Yours Truly (Part of Your World, #2)(18)

Briana,

I sometimes find that journaling helps me organize my thoughts. I seem to be having a hard time saying and doing the right things recently, so I figured writing this down might be best.

I wanted to thank you for the cupcake suggestion.

You are likely unaware of this, but I deal with some social anxiety. It’s worse when I’m in a new situation with people I don’t know. Interaction doesn’t come naturally to me in those circumstances and I struggle. When I make mistakes, like I’ve done often since I got here, it makes me more uncomfortable and my anxiety gets worse. I get more nervous, and that makes me more withdrawn. It’s a bit of a self-perpetuating cycle. So your help was deeply appreciated, even though I know you didn’t have any reason to give it.

There are a few things I want to address.

You mentioned that Dr. Gibson was holding off the vote for head of emergency medicine in hopes that I might be up for the position. I have no interest in this job, nor did I convey any such thing to Dr. Gibson upon my arrival. I was unaware he was making this decision, and I have told him I do not intend to run. I’m sorry if you felt that the delayed vote was done on my behalf. I was not a part of it.

The other day when I came to your brother’s hospital room I didn’t mention that you broke my phone. I was frustrated and should have picked a better time to bring up you running into me in the hallway. But again, my anxiety sometimes makes it hard for me to gauge social cues, and I don’t always express myself the way I hope to. It was poor judgment on my part, and I apologize.

Lastly, in the supply closet, when I said that your brother could live on dialysis—my mom had chronic kidney disease when I was a teenager. She received a kidney transplant before she required dialysis, but that period of my life was a terrifying time. I remember feeling comforted by the knowledge that if her kidneys failed before she got a donor that at least dialysis would keep her alive. It wasn’t like losing your lungs or your heart. She would have time. She would have decades if she needed it.

I meant what I said to be reassuring, but I didn’t consider how insensitive it would come off without context. I in no way meant to minimize what was happening to your brother or invalidate what has to be a traumatic and life-altering diagnosis.

If any of my mistakes have brought you stress or unhappiness, please accept my deepest apologies. It was unintentional.

Again, thank you.

Sincerely,

Jacob



I set the paper down on my knees.

Wow. I was an asshole. I felt HORRIBLE.

I saw so much of the last few weeks differently now. I should have done more to welcome him here. I should have given him the benefit of the doubt or at the very least not been such a raging bitch.

I looked back at the letter resting on my thighs.

I don’t think anyone had ever written me a letter before. It was shockingly effective. Way better than text or email, like it had a different weight to it or something. There’s something about holding the paper in your hand, seeing the ink on the page, the press of the pen. He made this. It took effort. It was a physical act. He couldn’t erase it if he made a mistake, he had to think about what he was going to say before he said it—or he said exactly what he wanted to and didn’t need to change it.

I looked over at the cupcake. I didn’t even want to eat it. I didn’t deserve to eat it. Nadia Cakes didn’t sell jumbos on a walk-in basis; they were a special order. He special-ordered this—for me. It was thoughtful.

It made me feel a thousand times worse.

I had to go back to the floor, but the letter gnawed at me all day. I kept thinking about it, about how to respond—because I had to respond. But in the meantime, I was going to avoid Jacob like my life depended on it, which wasn’t too hard because I think he was avoiding me too—and why wouldn’t he? I was the Wicked Witch of the ER.

Imagine being the reason why someone hated their new job. That was me. I was the reason.

On my lunch break I slipped into the supply closet with some paper I took out of the printer and wrote him back.





Chapter 8

Jacob



There was an envelope taped to my locker. My heart started to race before I even touched it.

Chances were good it was just a thank-you note from the nurses for the cupcakes. Chances were also good that this was Briana telling me to go to hell.

I shouldn’t have written her.

I wanted to clear the air with her and tell her I was sorry for my comment about her brother. But maybe I should have done it in person. Maybe the formality of a letter was too dry for something like this and she hadn’t taken it in the olive-branch spirit it was intended.

Maybe this envelope was my letter being returned to me unread.

I dragged a hand down my mouth before I plucked it off the door. I pulled it out and flipped to the last page to look for the signature.

It was from Briana. My pulse thrummed in my ears.

I folded it back up without looking at the rest of it and put it into my duffel bag to head home.

I felt like everyone was watching me on the way out, like they all knew I’d been given a letter and they knew what was waiting for me in those pages.

Maybe they did.

Maybe she’d read it to the nurses before she left it on my locker. Maybe she’d read them my letter too…Maybe they were all having drinks together, laughing about it right now.