Page 53 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“In America we have elementary school, which is age 5–11, then we have middle school which is age 11–14, and then we have high school which is 14–18.”
“I have watched enough TV to know freshman year is the first year of high school, right?”
“Correct.” Julia nodded. “Do you know the other years?” She was testing my knowledge, which at times was poor, but my aspiration to one day move to the US pushed me to observe and digest all things American.
“Junior, sophomore, and senior? I know senior is the last year of high school, but the order of the other two I’m not sure about.”
“You’re right, it’s sophomore first and then junior, but I’m impressed.”
“My general knowledge comes from reruns ofGilmore Girls.” I’d watched the show from episode 1–153 enough times to successfully replace Rory as lead actress. Nobody would know the difference.
“If eating cake is wrong, I don’t want to be right,” Julia said. My eyes widened. I knew all of Lorelai’s sarcastic quips.
“You loveGilmore Girlstoo?”
“Obsessed.” Julia glided her arms through the pool bringing her a few steps closer. Intentionally or not, I wanted her to keep closing the gap. There was so much I wanted to learn about her.
“Did you always know you wanted to be a surgeon?” I asked.
“After I realised my dream of living in the Playboy mansion was over, yes.”
“Is this going back to the ‘no jugs’ comment.” I laughed.
“It was a traumatic time for me. I had aspirations of being the next Kendra Wilkinson until my boobs didn’t develop.” Julia was trying to keep a straight face.
“Oh okay, so the backup option was surgeon?”
“Yes, I figured it was the next closest thing.”
“Potato, potahto,” I jested.
Julia unexpectedly reached forwards, palm open. “Let me show you something.” I placed my hand in hers.
“There is a section of your brain that controls the movement in your arms and hands. Your brain’s motor cortex listens to what you request, so if I grip your hand like this.” Julia held my hand like she was about to shake it. “I am sending the signal to my brain which carries that signal through my spinal cord in order to activate the muscles in my arm and hand.”
Julia placed my palm facing upwards and began tapping each of her fingers on my water-soaked skin.
“It’s so easy and reactive for us to move our fingers. It’s second nature. We take for granted how brilliant our brains are. It’s so complex we only understand about 10 per cent of how it works.” Julia pulled on each of my fingers softly with her thumb and forefinger. It felt like a mini massage. I was trying desperately to focus on the words, but the thrill of her touch had me hot and cold at the same time. The tingling sensation pulsated through my entire body with every little tap or pull she inflicted.
“My dad had a patient, he was a junior in high school, who suddenly lost all sensation in his arms. He was a big football prospect with colleges all around the country watching him. Several surgeons predicted operatingwould cause further damage; it was too risky. My dad ended up calling one of the best neurosurgeons in the country for help. Now, this guy had an obscene waiting list, but my dad went to medical school with him, so he agreed to look at the case.”
Julia could’ve been speaking French. I would’ve found a way toouiandnonmy way through it, anything to keep her talking and touching. My stomach felt disrupted, like it did when I thought about riding the Nemesis rollercoaster at Alton Towers. Julia spoke softly; her voice was soothing. She traced the lines on my palm, occasionally looking up to meet my eyes like she was searching for something buried deep within.
“Long story short, this surgeon pulled off one of the most complex surgeries of all time. Against the odds he restored the boy’s functionality, and he went on to eventually play in the NFL. There is someone every single day who is blessed and skilled enough to perform a miracle.”
“You want to be that someone?”
“Yes, I guess I do. I was inspired beyond belief back then. I still am. I may not have realised the level of dedication required when I made that decision, but I wouldn’t change it. I want to be able to be that lifeline for someone one day. When all hope is lost, I want to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I want to make a difference.” The genuine smile pulling at her lips made me weak at the knees.
This girl was—unbelievable.
“It sounds like you have it all figured out.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged.
Julia slowly released my hand back to the water like she was laying a baby to sleep. I didn’t want her to stop tugging at my fingers. I craved the physical touch.
We spoke in depth about her medical residency, and the obscene amount of studying she had already done, including four years of college, four years of medical school, and her ongoing seven-year residency programme. The community of neurosurgeons was relatively small, so the risk versus reward to qualify in such a competitive specialty was astonishing. Of course, Julia finished in the top quartile of her class in medical school with honours in all clinical rotations. She tried to explain subspecialisation to me and the difference between neuro-oncology and cerebrovascular surgery.
