because it happened in front of a fellow resident she’d just cursed out, London found herself sitting across from Doug Renault. As someone who had never been called to the principal’s office a day in her life, it felt as if she’d been so twice in the last few weeks.

Dr. Renault had spent the past five minutes relaying Foster’s version of what happened.

“I appreciate his helping me,” London said. “But if he thinks I’m going to apologize, he can kiss my…shoes,” she finished. Because she would curb her language in front of Dr. Renault.

“I don’t care about Peter Foster,” Renault said. “Poaching surgical patients for his clinical trial is underhanded.”

“Exactly!” London said. “He shou—”

“Stop.” His voice was sharp. “We’re not talking about what Peter did right now. And the only patient I want to discuss at the moment is you.”

“I’m not a patient.”

“But you will be one soon if you don’t get things under control, London. Your BP was elevated. Way elevated.”

“It’s called stress! A fellow colleague just convinced one of my longtime patients to go against my plan of care. It would be a surprise if my blood pressure had not gone through the roof.”

“You know it’s more than just stress,” he said.

Yes, she did. It was hereditary. And she knew she needed to get a handle on it before it turned into something even more serious. The last thing she needed was to stroke out in the middle of surgery.

“I’m putting you on leave,” Doug said.

“You’re what!” She rose halfway out of her chair, but the harsh glare her normally calm supervisor shot her way had London rethinking her next move. “Dr. Renault, please. I don’t have time to go on leave. I’m at the end of my final year of residency. Are you trying to sabotage my career or something?”

He tapped his pen against his desk.

“Vacation then,” he replied after several intense moments. “As of tonight, you’re on vacation for the next week. I’ll reassign whichever surgeries cannot be postponed. This isn’t up for debate, London. You’re going to Cardiology to get checked out, then you’re going on vacation.”

The urge to stomp her foot like a petulant child was so strong that London couldn’t believe she was able to fight the impulse. But, honestly, how could she argue? She’d almost passed out.

She sat back in her chair and reluctantly nodded. “Okay,” she said. She chuckled at the genuine surprise on Doug Renault’s face. “Did you think I would argue?” she asked.

“For at least the next half hour.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re right.”

When was the last time she’d truly taken time to just…exist? To engage in the smallest amount of self-care?

The closest she came to doing something solely for her own enjoyment was her Friday night outings with Samiah and Taylor, and her crocheting. Yet, she’d canceled on her friends twice in the last few months, and she usually allowed herself to crochet only when there was a new lecture on surgical technique she could listen to. And even then, she felt guilty, as if she should be doing something more productive.

Why was it so hard for her to give herself a fucking break? When had her life become this never-ending grind?

Had she started buying into her own hype? Believing she was this superwoman who could do it all without ever slowing down? She’d spent the past five years pulling eighty-hour workweeks while covering shifts for fellow residents. Add planning a class reunion on top of that, researching surgical fellowships around the country, and now this ambassadorship she’d been roped into doing. Was it any wonder she’d nearly passed out today?

She could blame Kenneth and his shitty genes all she wanted to, but London knew that played only a small part. She needed to do a better job of taking care of herself, both physically and mentally.

She needed some me time.

“You’re right,” London said again. “Life has been…it’s been pretty wild lately. I can use a few days away from this hospital, even if it’s just to veg out on my couch and watch Netflix.”

“I’m almost disappointed that I won’t have the chance to plead my case,” Dr. Renault said. “I had some good arguments locked and loaded.”

“Use them on someone else.” London slapped her hands on the armrests and pushed herself up. “I’m officially on vacation.” She paused. “Okay, I do have a few charts I need to finish up before I can leave.”

“We also need to go over the surgeries you have scheduled for next week.” Doug looked at his watch. “If we can get it done in the next hour, your vacation can start at noon.”

She nodded. “Deal.”