Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
He was my father.
Like always, that thought sits heavy in my stomach, but I try to brush it aside. I don’t have time for that. If I just keep busy, then I can keep unwanted thoughts out of my head.
“I’m a morning person,” I finally say as an excuse to Amelia. It’s true in some ways, but in others, I’m here because I have nowhere else to be.
“Well, we sure do appreciate you around here. You’re a great doctor. The patients love you, and the staff appreciates you.”
I give her a smile—one that’s appreciative, yes, but also slightly uncomfortable with the praise because all she’s telling me is I do my job. I do what we should all be doing. It’s probably a little easier on me to show up on time, to spend more time here, and to pick up more shifts because I don’t have anyone waiting for me at home.
This is all I have.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. Some days, it’s safe. People just tend to let you down, but when I let myself admit it, I can acknowledge how lonely it is.
“Thanks, Amelia. None of us could do our jobs if it weren’t for you and the rest of the nursing staff. We’re lucky to have you all.” Nurses save our asses more times than people realize. They’re the cornerstone of patient care, and it’s important to me that I make sure the nurses I work with know that.
“Thanks, Doctor Abbott.” She beams, and I go on my way, checking patients and stopping to talk to other nurses and a phlebotomist. About two hours later, I’m heading to the office.
“One of the drug reps brought donuts,” Heather, my receptionist, says.
“Nice,” I reply. “We got a busy day today?”
“All booked up!” Heather smiles, then says, “Um…so tomorrow…my son has a play. For some reason, it’s in the afternoon and—”
“Absolutely,” I say. “We’ll figure it out here.”
“I only need to leave about an hour early. I can probably push it to forty-five minutes to help cover as long as possible.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her again. “An hour is fine. It’s important to be there for your kids.”
“I didn’t have that growing up, so it’s important for me to be there for Isaac,” she says.
This is where I could connect with her—tell her that I did have it before my mom died, but not afterward, that I have never been important to my father. Though, no one is important to him other than himself and the people who can help him get where he wants to be. But even then, he only gives a fuck about them until he gets what he wants. After that, he’s done with them.
You can’t really say that about the governor of your state, though. Well, I guess I could, but not without it getting out and becoming some kind of media frenzy where the vultures swoop in looking for their next scoop.
I remember that well from when my mom died. The only time I ever saw him shed tears was in front of the cameras. At home, behind closed doors, it had been like she was forgotten.
“I’m always going to support family time,” I say. I would have loved for my father to have cared that much about me. “I’m going to go grab a donut before my first patient.”
“They’re stuffed and delicious.”
I tell her thanks and then go into the breakroom, where there is, in fact, a huge box of stuffed donuts on the table. I pick one that looks to be lemon and take it to my office. “Happy birthday to me,” I say to myself, before taking a bite—alone.
*
It’s not every day that you turn thirty-eight and realize how lonely you are.
I have two birthday messages—one from my ex, who I’m sure just feels sorry for me. I assume he messaged from his new house with his new boyfriend, where they spend a lot more time together than Hector and I did.
Hector: Happy Birthday, A. I hope you went out and did something fun. You deserve it.
Hector isn’t a bad guy. Not that I’m excusing him for cheating on me, because for the year and a half we were together, he was fucking another man for six months of it, and then tried to make me believe he didn’t break up with me, for me. As though he did me some kind of favor by stringing me along while he not only stuck his dick in someone else, but fell in love.
“You don’t get out enough, Abbott. You don’t have friends. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
Okay, so clearly Hector isn’t perfect, but I do think there is a part of him that cares about me, that really did think he was doing his best to try not to hurt me by telling me he’d found someone else. And as a whole, he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true.