Yours Truly (Part of Your World, #2)(25)

There were times when I couldn’t get Instagram to load for hours. My cell phone had only one bar unless I went over to the little cabin-themed restaurant down the street to get a signal.

I was going over to the little cabin-themed restaurant down the street to get a signal.

I pulled on my shirt, grabbed my coat and wallet and Lieutenant Dan’s leash. I clipped it to his collar faster than I’ve ever moved in my life and then started running with him the quarter mile to the restaurant. As soon as I made it to their patio, their Wi-Fi connected to my phone and her message pinged.

Briana: Nothing. So bored.

I stood there, panting.

A server nodded to an empty table and I realized how I looked—sweaty and out of breath, like I went jogging in my jacket and work boots.

The server set a menu on the table and I took a seat and stared at the screen wondering what I should reply. But before I got the chance to, she sent another message.

Briana: Can I just call u?

She wanted to talk? On the phone?

I raked my hand through my hair. I did want to talk to her. But this didn’t really give me the time to change mental gears and get used to the idea that it was happening right now. I didn’t really do spontaneity, especially in social situations.

But I did want to talk to her…I wanted to talk to her a lot.

Me: Sure.

I typed in my phone number.

My cell rang immediately. I picked up on the first ring, and then kicked myself for looking so eager.

“Hey,” she said brightly.

This was the first word she’d spoken to me in person since the day over a week ago when she’d told me what cupcakes to bring.

“Hey,” I said back.

“Sorry, it’s just typing takes so long. Better just to talk to you,” she said.

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Okay, so I have to ask,” she said. “And I need you to be super honest. Are you sending me all the butt stuff?”

I choked out a laugh. “What?”

“I have gotten all of the weird butt-stuff patients this week. A zucchini, a headless Barbie, an antique candlestick—and the guy asked me to be careful pulling it out because it was his mother’s—are you sending me these? Do you have an arrangement with the charge nurses?”

I shook my head with a chuckle. “No. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve gotten all the drunk frat boys this week. One pulled out his IV and stripped naked and took off and I had to tackle him before he escaped. Do you have an arrangement with the charge nurses?”

“Of course. But I’m not sending you all the naked drunk frat boys. I’m only sending you the runners.”

I laughed so loud the waitress looked over at me.

“The last drunk frat boy I got thought he was in a drive-through,” she said. “I had to be all like, ‘Sir! This isn’t an Arby’s!’”

I had to pinch tears from my eyes. God, she was funny.

“Every day is a full moon around here,” she said. “Was it this busy at Memorial West?”

I shook my head. “No, not this bad. But then they weren’t a level-one trauma center, so…”

“Yeah, it keeps us from getting bored for sure. Do you like it better?”

I nodded. “I think I do. Never a dull moment.”

She sounded like she was stretching. “Why’d you pick emergency medicine? I’d think it would be a hard specialty with your anxiety.”

This was a common misconception. And I understood it—high-stress job, not great for the nerves. But it was perfect for me.

I’d always known what I was and was not capable of, even as a child. Your parents tell you that you can grow up to be anything. But I knew from the earliest age that wasn’t true. I remember my teacher telling me I could be president one day, and me replying that I didn’t want to because I didn’t like parades.

“I did a short stint in the emergency department when I was in residency in Las Vegas,” I said.

“You lived in Las Vegas?”

“Just for a few years. Zander and I were roommates—I don’t know if you knew that. We go back a long time, he’s one of my oldest friends. Anyway, he wanted to live there. It was close enough to Utah and I wanted to hike all the parks there, so I went with him. It was between pediatrics and emergency services, but I ended up picking the ER. It’s so fast paced it makes me focus. It’s like my brain gets quiet because it only has time for the task at hand. It’s actually pretty relaxing.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she said. “You get in the zone. It makes work go by so fast. God, could you imagine being a surgeon? Nothing to do but think?”

“I would hate it.”

“Did you ever see any celebrities over there?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

I couldn’t tell her who because of HIPAA and she wouldn’t ask for the same reason, but I could give her broad strokes. “Lots of performers,” I said. “Mostly drunk. Contusions, lacerations. Once I had a big musician come through. He had a bruised hand, but I wrote it up as a fracture.”

“You did? Why?”

I shrugged. “Something told me he needed to take some time off.”

“That was nice of you. But what if you’d gotten busted?”