Chapter Text
MEL
It was my day off, and I really needed it. Everything has been a blur recently. Some days, I can’t even remember. It feels like I am on autopilot most of the time.
Sleep. Work. Sleep. Work.
I have to set timers to remind myself to eat, clean, and pay my bills.
The burnout was setting in—actually, it’s already set in. Long ago. Today was a day for me to reset and pretend that the emergency room doesn’t exist. Medicine doesn’t exist. It’s just me, this book, this cup of London Fog, and my favorite corner in this café bookstore. Everything about this place was soothing—I didn’t even need my headphones or noise-canceling headphones. Usually, stimuli make my burnout even worse, but the constant hum of the espresso machine, the barista taking orders, and the smell of coffee and fresh pastries oddly soothed my soul.
My goal for today was to finally finish this 400-page book set in medieval France right before the transition to the Renaissance—my favorite era. Medieval Europe comes in a close second. I’ve been reading it for the past 2 months, and I've barely gotten through a chapter without some interruption, breaking my concentration and making me lose focus. Today, I am finishing it and moving on to something else. Becca recently gave me a book she enjoyed, and I want to read it so I can chat with her about it. Recently, we haven’t had much to talk about since all she wanted to talk about was her new boyfriend.
I feel awkward when she does that. I don’t know what it’s like to experience all those feelings she’s having—it’s the first time I am really struggling to relate to her. It’s been a while since I’ve actually been in a relationship, and it’s not like I’ve had many. I don’t think I liked many people enough to kiss. I mean, I tried the whole “hook-up” thing in college just to fit in with my peers, but it got real tired real quick.
I need someone to connect with—someone who really knows me. Someone who—
“Is that book good?”
I looked up and saw a tall man standing in front of me. I blinked, not automatically responding to him. I needed some time to transition, especially after a stranger interrupted my thoughts.
“Uh, yeah…it’s…it’s pretty good,” I said with a half-smile. “Wish I could get through it faster though.”
He took a sip from his to-go hot cup and said, “Yeah, I feel you. Been on the same book for about a year now. Even though it’s really good, I can’t find the time…or the attention span.”
“Uh, huh.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to say something more, but I always fell short. I sucked at small talk. But also, why was he talking to me?
“Sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt you. I know you were engrossed in your book. But, I mean, look around…is anyone else reading a book? No, they’re attached to their smartphones. I liked how you were needlessly devoted to your book—I think it’s unique in the time of screen time where people get sucked up and lost.”
“Thank—thank you,” I said in a quiet voice, not sure what to do with the compliment. Or with him. What is he doing? Why does he keep talking to me? How on Earth am I so approachable with a book in my hand? If I saw someone reading, I wouldn’t dare interrupt them.
He chuckled, “You’re not into compliments, are you?”
“No—no, I am. I’m just a little confused and trying to transition my thoughts to a conversation right now.”
He smirked and ran his fingers through his hair, showing a sliver of a toned bicep. My mouth dropped a bit—he reminded me of him. The way he ran his hands through his hair, pretending like he didn’t know he was making people salivate at the sight. The way his muscles show off when he does it—I have to pretend I am unfazed, but who am I kidding?
He resembled him. Soulful deep blue eyes, reminding me of the ocean, and feeling nostalgic for all the beach trips with my family when I was young. His hair color was a little different—dark, but with subtle hues of auburn when the light hits just right. And he’s definitely taller, too. If I stood next to him, I would feel miniature.
“What’s confusing?”
“The conversation? I come here all the time with a book and sit and read, and nobody has ever come up to me to chat about what I’m reading.”
“They sound boring,” he tsked. “And they probably don’t like the same things as you.”
I snort-laughed—I mean, it was hard to find people obsessed with medieval or Renaissance history. Nobody at work really cares. The only person who seemed to like anything historical was—
“I minored in medieval history in college,” he added. “I always prefer reading about England or Spain, but France has its moments, too. I would probably say Charlemagne was the best part about medieval France.”
“Ha! Stereotypical—people only like to think about Charlemagne when they reminisce about medieval France. I would expect a different answer from you. Something more thoughtful. Did you really minor in medieval history?”
He chuckled, “I care not for France.”
“Come on—what about Joan of Arc?”
“Now who is being basic?” he asked with a smirk.
“Liking Joan of Arc is not being basic! Her bravery inspired the nation at a desperate, chaotic time. There’s nothing basic about that, especially during a time in history when women were erased. Women were seen as a threat—they were imprisoned or burned. She represents the hope, risk, and the strength of what it means to be a woman.”
He sat down in the chair across from me and asked, “Is that what you enjoy? The symbolism of a brave woman steering a nation through tumultuous times?”
“I—”
I furrowed my brows, trying to understand better what he was getting at.
He checked his watch and said, “Look, Joan of Arc—”
“My name is Mel.”
“Look, Mel of Arc.”
This was the first time in the conversation where a smile slid out onto my face.
“I think you’re cool,” he continued.
“Yeah, I think you’re cool, too.” I sighed, “It’s actually been a while since I could talk about this stuff to people. Usually, I have to rely on online chats and forums.”
“So, and I’m sorry this is so blunt and abrupt. I usually never do stuff like this. But, do you want to maybe go out with me for a drink or dinner?”
“I, uh—”
I liked him, but I was so unsure. I’m not even sure I wanted a relationship at this time. He was nice and liked history, but he could also be a serial killer, and he’s made me his next victim. Oh God, what if he is Ted Bundy 2.0?
See, this is why I do not date.
“Okay, I can sense you’re hesitant, and I actually get it. Like, how weird is it for some random dude to approach you, talk a little, and then ask you out? Why don’t I write my number down on this napkin, and you can decide on whether or not you want to give me a call.”
He quickly wrote down his number on the napkin.
“Or text.”
I quickly glanced at the napkin—he also wrote his name.
James.
“Thanks, James,” I said.
“I’ll let you get back to your book. I have to jet off to work.”
“Don’t work too hard.”
“Impossible.”
And with that, the mysterious and oddly blunt James left. And I went back to my book and finally started to read uninterrupted.
LANGDON
This was the first time during the shift that I was able to breathe. It was just emergency after emergency, sometimes multiple at once. It was times like these that I craved benzos the most. I feel so keyed up and in need of some serious de-stressing.
I clenched my fists, trying to dig my nails into my skin—telling my body no. I know, it’s weird. My chronic back pain consistently bothered me, like an annoying friend constantly poking you. But other acute pain seemed to make not only the chronic back pain go away, but some of my anxiety. Thank God for acupuncture.
I reached for the bottle of Advil and pulled out 4 pills. I sighed, closed my eyes, and swallowed them whole, without any water. Dana has yelled at me for doing this.
“You know better than to do that,” she quipped a few weeks ago.
“You’re gonna destroy your throat,” she said in her classic Pittsburgh accent last week.
“Oh, for the love of God, you’re purposefully trying to give yourself esophagitis or an ulcer if you don’t have one already!” she hissed, right before adding the worst comment yet.
“I swear, you and Robby are more alike than either one of you would like to admit.”
Last time I saw him and heard from him, I told him he needed help. It was July 4th—his last day on shift before the sabbatical and my first day back. It sticks in my mind since it was so emotionally impactful for me. I want to say I’ve been better, but every day is a different story. I have my good days, and I have my bad days—like today.
“Rawdogging pills, man?” said an unfamiliar male voice. “Is this what I am in store for here?”
I turned around and did a double-take—my mini-me? Well, I should say my bigger-me. He was taller than me and maybe even bigger in muscle. And also tanner than me—was probably Hispanic or Latino.
“You, uh, the new guy?” I asked, assuming this was one of the new attendings. Al-Hashimi was out for a few months as she took care of her seizure outbreaks, and Robby was on his infamous sabbatical. Everyone was on edge now since it felt like things were truly falling apart.
“Yeah, I’m Dr. Jasper. But, don’t call me that—JJ or Jasper or Jas is honestly fine. He/him.”
I chuckled, “Well, you’re in for a real treat.”
“Sounds like it—everyone here seems frazzled and lost. My type of environment.”
I shook my head and sighed—sounds like every EM doctor I’ve met. We are all attracted to the thrill; every shift is different from the others. Testing our skills in ways we never fathomed.
He poured himself some lukewarm coffee, brewed god knows when.
“So, uh, where are you from?”
He leaned against the counter, chugged his coffee, and responded, “South Side, Chicago. I was originally born in Boston, then moved to Chicago for college and medical school. And I fell in love with the population so much that I stayed for residency. I decided to do some practice in the underserved community there while living there to understand the health inequities better.”
“Oh, so you definitely have seen things.”
“Tell me about it.”
I nodded, feeling I needed to get back to work, but I enjoyed the break and the bonding with yet another new attending. This is the third one—the department hired two more, but one left because they did not like the environment. Hopefully, Jas could last. I guess time would tell.
“First time in Pittsburgh, too. Didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”
“Wow, really? You just decided to up and move?”
“Yeah, I felt that I did everything I could in Chicago and became stagnant and needed a new place to grow and challenge me more.”
Well, he will definitely be challenged here.
I raised my eyebrows and said, “Sounds like you’ll be a good fit here.”
“I will say,” he started in almost a dream-like trance. “Pittsburgh has pleasantly surprised me as a single guy.”
“Yeah?” I asked, completely disinterested. I do not need to hear about this bro’s conquest of whatever gender he likes, or the dating scene. There was enough of that talk here during the downtime.
“I’m not on the apps or anything, but there was just this amazing person I met in the coffee shop today. Just ecstatic reading a book. I don’t know what it is about her, but man—”
I rolled my eyes. Hopefully, he wasn’t paying attention too much, and he was more fixated on his fleeting crush. Already, I could tell this guy was a real romancer, which is fine by me, just as long as he doesn’t think I’m automatically his bro and want to learn about his love life.
“I left her my number since she was hesitant to even talk to me. But I really want to talk more with her. Those few moments—”
Thank God he was cut off. We heard loudly, “INCOMING TRAUMA. GSW TO THE CHEST. WHERE’S LANGDON AT?”
“Yep! On it,” I said, briefly looking at Jas before I started to head out of the break room.
“Mind if I join?” Jas asks right before tossing his coffee cup in the trash, and running up next to me. “I might as well do some work around here and start learning the ropes instead of fantasizing about Mel.”
I stopped.
“Mel?”
He wrinkled his eyebrows and said, “Yeah, girl at coffeeshop—man, are we going to do EM or are we gonna slack around here?”
I started walking again, now distracted by my thoughts rather than by everything around me, putting me on autopilot. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. It can’t be my Mel—I mean, she’s not really mine. I never thought about how our friendship would change once she had a partner. I’m used to people leaving once they find someone. I mean, it’s totally common, and I don’t blame them. I’ve been like that with Abby.
Or, I used to be. Now I spend a lot of time away from her, driven by guilt, disappointment, and regret. Plus, she is demanding her space. I'm getting a month-to-month rental and visiting her and the kids on certain days and times, contingent on my peeing clean in a cup.
But, I mean, he couldn’t be talking about Mel. Yeah, she is definitely a reader, but I couldn’t even envision her sitting in a coffee shop, alone, and reading. Plus, tons of girls are named Mel—Melinda, Melissa, Melanie…the first lady’s name who is married to the orange man. There are 154,000 women in Pittsburgh. It is not the Mel I know.
I mean, what a mess that would be if it were.