Page 22 of Crossing the Line
This was what she'd been searching for without knowing it had a name: a place where being herself didn't require justification or performance and where love was as ordinary as breathing.
But Harper had turned love into just another lie, and now she didn't know how to find her way back to anything real.
The purple door of Lavender's glowed warmly, spilling golden light onto the cobblestone street. Through the large windows, Harper could see the community she'd only glimpsed on Friday night.
Harper stood on the sidewalk, hand poised over the purple door handle, and felt the weight of choice. She could turn around, go home, spend the evening researching cardiac procedures and preparing for tomorrow's performance as the competent intern. Or she could open this door and seek guidance from the one person who'd shown her genuine warmth without asking for anything in return.
The laughter from inside reached her through the glass, warm and inviting and completely without judgment. Harper took a breath that tasted like salt air and hope, and pushed open the purple door.
She needed advice about impossible situations and the kind of mistakes that felt too big to fix.
She needed Lavender.
Harper had barely stepped inside when she heard familiar laughter from the corner table near the window. Alice Knight's distinctive voice carried over the ambient conversation, animated in the way that meant she was deep into storytelling mode.
"Oh my god, Harper!" Alice looked up from her wine glass, face bright with surprise and wine-induced enthusiasm. "I thought you were dead to the world tonight."
Piper Barrett waved her over with a grin. "We abandoned Murphy's after an hour. Too loud, terrible wine, andwaytoo many finance bros. Alice remembered this place from orientation week."
Harper felt a flutter of panic mixed with relief. Of course they'd ended up here. Lavender's was exactly where thoughtful, progressive medical professionals would migrate after discovering Murphy's wasn't their scene.
"Change of heart about prep work?" Alice asked as Harper approached their table. "Or did you decide you needed alcohol more than studying and research?"
"Something like that." Harper slid into the empty chair, grateful for the dim lighting that might hide whatever her face was doing. "How long have you been here?"
"About twenty minutes. Long enough to establish that Piper's supervisor is a nightmare and mine thinks I'm twelve years old." Alice signaled toward the bar. "Lavender—that's the owner—makes incredible recommendations. Very motherly in the best possible way."
Harper's chest tightened slightly. She'd been hoping for private time with Lavender, but now she'd have to navigatearound her colleagues. "What did you think of your first day? Overall?"
"Terrifying and exhilarating," Piper said immediately. "Dr. Parker is incredible but intense. I definitely cried in a supply closet, but I also got to assist with an actual trauma repair. You?"
Harper took a careful sip of the wine Alice had ordered for her, buying time to construct an appropriate response. "Dr. Méndez is...very accomplished. The cardiac surgery observation was incredible."
"Méndez…that's the one your mom recommended, right?" Alice leaned forward with interest. "You're so lucky. I heard she's one of the best cardiac surgeons on the West Coast."
"She has a reputation for excellence," Harper said carefully. True enough, though it skirted the complexity of her actual situation.
"Did you get to interact with her much, or was it mostly observation?" Piper asked.
"Some of both. She's very thorough in her explanations." Harper felt like she was performing surgery with mittens on. Every word had to be precise, sterile, and empty of the emotional weight that made normal conversation possible.
"I'm so jealous," Alice said. "My attending barely acknowledged I existed except to critique my suturing technique. What's she like as a person? Professional but approachable, or more of the intimidating genius type?"
Harper's mind flashed to Carmen's laugh in the darkness, the way she'd looked when she admitted she was lonely, the soft vulnerability in her voice when she'd talked about her grandmother's piano. Then she remembered this morning's clinical detachment and the careful way Carmen had maintained professional distance while teaching surgical techniques.
"Professional," Harper said finally. "Very focused on surgical excellence."
Alice and Piper exchanged a look that Harper couldn't quite read.
"You okay?" Piper asked gently. "You seem a little... I don't know, overwhelmed?"
"Just processing," Harper said, which was true enough. "It's a lot to take in. The hospital, the expectations, trying to prove you belong there."
"God, yes," Alice said with emphasis. "I spent the entire day convinced everyone could tell I was faking it. Like they'd figure out I'm actually just a very tall child playing dress-up in scrubs."
Piper nodded enthusiastically. "The impostor syndrome is real. I kept waiting for someone to ask to see my actual medical degree."
Harper smiled, and for a moment felt the connection she'd been craving. These women understood the pressure, the constant internal monitoring of professional performance. If only she could tell them about the additional layer of complication she was carrying.
