Page 36 of Crossing the Line
Harper's fork paused halfway to her mouth. The question felt like stepping into a minefield, every possible answer carrying the potential for devastating honesty. "I've been focused on work mostly. Getting settled, learning the hospital culture, that kind of thing."
"Of course, but work-life balance is important." Natalie's voice carried the gentle persistence Harper remembered from adolescence, when her mother would probe about friendships and school activities with the same loving determination. "Are you meeting anyone interesting? Dating?"
The direct question made Harper’s heart drop into her stomach. She forced herself to chew and swallow the bite of sandwich that suddenly tasted like cardboard, buying time while her mind raced through acceptable responses. The truth—that she'd fallen for her supervisor, lied about her identity, slept with her mother's friend, and spent the morning having her heart broken in a simulation lab—was impossible.
"Not really," Harper managed, proud that her voice remained steady. "I'm still adjusting to everything. The work is demanding, and I want to establish myself professionally before I get distracted by personal relationships."
It was a deflection she'd perfected during medical school, one that usually satisfied concerned relatives while avoiding uncomfortable details. But Natalie's expression suggested she wasn't entirely convinced.
"Phoenix Ridge has a lovely lesbian community," Natalie continued, her tone casual but encouraging. "Very welcoming and supportive. Lavender's Café-Bar downtown is a popular spot. The Chief of Police, Diana, mentioned they host community events. You might enjoy checking it out."
Harper's chest tightened at the mention of Lavender's, the place where everything had started. Where she'd met Carmen as Hailey, where she'd lied with such practiced ease, where she'd felt powerful and free for exactly one night before it all came crashing down.
"I'll keep that in mind," Harper said, taking a careful sip of water to ease the sudden dryness in her throat.
"I just want you to be happy here," Natalie said, reaching across the table to squeeze Harper's hand with warm fingers. "You've worked so hard to get to this point, and you deserve to enjoy your life, not just your career. I know I sometimes pushed too hard when you were younger, focused too much on achievement and not enough on your happiness."
The maternal honesty was devastating. Harper stared down at their joined hands—her mother's confident surgeon's fingers covering her own—and felt the weight of every lie she'd told…and every truth she was hiding. Natalie wanted her happiness, but Harper had already destroyed any chance of that by making choices that put her on a collision course with disaster.
"You didn't push too hard," Harper said softly. "You helped me become who I am."
"I hope so." Natalie's smile was warm but tinged with something that looked like regret. "I know I wasn't always the most emotionally available mother. Building a career as a single woman in medicine required sacrifices, and sometimes I worried that you paid the price for my ambition."
Harper felt tears threaten behind her eyes. This was exactly the kind of honest conversation she'd always craved with her mother, the acknowledgment of complexity in their relationship, the recognition that they were both imperfect people trying to love each other well. And she couldn't participate authentically because her life had become a carefully constructed web of deceptions.
"You did your best," Harper said, squeezing her mother's hand before gently extracting her own. "And look how it turned out. I'm exactly where I always wanted to be."
"Are you?" Natalie studied Harper's face. "You seem...tense and more guarded than usual. Is everything really going well with your rotation?"
The question offered an escape route from dangerous personal territory, and Harper seized it gratefully. "It's challenging, but in a good way. The cardiac surgery department is incredible—the level of expertise, the cases we see, the teaching quality."
"And your supervisors? I know Carmen can be demanding, but she's an excellent teacher when she chooses to engage."
Harper felt her emotional control threaten to crack. "She's...thorough. She expects excellence and doesn't accept excuses."
"That sounds like Carmen." Natalie's voice carried obvious affection. "She's been like that since we were residents together. Driven, perfectionist, and absolutely brilliant at what she does. Sometimes I worry she's too isolated and focused on work at the expense of personal connections."
The irony was suffocating. Natalie was worried about Carmen's isolation while Harper sat across from her, hiding the fact that she'd been the one to offer Carmen connection—and then watched her retreat in terror when she realized what she'd almost risked.
"What about the other attendings?" Natalie continued. "Dr. Parker in trauma surgery has an excellent reputation, and Dr. Hassan in emergency medicine is supposed to be very supportive of female residents."
Harper grabbed onto the safer topic, describing her experiences with different supervisors while carefully editing out any mention of the emotional complexity surrounding her work with Carmen. They discussed surgical techniques, teaching styles, and career development with the easy familiarity of two medical professionals who understood the challenges of surgical training.
"I'm proud of you," Natalie said as their conversation wound down, her voice carrying the particular warmth that had sustained Harper through years of academic pressure and professional uncertainty. "Not just for your surgical skills, but for your maturity and professionalism. You're becoming exactly the kind of physician this profession needs."
The praise should have felt wonderful. Instead, it felt like a knife between Harper's ribs, a reminder of how far she'd fallen from the professional standards her mother admired. Harperwasn't mature or professional. She was a liar living a double life, someone who'd compromised her supervisor's professional standing and her mother's friendship through selfish choices and spectacularly poor judgment.
"Thank you," Harper managed, the words feeling inadequate for the weight of her mother's faith in her.
As Natalie signaled for the check, Harper realized that every compliment, every expression of pride, every moment of maternal love was building the foundation for an inevitable reckoning. The truth would come out eventually—it always did—and when it happened, she would lose more than just Carmen's respect.
She would lose her mother's trust, and that felt like losing everything.
They walked back to Phoenix Ridge General together, Natalie's arm linked through Harper's with the casual intimacy that had always made Harper feel both protected and exposed. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the hospital's entrance, and Harper found herself slowing her steps, reluctant to end this moment of normalcy before returning to the complicated reality of her professional life.
"Thank you for lunch," Harper said as they approached the main doors. "I needed that."
"We should do it more often," Natalie replied, squeezing Harper's arm gently. "I know we're colleagues now, but you're still my daughter. I don't want the professional relationship to overshadow the personal one."
