Page 48 of Dr. Fellow

I hesitate at the door frame, suddenly wondering if this is just a big fucking mistake. I’ve been at a surgical conference in Orlando for the past week, and I thought that my weird-ass feelings would go away with the distraction of presenting my research. Spoiler alert—they didn’t.

Taking a deep, resigned breath, I enter the office and shut the door behind me. The click of the handle in the lock seems to echo in the too-quiet space, making me even more uncomfortable.

Dr. Kinkaid offers me a warm smile, gesturing toward the firm couch I’m well acquainted with.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I reply, settling onto the lime colored fabric that looks like it’s seen better days. “I felt like we had worked everything out.”

He nods, his expression understanding. “It’s perfectly normal to think you’ve resolved issues, only to find layers that you haven’t fully addressed.”

“That’s not it,” I state, glancing at the windowsill. “Nothing we talked about has changed.”

My eyes land on a much healthier version of a plant that sits in Morgan’s kitchen. Hers looks like it’s on death’s door, in desperate need of water, food, or attention of some kind. The thought makes an uncomfortable tightness settle in the depths of my chest.

Why does everything make me think of her?

“What is it then?”

His question hangs in the air as I try to verbalize the shit swarming through my head. I scrub my hand over my face, returning my focus to him.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” I ask. The words are out of my mouth before I can take them back, so I continue, “I mean, I know you see a lot of fucked up shit. But how much worse off am I than everyone else?”

He offers me a warm laugh. “You’re not any worse off than the rest of us.”

When I don’t say anything, his bushy gray eyebrows furrow. “In what context do you mean?”

I want to yell out, “everything,” but I don’t because that’s not what this is about. This is about the ability to connect with people and keep them in my life, something I clearly fail at spectacularly considering I’m a divorced thirty-something with no family and only two friends. Well, three now . . . I guess.

I explained my friendship with Beau as him being a deranged country boy who drank one too many Budweisers and decided to latch onto me. Parker, honestly, I’m still not even sure he thinks we’re friends. I was shocked when Beau told me that I was invited to the bachelor party. And even though it was probably only a pity invite, my friendship with him at least makes a little bit of sense since we’re similar in a lot of ways.

It’s Morgan’s attachment to me that’s throwing me off. We’ve been texting back and forth for the past week while I’ve been in Florida. And each time I reply to her, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I expect her to ignore my boring messages, or forget about me, or something . . . but she doesn’t. And I don’t understand why.

“Relationships, I guess,” I answer simply.

Dr. Kinkaid picks up his pen and places it between his teeth thoughtfully. “Is this about the divorce? I haven’t seen you since it was finalized. Are you struggling with the finality of the marriage?”

“No.” I hear myself scoff, but I’m not trying to be an asshole. It’s just instinct when I think of my now ex-wife. “I made peace with that worthless relationship a while ago.”

I’m sure to some people it would be concerning that I got over a ten-year relationship so quickly, but the truth is that our marriage simply fizzled out over time. It was probably over years ago, we just never verbalized it. Sure, I always had hope that things would get better once my residency was over, but when I found out about the extent of her betrayal, processing the loss became a lot easier. We all have non-negotiables in relationships, and unfortunately, I learned mine the hard way.

“There are no worthless relationships, only worthless perceptions of those relationships.” He gives me a pointed look and leans forward in his chair like he wants me to hear his words better. “With all pain comes perspective. You might not see it, but you have grown substantially in the few months that I’ve known you. I very seriously doubt that your growth would have happened without your failed marriage.”

I swallow, knowing that he’s right. But sometimes it’s easier to sink into the darkness than to search for the silver lining.

“Yep. Well, this isn’t about her anymore,” I find myself saying, needing to get this off my chest. “It’s someone new.”

His expression shifts to one of curiosity, but he doesn’t say anything. He does that annoying thing Beau does and remains silent, waiting for me to share more.

“A new friend,” I add, knowing that the words on their own are a blatant lie. They were a lie when I assigned them to her that night in my house, and they’re a lie now.

“And you want to know if you can have a successful relationship with this friend?”

I feel my body tense. “She’s maddening—a tiny tornado of constant frustration that destroys my peace.”

A smirk forms on his thin lips. “Does she now?”

“Well, she did at first,” I answer honestly, thinking back to how I felt each time I saw her after New Years. “Now . . . I’m not sure.”

“You like that she destroys your peace.” The words come out as a statement, rather than a question, like he’s reaching into the cloudiest parts of my psyche and pulling out the truth.

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