Page 60 of Lily In The Valley
“I’ll try to remember,” she said. “I may get busy with getting settled.”
I’ll try. Not “I will.” Not “of course.” Just an effort, maybe.
She adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag and backed toward the check-in kiosks. Then, she stopped.
“Khalil?”
“Yeah?
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down.
“Thank you for coming.”
And then she turned. And then she walked away. I stood there like a man watching a memory leave his body. The wheels of her suitcase hummed, fading under the swell of car horns and flight announcements echoing from the loudspeakers. The glass doors slid closed as I left the building. I could still seeher inside–standing in line, pulling out her ID, not once looking back.
I got in the car. I didn’t drive off right away. I sat there, gripping the steering wheel, trying not to let my mind go too far down the path it was already sprinting toward.
This wasn’t about Seattle. This wasn’t about space. This was her pulling away from me like the tide. And me not knowing how to swim.
Chapter 19
Kelly
As the planecut through the clouds somewhere between Houston and Seattle, I leaned against the cold window and closed my eyes. The feeling of Khalil’s embrace lingered on my arms, his warmth a sleeve of comfort in the stuffy cabin of the plane. He knew how to show up for me. He also knew how to never stay in it without needing to prove something. Without needing to win.
But now, he was all in. Tired of the games. For the past year and some change, he’d learned how to use his words. Learned how to say what was on his heart with earnest and no reward. I hadn’t said a thing about how I felt when we were teenagers, in college, or back in Arizona. And now, here I was again. Not saying a word.
It was easy then, staying silent while we surrounded ourselves with other people. Only this time, other women did not surround Khalil. He was standing alone. And I was still walking away…
I shook the feeling from my skin, choosing to stare out the large pane glass windows of Seattle Children’s Hospital. The air was crisp in a way Houston could never be. It smelled like rainand trees. Everything was green. Quiet. Soft. Like the city had been dipped in chamomile. I told myself it was a good sign.
My fellowship orientation started today, and I wore navy blue scrubs and a smile that felt just believable. The first thing I noticed was how quiet everything was. Not silent–hospitals were never silent–butcalm. Controlled. Like even the air had discipline. It was a far cry from the chaotic hum of Houston’s emergency wings, where something was always beeping, crying, or breaking.
Here, the pediatric hematology-oncology floor was bright and painted in a palette of soothing pastels. Mint, sky blue, peach. Sunlight spilled in through the wide hallway windows and landed on sea-creature decals plastered across the linoleum floors. I passed a mural of a grinning dolphin in scrubs giving a high five to a cartoon jellyfish. The irony wasn’t lost on me. We were in a place where children came to fight for their lives, but everything looked like a playroom.
I adjusted my badge. It still felt foreign around my neck. “Dr. Kelly Reid, Pediatric Hematology-Oncology Fellow.” The title felt too long. Too heavy. Like I had to prove it with every step.
Dr. Sayegh, my attending, was already halfway down the hall, lab coat flaring behind her like a cape. “Keep up,” she called over her shoulder without turning around.
I sped up.
We started rounds with the senior fellows. One of them, Elena I think, had a tight bun and an even tighter tone. She handed me a patient’s chart like I should already know the kid’s background.
“This is Malik, nine years old. ALL, day five of induction. You’ll be following his labs today. Don’t fall behind on orders.”
I nodded, even though I already felt like I was losing ground.
Dr. Sayegh swept into the patient’s room without knocking. I hesitated before following. Malik was small. Smaller than anine-year-old should be. His skin was grayish, lips cracked. His mother sat beside the bed with a blanket draped around her shoulders and eyes that hadn’t slept in days.
“Morning, Malik,” Dr. Sayegh said, her voice surprisingly warm. “How’s the nausea today?”
He gave her a weak thumbs-up. His mom gave her a look that saidwe’re pretending it’s fine.
I stood at the foot of the bed, trying to find a place to exist.
When Dr. Sayegh turned to me, I straightened instinctively.
“Lab updates?” she asked.
