Can't Always Get What You Want (36 page)

I nod.

“And I understand the temptation to, umm…cut corners, if you will.”

I grit my teeth, and take a deep breath.

“Look, I can see how it might look bad to someone who doesn’t have the full picture, but I’m telling you that I didn’t do any of that.”

“You can’t argue your way out of this, Sophie. We have eyewitnesses, Dr. St. Luke being one of them. As a manager, I can’t ignore it when complaints are made against my staff, especially by doctors.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie,” he says. “It pained me to do it, but I had to bring what I saw forward.”

I think seriously about stabbing him with my pen.

He leans forward, looking grave.

“We all need to uphold best practice standards.”

This cannot be happening, this cannot be happening…

I massage my temples, feeling like a rubber band that’s about to snap.

“So. You’re accusing me of things I didn’t do, and yet you won’t listen to my side of the story.”

“I’ve already discussed these recent concerns with your union rep, and we all agree that a short suspension is in order, as well as—”

“Suspension!? But I didn’t do anything!”

“—as well as training with our nurse educator on proper medication handling, aseptic technique, and professional standards.”

I feel my pulse racing, my body tense. I think about understaffing and feeling stressed all of the time. I think about patients treating me like I’m their maid, who’s only smart enough to fetch ice water and warm blankets.

I think about unsupportive managers, and bullying doctors.

I think about Aaron. I can never change the fact that he’s gone.

I snap.

I grab my work bag from the floor. “Consider this my two weeks’ notice. I quit.”

Chapter 32

Time Is on My Side

Today is my last day at work. Over the past two weeks, my manager has been pleasant and chatty (which is so out of character for her; it’s totally freaking the other nurses out), and trying to persuade me to stay on. I think she’s just worried about short staffing.

The day staff threw me a going-away party today, where we ate cake and swapped stories. I kind of got choked up, and was really close to changing my mind. That is, until St. Puke walked in and said how nice it was to see us sitting around, wasting taxpayers’ dollars.

I know I’m making the right decision.

At the end of the day, I collect my bag and coat and walk past the front desk.

I was ecstatic when I finally made the decision to get out of here. I drove home on a high, singing loudly with the radio.

I’m still feeling giddy.

Only now, I’m giddy with desperation.

I didn’t really think this through. I don’t have another job lined up. How am I going to pay my bills? Buy groceries? Gas?

I spot Nils seated in his wheelchair, signing papers. His recovery has been amazing. The deep wounds on his coccyx have healed, and he’s been working a lot with our physio and occupational therapists to work around his paraplegia.

“Nils! Are you going home today?” I ask.

He beams up at me, his face glowing. “Yes.”

“That’s great, Nils.”

He’s become somewhat of a fixture on the unit, having been here for over six months. I imagine it will feel weird for a while, without him.

His wife, Inga, and their baby, Henry, join him. “I hear congratula
tions are in order,” I say.

“Yes. We are so happy that Nils is finally coming home.”

I look down at Nils’s once powerful skier legs, now shriveled to half their size. Being paralyzed from the chest down, he’ll never walk again, never bounce his little boy on his knee, or wiggle his toes in the sand. He’ll be prone to pressure sores for the rest of his life, and need a wheelchair forever.

How can he be so happy, when he’s lost so much?

“Nils, you are so inspiring,” I say. “You’re always so happy, so cheerful. Even during the bad times.”

He smiles. “Thank you. I try. A part of me still wants that old life, what I had before. But, there is so much to be thankful for.”

Inga is standing beside him holding Henry, and he hugs her around the waist.

“I have everything I need.”

I nod, feeling a few tears slide down my face, and will myself to keep it together.

—

I walk through the back hallways, stopping to say goodbye to nurses I know and generally musing over the fact that I’m not coming back.

I had expected something so different from this career.

But, maybe this will be the start of something new? Something better?

Just as I’m about to walk into the staff parking lot, someone rounds the corner and stops in front of me.

“Ah, Sophie. Running out with your tail between your legs, hmm?”

“I was just leaving,” I say, trying to sidestep him.

He blocks my way. “You must have a thrilling life planned. Lying on the couch and collecting unemployment checks.”

He folds his arms, half smiling. “It’s probably for the best, anyway.”

I smile at him. “I completely agree.”

He leans back, and narrows his eyes at me. “You do?”

“I’ve never felt satisfied or content here, but I was too chicken to change anything. So thanks for putting the ball in motion. I’m leaving, and I’ve never been happier.”

I push past him, my steps joyful and light.

I half turn, and call over my shoulder.

“See you around, St. Puke.”

Chapter 33

Waiting on a Friend

“You did not call him St. Puke!” Samira shrieks.

I lean back against Nita’s couch, glass of wine in hand and a smug smile on my face.

“I sure did.”

“This calls for a celebration. Another drink?”

“Ah, what the hell. This is only my third, and I’m feeling festive. Breng on de drunken movie vatching, dahlenk!”

Samira laughs her way into the kitchen.

When she returns, Ravi is with her.

He raises his hands. “Why are you girls always here? Don’t you have homes of your own?”

“Oh Papa-ji,” Samira coos, “we just love you so much.” She tries to kiss him on the cheek, which he half smiles, half sneers at.

“I should charge both of you rent,” he says. “Oh, by the way. Emmie just called. She was going on and on about some gay cruise? I didn’t know she was into the gays.”

Samira and I bowl over laughing.

“Watch the wine! Watch the wine!” Ravi yells, looking worriedly at his recliner.

The phone rings again.

Samira forces herself to stand. “Ugh. I’d better get that. It’s probably Emmie.”

She goes into the kitchen, leaving Ravi and me alone in the living room.

“Have you made up with your boyfriend yet?” he asks.

I feel my muscles tense. In the twenty years I’ve known Sam, Ravi has never, EVER asked me about my personal life.

“Umm, no,” I say.

“Tsk tsk tsk. Such a shame. He’s a good man, that Brett. He really loves you.”

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugs. “This and that. He’s been out helping your dad, you know.”

“He has?”

“Oh yes,” Ravi says, settling into his recliner. “Shoveling snow, repairing the roof, fixing up their front porch. Your dad says he’s quite a carpenter.”

Ravi nods to himself, while stroking his mustache.

“A man wouldn’t do that unless he was either a very good person, or loved the girl and her family. In this case, I think it’s both.”

He looks me in the eye. “You’re acting really stupid.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“He clearly loves you. You clearly love him. What’s the problem?”

I slam the rest of my wine.

“It’s complicated.”

“I know. It’s all about the boy with the tattoos.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“How much do you remember about that?”

“Enough,” he says. “People say a lot when they think you aren’t listening.”

He shifts his torso toward me, his mouth set, eyes like black coal.

“Let me tell you a story. When I was sixteen years old, living in India, my mother was killed in a car accident.”

I wince. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“A short time later, my father remarried. She was a lovely woman, but I hated her at first. And when I started to warm up to her, I hated her even more. I felt like I was being unfair to my mother, letting someone take her place. So much guilt. I was afraid of forgetting her.”

“So what’d you do?”

“Let myself feel what I needed to feel. I still miss my mother every day, but the pain of her memory became less sharp over time. I knew my stepmother could never replace my real one, but I learned to love her too.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I mutter.

“The problem is not that you still love someone in the past,” he says. “It’s that you’re still living there, rehearsing it every day. Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting or denying. It means letting go. You stop asking what could have been, and how you could have changed things. You stop thinking about what went wrong, or what you could have done differently. You have to forgive yourself for what happened. Admit it was out of your control.”

“But if I’d noticed his symptoms sooner, or if I’d convinced him to go—”

“None of it matters,” he says.

“Of course it matters!” I say.

“No, it doesn’t. It is what it is. You can’t change it. For years, I focused on the day my mother died. I’d torture myself with scenarios. What if she’d stayed home that day, or went for a coffee first instead of driving home? What if, what if, what if. It’ll drive you crazy. Forgive yourself, forgive him, forgive the whole situation. You can’t fix it. You could never fix it. Let it go.”

I can’t accept that. I know that I could have done something.
Should
have done something.

And yet…what if he’s right?

Suddenly, I realize that he’s just shared a very intimate story with me.

“Thanks, Mr. Singh. You must really care for me, huh?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he mumbles, standing to leave. He looks down at me for a moment, no doubt reflecting on our conversation.

I bet he’s going to say something wise and fatherly, something sweet.

“Fix your hair. You look like one of those trashy emo kids.”

Samira bounces back into the living room, bottle of wine in hand.

“Now
that
was a fun conversation,” she says.

She prattles on about what she and Emmie said to each other.

I don’t hear a single word.

Chapter 34

Back to Zero

Someone knocks on the front door.

“Come in,” I shout, not bothering to get up. Sam walks in, and sees me sitting on the couch, drinking beer. It’s been about a week since I last saw her.

“Sooo…how are things going?”

I shrug.

“Any luck with job hunting?”

“Nope.”

Sam settles slowly into the space beside me. “So, umm, what are you going to do?”

“You’re looking at it.”

“That’s it? You’re just giving up? There are other hospitals you could apply at, you know. They just opened a new unit at—”

“Just stop,” I say, raising my beer for emphasis. Some of it splashes onto my pants. I’m a cigarette and hair curler away from looking like total white trash. Classy.

“I can’t do it anymore. It was never a good fit for me; it’s just taken a long time for me to realize it. I was a shitty nurse anyway.”

“No you weren’t.”

“Yes. I was. I’ve been at this for two years now, and haven’t gotten any better at it. Don’t you think that’s a sign you aren’t where you’re supposed to be?”

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this.”

“Like what?”

“This! You were so happy the last time I saw you. I thought you’d take this opportunity to start fresh.”

“I am,” I say.

I start picking at couch lint. Maybe she’ll get the hint and just leave me alone.

“Come on, Soph. Talk to me. What’s going on in your head?”

“Nothing. I’m just pissed off, that’s all.”

“Pissed off about what?”

I glare at her. “Well, for one, I’m angry that my friend won’t take the hint that I just want to be alone for a while.”

She ices over. “Anything else?”

Damn. I hoped that would work. I don’t want anyone bringing me out of my pity party just yet. I quite like wallowing.

“Oh, nothing. Just that my life is falling apart and no one seems to care.”

“You know that’s not true. I’m here, Sophie. I care.” She angles her body toward mine. “Just talk to me. What happened?”

I sag into the couch. “It’s something your dad said.”

“What?”

“He told me about your grandma. About the car accident.”

She freezes. “He did? Wow. He never talks to anyone about that.”

“Yeah, well, he sure had a lot to say to me,” I say, my voice wobbling.

Samira regards me warily. “Are you okay?”

“No, I am not okay!” I yell.

I drain my beer bottle, and face her.

“You want me to talk? Sure, I’ll talk. Your dad told me that I need to forgive. Myself, Aaron, his parents. What sort of gay, Deepak Chopra psychobabble is that? What the hell do I have to forgive Aaron for? It’s not like he got sick on purpose. And I can’t forgive Martine. She scarred me for life! And myself? What does that even mean,
‘forgive yourself’
?”