Page 56 of Dr. Intern

“Cassidy, honey, why are you upset?” Mrs. Callaway asks.

Cassidy quickly wipes her eyes. “I’m not upset, I promise they’re happy tears,” she says with a forced laugh before she meets my eyes. “I’m just so proud of you,” she chokes out, unable to stop the stream of tears from running down her face. “Sorry for crying.”

Mr. Callaway smiles warmly, reaching across the table to give his daughter’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay to be emotional, honey. It’s a big moment. We’re all proud of Claire.”

He looks at me and winks as Cassidy lets out a loud sob. “It’s just,” she pauses, trying to collect herself. “I’ve just always thought you’d be so good as a nurse. But I never wanted to push it on you.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t because it would have made me run in the opposite direction, just to spite you,” I tease, trying to bring some levity to the conversation. “Thank god you’re much more mature than I am.”

She chokes out a laugh. “I love you.”

I lean in, pulling her into my arms. “I love you too.”

Eventually, Cass calms herself down and we finish our feast, discussing everything from travel destinations to which Hogwarts house each of us would be in. Obviously, I said I was a Gryffindor because who wouldn’t want to be the most badass house?

It feels weird to say, considering I didn’t get to spend the day with my family, since Parker was at the hospital and Caroline was busy with school, but it’s one of the best holidays I’ve had in a long time.

Beau even sent me a text, since he couldn’t write me a note this morning, telling me that he was thankful I don’t yell at him when he leaves the toilet seat up. I told him that he shouldn’t count his chickens before they hatch because I almost fell in yesterday and came very close to rekeying the condo.

We’ve been messaging back and forth all day while he works, and while I’d never admit this to him, I’m glad that he leaves the toilet seat up too because it means he’s around.

Chapter 22

Beau

Thanksgiving day came and went in a blur. It turns out that people are really prone to broken bones when they’re around their families. First, a guy came in with half of his hand on ice because he sliced through it during a morning woodworking project with his dad. We spent ten hours in the operating room working to reattach nerves, ligaments, and bone so we could give him the best shot at a functional hand. While it probably sucked for the patient, it was by far the coolest surgery I’ve done so far and made for a memorable Thanksgiving.

Then, I was on call overnight and had to set a ridiculous number of bones after shoppers came in from their midnight Black Friday escapades. It was nonstop, and the only thing that kept me awake after almost twenty hours of work was pure willpower. I’m sure the notes that I wrote in patient charts will be flagged for misspellings, but after the longest day of my life, I was beyond caring.

The Friday after Thanksgiving has always been reserved for the entire surgical residency program to enjoy a Friendsgiving dinner at someone’s house. But the guy who hosted it, Weston Southerland, graduated from his residency and nobody volunteered their house this year. Instead, all of the surgical interns are spending the weekend in north Georgia for a retreat.

If I wasn’t so damn exhausted, I’d be thrilled. But I’ve only slept a total of twelve hours in the past four days, and my enthusiasm for anything is at an all-time low. Which is saying something, considering the agenda for the weekend includes some of my favorite things—camping, shooting guns, and drinking beer.

Fortunately, I was able to get a few hours of sleep in the car with Parker. He decided to drive my truck after I told him that his Tesla would get mud streaks all over the side if we took it up there. It turns out that the man may be more protective of that car than he is of his own two hands, which is weird considering he complains about his ride breaking all of the time.

While the long drive would have been the ideal place to talk to him about Claire, I genuinely could not keep my eyes open long enough to get a sentence out, let alone explain to my best friend that I want to date his sister. Plus, depending on how he takes the news, it’s probably best that I’m not around him with a gun afterward. I’ll talk to him tomorrow night once he’s got a beer or two in him . . . and all of the bullets are gone.

Walker’s land is set in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, with miles of private property just past Blue Ridge. Apparently, it was a recent inheritance from grandfather’s passing, which it didn’t sound like he was expecting or very pleased by. I’m not sure how you could be upset by a gift like that, though, because the views as we pull up to the cabin are truly breathtaking.

Looking around, it seems like the rest of the surgical interns have already arrived. We have three surgical residencies at Midtown Memorial—orthopedics, plastics, and general surgery. While we often work together on cases, I haven’t had a ton of time to get to know any interns other than Matt, so this should be a nice change of pace.

After I help Parker unload our stuff and set up my tent, I pull out my phone to let Claire know that we made it.

At the site—and before you ask, no I haven’t talked to your brother.

Ever since I sent her a message on Thanksgiving, we’ve been texting nonstop, and I know she’s eager to know how the conversation goes.

Immediately three dots appear and she replies.

Don’t chicken out. Anyone whose favorite candy is Swedish fish is just a big softie.

True—but his favorite tool in the OR is also a scalpel . . .

***

Last night we went to bed early because the majority of us worked the holiday and were too exhausted to stay awake long past the sunset. Fortunately, that allowed for an early morning, complete with a hike and shooting skeet before Walker and Parker forced us to do team-building exercises.

Surgeons are some of the most competitive people you’ll ever meet, so group activities tend to get incredibly heated. I’m pretty sure one of the plastics guys almost threw a punch when we taunted him. It made me laugh because they really are pretty sons of bitches, and I can’t imagine they would want to ruin their looks by picking a fight with us. The good news is, though, that ortho won and bragging rights are ours for the rest of the year.

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