Page 4 of Draft Pick
Val cuts me a sharp look, all while holding up a finger and taking a leisurely sip of her wine. “Your mother will be just fine. You’re thirty-two, and for the first time since undergrad, finally doing something for yourself, Junip. You deserve that. This change is good. It’ll feel good to have something of your own.Patients. Staff. All the things. And it’s not like you can’t go visit whenever you want. Nashville is what, four hours from Atlanta?”
I nod. “Give or take.”
I know Val’s right, but it doesn’t mean I won’t worry. I’m an only child, and for most of my childhood, I was perfectly fine with that. Until I became an adult with my own dreams and ambitions. It’s also when I first understood to the fullest extent the damage my parents had done to themselves. I’m positive I blocked it out. Call it generational trauma or whatever.
Being the daughter of hoarders is not for the weak. I never truly processed what the stress of living in such a restricted and cluttered environment would do for my mental health. And when I say cluttered, I meanneatlycluttered. God forbid if there wasn’t organization to the magazine papers stacked ceiling-high. Or the canned goods and empty plastic water bottles that are nearly prehistoric.
It wasn’t until I graduated from medical school and found myself really craving the change of being away from home, that I said enough is enough. I can’t become stagnant in a place that no longer benefits me.
They chose to live that way, but that doesn’t mean I have to.
It would all be simpler if I had a sibling to share the weight of care with. And mind you, my parents are perfectly healthy—at least I think they are. They just live in a home that will either kill them from the backed-up filth or from claustrophobia. And they have no intention to ever leave.
I’m paranoid every time a phone number I don’t recognize calls, anticipating the moment a medical professional tells me the mounds of shit they’ve collected finally caved in and buried them to death. I can’t begin to explain the lengths I’ve gone to help them.
But you can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.
It took hundreds of late-night phone calls with Valentina to finally help me decide moving was for the best. And it wasn’t just because of my parents. Nashville is booming, and for being a homegrown native to the Tennessee city, it’s not in a good way. I’m burnt out on the party vibe and its constant tailoring to tourists and transplants. Now that all of my years of schooling are behind me, and I’ve finally scored a job I’m hopeful to be proud of and make my own, I’m ready for something more civilized.
I want a community of people who becomemy people.
I want to date and meet someone worth settling down with.
I want a lot of things, and I’m proud of myself for finally doing something about it. Doing something forme.
“Then whenever you want to road trip and check in on Mr. and Mrs. Wilde, you let me know, and we’ll ride out, my girl.”
“Thanks, Val. I’m lucky to have you here with me. You’re my main bitch, you know that?”
“Takes a bitch to know a bitch,” she chants, standing to pull me in for a hug. “Just think of all the lunch dates to come. Just the two of us. Like old times.”
I smile wide and let myself feel happy about this new chapter. “Except this time, no hospital cafeteria sandwiches two weeks past the expiration date.”
“The horror,” we wail in unison before Val adds, “oh, this is going to be fantastic. We can eat sushi and crab angels every day if we damn well please.”
Well, now I’m hungry. We’ve been unpacking my things into the new house all day. “Speaking of…I’m starving. May I interest you in some home-delivered sushi and boba Thai tea, Valentina Bales, my most faithful doctor friend?”
“Pretty sure I’m your only doctor friend, but we’ll pretend I’m the top contender,” she answers proudly before groaning. “Call the sushi gods, Junip. Gotta celebrate the start of your newposition somehow, and what better way than stuffing our faces with raw fish? Tomorrow is the beginning of something great for you. I can feel it.”
“I knew you worked with vaginas for a reason,” I tease, earning myself a middle finger. “We’re gonna manifest that, alright?” The laughter between us stills while the weight of something better—something great—takes precedence.
I whisper into the silence, “Don’t let me doubt myself, Val. I can’t. I won’t. Challenge me to do new things and stretch myself with fresh experiences. I want it all. To be the best doctor and best version of myself.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said, but for once, I believe it to be true. It must be true.
“You’re gonna change the dynamics of this city, my girl. I’m confident in that. Just let me offer you the smallest piece of advice…”
I lift my head. “What’s that?”
Her hand reaches for mine while her eyes attempt to convince me of something I’m not sure I’m prepared to hear. “If a hot baseball player in tight pants tries to get in your scrubs…run. We’re in Strikers country. They’re everywhere.”
I gulp, not sure I’m seeing the problem. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. I might like that.”
A quick giggle splurts from Val’s lips. “Oh, you’ll see. The internal struggle is still to come, my friend. Trust me. I know from experience. Those leather gloves and wooden sticks can only get them so far. Just wait until you get a look at their thighs.”
“I like big thighs,” I deadpan honestly.
“Not when your face is squeezed between them with an anaconda about to make a new home in your mouth.”
