Page 19 of Dr. Intern

For some reason, Beau’s presence didn’t send me further into my rage spiral like I anticipated though. He was tender and overly kind to me, which, while comforting, also left me wondering if it stemmed from pity—the rejected girl now facing a family tragedy. Fortunately, by the time I went downstairs the next morning, Beau had vanished, and no one seemed aware of our prior connection.

The days after the service were spent going through the house and spending time together as siblings. We reminisced on our favorite memories, took evening swims by the pool, and made cocktails by the fire. We laughed. We cried. We allowed ourselves to feel. And for the first time in a long time, the three of us felt like a single unit, banded together through tragedy.

By the end of the week, my sister had to go back to Atlanta for school, and I decided to go with her. The life I had in Virginia just doesn’t exist anymore, and no twenty-six-year-old girl should live alone in a ten thousand-square-foot house. I’m sure Mom made plans for what she wanted to do with it, but I’ve been letting Parker deal with that stuff. If I had to guess, it’ll probably be sold and the money funneled into the trusts set up for us since childhood. The only thing I was adamant that we keep was the lake house, which my siblings didn’t fight me on—it’s their favorite place in the world, too.

Back at the condo, the quietness has been stifling, especially when the highlight reel of memories I made with my mom plays through my head every moment that I’m alone. The funny thing about grief is that if you have people to share it with, you almost forget you’re in pain. But when you’re on your own, the silence forces you to experience emotions that you’ve been pushing away. And it sucks.

When Parker moved out of the condo, he left practically all of his furniture because Cass made him buy new stuff. Fortunately for me, he forgot about the stash of wine in the upper cupboards of the kitchen, and I won’t lie, it’s been the only thing to quiet my mind at night. I’ve been slowly working through his collection, limiting myself to only one glass in the evenings to help me sleep.

Tonight, I’m lying in my bedroom and staring at the ceiling as I work on a bottle of Merlot from France. The spinning fan is making the glow of the city appear like scattered disco lights on my walls, and I wonder briefly what it would look like in a painting. I would call it mirrorball, or something like that, because the dots are shimmering like a thousand pieces of sadness.

It’s ironic that in a city of lights, surrounded by millions of people, I’ve never felt more alone.

Just as I’m about to toss on an episode of The Bachelor and let the buzz from my wine whisk me into a dream, my phone rings. Rolling onto my stomach to check who’s calling, I see the picture of Cass from Christmas last year light up my screen, and I immediately swipe to answer the phone.

“Want to come help me finish this wine?” I ask, looking over at the half-full bottle on my nightstand.

“Claire,” a deep, controlled voice says.

Ugh—I should have known.

Choosing violence, I reply, “Who are you, and why do you have my sister-in-law’s phone? I’ll call the police.”

I’ve been dodging Parker’s calls since I got back to Atlanta because he’s been nagging me to get a job. While I recognize that it’s just his way of ensuring I get out of the house, and work is the only thing he knows, it doesn’t mean I’m ready for life to go back to normal. Because if it goes back to normal, that means that my mom is really gone.

And I’m not ready to admit that.

I’m not ready to forget her.

Also to be fair, it’s not just him that I’m ignoring—it’s everyone. Currently, my phone has three hundred eighty-seven unread messages because I haven’t looked at them since the day we went wedding dress shopping. I just can’t bring myself to read the pitying messages from people—I have enough pity for myself.

Parker audibly exhales into the phone. “Can you act like an adult for once in your life?”

I roll my eyes, a reflexive response even though he can’t see it. “I know you are but what am I?”

“Claire, I swear to God,” he growls, his patience wearing thin. “Sometimes I want to strangle you.”

“The feeling is mutual, big brother.”

In the background, I can hear Cassidy’s soothing voice, trying to temper Parker’s frustration. It’s almost comical how she manages his moods, and I let out a little giggle.

He takes another deep breath before asking, “Can we please just have a normal conversation for a moment?”

I echo his sigh, putting the phone on speaker as I get up to walk to the bathroom. “If we must.”

“What have you been up to this week?”

I place the phone on the counter, pulling my wild hair into a bun on top of my head. “Oh you know, this and that.”

“Care to explain to me how you maxed out your credit card?”

Oooof.

I forgot that my card was still linked with Mom’s. He must have access to all of the accounts now.

My eyes sweep over the piles of brand-new beauty products on the counter.

“If you’d like, I sure can,” I say, smirking at my new purchases. “The Dyson Air Wrap is supposed to be the best product on the market for hair like mine. And the sales associate at Sephora said I needed a special shampoo and conditioner for it, so I got that. When I was leaving the store, the new MAC line caught my eye, so I decided to replace my—”

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