Page 38 of Noticing Natalie
“Tell me more.”
“She took PA residency in surgery at Johns Hopkins. She moved to Baltimore and didn’t even say goodbye. My parents went out there to help her move in. But I wasn’t welcomed.”
“Let’s break this down…”
I interrupted him. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
He gave me a rare grin. “Yes. You’re taking something wonderful of hers and making it about your emotions. A true friend to Natalie would be thrilled for her that she got such a prestigious opportunity. Now, that being said, it’s normal to feel sad and even slighted by not getting to help her move or even say goodbye. But the main point?”
“Is that she gets to do this amazing thing. That’s the thing that matters the most,” I said, looking out the window.
“That’s right. Do you know how long the residency is supposed to last?”
“A year. But… well, I’m scared she’ll never come back. I’m afraid I’ll never see her again. That I’ll never get to tell her how much she really means to me. And how sorry I am.”
“I want you to do something.”
I nodded.
“Buy a nice notebook or journal, something you’d enjoy looking at. And fill it with thoughts for Natalie. That can look any way you want it to. It can be a traditional diary. It can be a collection of memories. It can be the things you think of that you’d like to tell her about each of your days. You can pour all the things you haven’t been able to say to her into it.”
I liked the idea.
“It’s just for your eyes. You never have to give it to her. There’s a good chance she wouldn’t accept it anyway. It’s a way to talk to her without getting to talk to her.”
“I’m going to do that, doc. Thanks.”
He gave me a wry smile. It drove him a little nuts that I called him ‘doc’ since he wasn’t a doctor. But I couldn’t seem to help it.
I went that afternoon and picked out a nice, deep blue Moleskine journal and my favorite kind of pens. Then I went back to the condo and started pouring out my heart to her. With each word that I wrote, I felt a little lighter, a little happier.
It felt almost as good as getting to talk to Nat.
Almost.
PART TWO
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Natalie, 25
The call came on the night my residency was completed. I’d gone out with my co-workers to celebrate at our favorite restaurant and bar in Baltimore. I’d gotten more on the drunk side of tipsy. We’d laughed and walked down the sidewalk under the starry sky and full moon. We’d shared stories of a year full of memories.
And what a year it had been. I’d learned a ton. I’d lost patients and cried in broom closets so no one would see. I’d made friendships that felt as if they’d last a lifetime. I’d dated. I’d remembered who I was.
I didn’t need Tim. He wasn’t good for me. Not as a romantic partner anyway. But as a friend? I missed him desperately. There were a hundred things I wanted to tell him on an almost daily basis. I’d tried to push those feelings down.
But they’d never gone away.
The hurt hadn’t gone away, either, but it had lessened. It had helped that several men had wanted to date me—successful, good-looking men. The kind of men who knew how to treat women, and they’d made me feel desirable again. Wanted. Appreciated.
It had been a balm to my spirit, my soul, and my ego all at once.
My roommate and I had laughed all the way up the stairs to our apartment in the city center. We’d been continuing our celebration, opening a bottle of wine as soon as we got inside. We enjoyed it on the balcony that overlooked the still busy streets down below us.
And my phone had rung with a number I didn’t recognize. I let it go to voicemail, and I didn’t even think about checking it until it rang again. And then again.
That’s when I started to get a strange sense of foreboding. I answered.
