Page 96 of Doctor Hot Mess

YASSSS, QUEEN! Drinks around 3 to celebrate. Or cry. Your choice.

A laugh bubbles up, surprising even me. Mason can even make a melancholy moment funny.

Celebrate. Definitely celebrate.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket and take a deep breath. There’s still so much to figure out—packing, saying goodbye to UAB, figuring out how to navigate these last few weeks in Birmingham—but for now, I let myself feel the smallest flicker of relief.

Ready or not, I’m moving forward. Even if it’s terrifying. Even if it means leaving something—or someone—behind.

House of FoundObjects

2205 2nd Avenue N, Birmingham

3:09 PM

The bar is buzzingwhen I walk in, much livelier than I expected for an early Tuesday afternoon.

The tables are packed, and there’s a hum of energy that makes me hesitate for a second. People are laughing, clinking glasses, and... wearing a lot of green.

It takes me a moment to register. Green shirts, shamrock necklaces, some guy in the corner with a ridiculous sequined top hat. Fuck. It’s St. Patrick’s Day.

I groan internally. Of course it is. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind this morning, and now the sea of green feels like it’s mocking me. I don’t need another reminder of what today is. Two years ago, exactly, was when Jonah and I slept together for the first time.

I spot Mason at a high-top table near the window. He’s already waving, a glass of something pink and bubbly in his hand.

“There she is!” he calls out, sliding off his stool to greet me. His blazer is bright emerald green and tailored within an inch of its life. It shimmers slightly in the dim light. “The woman of the hour. Hawaii’s newest sun goddess. Or volcano queen. We’ll workshop the title.”

Despite myself, I laugh, letting him pull me into a dramatic hug. “You look like a leprechaun in couture,” I say, shaking my head as I sit across from him.

“And you look like Nurse Ratched,” he replies, arching a brow. “Why are you wearing scrubs? Have you sunk so low to wear them at all hours of the day now?”

I roll my eyes, though the comment lands sharper than I let on. “Some of us have to work,” I retort. “I have to go in for the overnight tonight. What are you drinking?”

“Frosé, darling,” he says, sliding a menu toward me. “It’s technically rosé season if you’re creative enough. But for you, I’d suggest something stronger. I’m thinking whiskey. Neat.”

I glance at the menu but know I can’t drink since I’ll be hustling on the ER floor in a few hours. “Virgin daiquiri,” I say when the server comes by, handing her the menu.

Mason watches me carefully as I sit back, crossing my arms. “Okay,” he says as soon as we are alone. “Talk to me. How did it go with Jonah? Based on the perpetual frown, I'm guessing it’s not great.”

I take a deep breath, shaking my head. “Not great.”

“What does that mean?” Mason asks, his brow furrowing. “Define ‘not great.’ Did he yell? Cry? Storm out dramatically? Throw something?”

“Door number three,” I mutter, forcing a weak smile. “He stormed out. Said he needed to clear his head and that he’d stay at his place because he had an early morning.”

Mason’s jaw drops, his hand flying to his chest like he’s physically wounded. “He left?”

“Yep,” I say, shrugging as I look down at the table. “It’s been almost twenty-four hours, and I haven’t heard a word from him. Nothing. Not even a text.”

Mason exhales sharply, his face a mix of disbelief and sympathy. “That’s... wow. I mean, I didn’t expect him to love the idea, but—wait. Hold up.” He straightens in his chair. “I thought you said you took the job? We're not still waffling, right?”

I nod slowly, my fingers picking at the edge of a napkin. “I pulled the trigger this afternoon. Emailed the agency and confirmed everything. I leave in just over two weeks.”

Mason lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Harper. You’re really doing it.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice quieter now. “It’s done. But it feels... I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like I thought it would. I thought I’d feel relieved, like the weight of the decision would be gone, but instead, I just feel...”

“Like someone ripped the Band-Aid off, but the wound’s still raw?” he offers.

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