Page 9 of Love Medley
My stomach knots. Annnnd…maybe this was as big of a mistake as I was expecting. I’m not sure Zoe will ever forgive me for dropping them all like hot potatoes once I started dating Weston. She would never have gotten into a relationship like that. She is confident, brash, and unapologetically her—what you see is what you get. My life would have followed a different trajectory if I took that approach.
Amelia finishes greeting Zoe and Iz with hugs to each. “Shall we?”
Unsurprisingly, Amelia made the reservations for our get-together; at least that’s a dynamic that hasn’t changed.
I’ve always loved how Dessert Debauchery looks at night, a dramatic transformation from its daytime cheery alter-ego, Bakery Bonanza. While it’s unassuming from the front, with just a touch of greenery winding on either side of the wooden door, once you enter, it’s a fairyland of gleaming lights. There are strings of lights spiraling up each of the white columns and hanging in loops from the ceiling. Circular glass high-top tables with accompanying stools fill the center of the bar, while booths line the walls. Each of the tables has a single lit candle. This romantic fantasy-type setting hints at a happily-ever-after ending that seems to evade me. I’m just glad I’ve never come here with Weston—my memories of this place are Weston-free.
We follow the hostess, who gestures at a table near the back and hands each of us a calligraphy-inscribed drink menu.
“It’s so nice to get out,” Zoe declares, her eyes slipping by me. “Third year was a bitch.”
“Lord have mercy,” Iz says, sighing. “Glad it’s over.”
Right then, a server appears with a basket of steaming cinnamon rolls, the bar’s signature side. “Hey there,” she says with a smile. “Do you gals know what you’re having?”
Amelia rattles off our first drink order. I’ve always thought our drink choices matched our personalities. A cosmo for me because despite my restrictions in the past, I love fashion; a mojito for Zoe, to match her hint of spice; a lemon drop for Iz, for her ultimate sweetness; and a glass of cab for Amelia, which reflects her class and elegance. We usually save the fancy dessert drinks for our seconddrink. Ordering more than one of the fancy cocktails gets a bit cost-prohibitive.
That said, I haven’t had a cosmo in a really long time because of the empty calories. I figure I’ll just skip the dessert drink.
After the hostess vanishes, Zoe says, “Brad’s on my rotation this month.”
Both Amelia and Iz immediately groan in sympathy, while my gaze ping-pongs between all three of them. I have no idea what they’re talking about.
“What did he do this time?” Iz asks.
“Let me guess,” Amelia pipes in. “He cut in front of you again.”
Dread trickles through me; the three of them have moved on, developing their own narrative without me.
“How did you guess?” Zoe rolls her eyes. “I was just about to get assigned a really juicy surgery case, too.”
Iz shakes her head disgustedly. “How does he get away with that?”
“Just keep your head down,” Amelia says. “Eventually that’s going to bite him in the ass. Bad behavior like that always catches up with you one day.”
The words burst out of me before I can take them back. “What happened with Brad?”
There’s silence from the other three girls. Why did I make it painfully clear that I’m not part of the camaraderie they’ve built up for the past year? What about faking it until you make it? Foot, meet mouth.
“He’s just been a pain all year, especially on our Surgery block, since he wants to become a trauma surgeon,” Amelia quickly inserts before I completely unravel. “Sucking up to residents, answering questions not directed to him, snagging OR cases that other students were going to be assigned.”
“And on non-surgical rotations, his lack of enthusiasm couldn’t be more clear,” Isabelle adds. “He was on my pediatrics rotation, and he barely paid attention because it wasn’t surgery.”
I feel totally out of place, and I have an overwhelming urge to hide in the bathroom for the next hour or two. Maybe I can get a “phone call” and slip out early.
“Have you selected a specialty yet, Lucy?” Isabelle says, probably attempting to save me, but instead highlighting my separateness, since this is something they should already know. And I’m unsure as to what Iz and Zoe are planning to specialize in; I only know Amelia is going into Rheumatology because she’s known that since she started medical school.
“I’m between Derm and ER,” I say, my fingers tracing the stem of my glass.
The girls stare at me. Oh boy. I forgot I’ve not breathed a word to any of them about Dermatology.
“Since when have you been interested in Derm?” Zoe demands. It figures that this would be the thing to break her silence: she clearly disapproves and can never resist stating her opinion. But then, I’m startled to realize she isn’t wrong. Do I even likeanythingabout Derm? Now that I have the space to think about it, I’m notsure that dealing with acne and skin cancer for the rest of my life is my calling.
“I’m doing rotations in both Derm and ER over the next two months to help me decide,” I say out loud.
“I don’t see you in Derm, although your facial care is superb,” Iz says diplomatically. “I reckon you’d get bored.”
I suppress a grin. Oh Iz. I can always count on her to bring levity back to the conversation. But she’s right—the fast-paced nature of the ER does fit my personality.
