Surprise Delivery(9)

No, if I get married and raise a family, it’s going to be because that person has really become an integral part of my soul – and I just don’t see that ever happening. The women I’m exposed to, I’m generally not very interested in. I mean, I go out with quite a few women – I’ve even dated a few of them for a couple of months. But it usually doesn’t take me long to lose interest in them.

It’s a tired, trite old saying that really means nothing, but in this case, it’s actually kind of true – it’s really not them, it’s me.

I finish off the sandwich and push my plate away. Elisa, my mother’s house assistant – my mom thinks the word maid is demeaning – is there in a flash to scoop up the empty plates. She gives me a smile and disappears without a word. I lean back in my seat and sip at my glass of iced tea, relishing the sunshine of the afternoon.

“So, how are things at the hospital?” she asks.

“Dull. Boring. Monotonous,” I say. “I’m getting tired of pampering the rich folk.”

She laughs. “Is it really that bad?”

I shrug. “I went into medicine to make a difference. To save lives.”

“I’m sure you’re saving many lives, Duncan,” she says. “Just because they’re rich, doesn’t mean they don’t also need your help.”

“I know, but I don’t mean it like that,” I try to explain. “It’s just – most of the surgeries are beyond routine. It’s not as bad as plastic surgery, but there’s not a lot of excitement in it.”

She laughs softly. “You went into medicine for excitement?”

“Not necessarily,” I say. “But I won’t deny enjoying the adrenaline rush that I got working in the trauma unit. Being able to work under intense, high-pressure circumstances like that and save a person’s life? You just don’t get that kind of a feeling anywhere else.”

Which is probably part of the reason my life has become so drab and flavorless ever since they plucked me out of trauma – that sort of rush can’t be duplicated. I honestly don’t feel like I’m making much of a difference. And while yeah, I’m helping people, it’s just not the same.

“So, why don’t you ask to move back to trauma then?” my mother asks.

“I have. Several times. And Janet has denied my request every single time,” I tell her. “She says she can’t afford to lose the face of her high donor unit.”

My mom laughs and shakes her head. “Office politics have even infected the medical field, have they?”

“You have no idea.”

“No idea about what?”

Just the sound of his voice sets me on edge, and I sit up a little straighter, a familiar tightness in my shoulders as Henry steps out onto the deck. He drops down into the seat next to our mother, leans over and places a kiss on her cheek.

“Well, this is an unexpected surprise,” she says. “Both of my boys coming to see me – at the same time no less.”

“It’s purely coincidental, I assure you,” Henry says dryly.

There’s a tension in the air between us that crackles like static electricity. I love and respect my brother because, at the end of the day, he’s family. I just don’t particularly like him as a person. And I know that Henry loves me as his brother, in his own way. I just don’t think he respects me. Not that I really care all that much. His approval isn’t something I’ve ever needed or wanted.

We usually try to put up a good front when we’re around our mother or at a family function, but outside of the required holiday appearances and whatnot, we don’t interact. Like, at all. I can’t remember the last time either one of us reached out to the other. No phone calls, no text messages – nothing.

The source of our discomfort with each other extends far beyond traditional sibling rivalry. He believes that I’ve betrayed our family name by choosing a career in medicine, rather than following him into the business. It’s a resentment he’s nurtured for a long time now, and one that’s only seemed to grow more bitter with every passing year.

Though, to be honest, I don’t know what he’s so bitter about. He’s making money hand over fist and living the kind of life mere mortals only dream about – and, he doesn’t have to worry about somebody like me looking over his shoulder every step of the way. In my estimation, he’s living his perfect life – one on his terms, and just how he wants to live it, with no interference from me.

So, what’s the damn problem?

“So, how is life caring for the unwashed masses, Duncan?” he asks.

“It’s fine,” I retort. “And how are things with father’s company?”

Henry visibly bristles, and I have to suppress the smile. He hates it when I refer to it as ‘father’s company’. In Henry’s mind, he’s the captain of the ship, which makes it his company. Referring to it as anything but his puts a real knot in his boxers.

“I have the company running smoothly and well,” he replies, his voice tight. “Thank you for asking.”

The fact of the matter is that Henry hasn’t done anything differently than our father did. He assumed leadership and has been more or less content to roll with the status quo. He’s trying to do a few things here and there to expand the reach of Clyburne Financial, but he hasn’t actually accomplished anything genuinely substantive. And my little reminder to him of that fact irritates him to no end.