Page 40 of The One Where They Fall in Love

What aboutlife?

“Have you had lunch with Steve yet?” my father asks, his eyes never leaving the TV.

Who the fuck is Steve?

“No, not yet,” I reply, not bothering to even try and figure out who that is. I’m sure it’s one of the hospital administrators that my father brown-nosed to get me into this position. Of course, I have no proof of that, just a lifetime’s worth of experience with this man.

“You have to make connections, Oliver,” he scolds, gesturing with the remote in his hand. “These first two years are crucial. If you don’t make a mark now, you won’t even be considered for Chief Resident when the time comes.”

Thank God, I think to myself. That sounds more like a prison sentence than an opportunity. But I can’t say that out loud, of course.

“I mean, it’s bad enough you’re inmedicine,” he practically spits the last word, like it is poison in his mouth. “But I suppose it’s good you’re in a hospital at all.”

Am I even part of this conversation?

Part of me admires my father for being so passionate about what he does. Maybe that’s the reason I butt heads with Sophia too, because she is so sure of what she wants in her life. Me? I was always good at science. Medical school, residency, that was always the plan for me. There was no Plan B. And I’m not sure that I’ve ever had the same passion for it that Dad does, or that Sophia has for fashion. Do I really want to tie myself to a career that I don’t love? That I dread going to every day?

As I listen to my father drone on about his connections at Mount Sinai, my thoughts drift to Elle, because I can’t get Henry’s text out of my head. Part of me is surprised by how easy and effortless the time I spend with Elle has been lately. Since the pier, I’ve only seen her for a few minutes a day, at Thor pick up and drop off, but those are the times of my day that I look forward to the most. One time there was a giddy smile on her face, and it turned out she met someone on the street with a baby corgi. That was my favorite day in the past week. I literally want to track down the corgi owner and pay them to walk past our building at the same time every day.

Most days, I’d rather be home with Elle or out on one of her New York City excursions than at work. All days, actually.

When my colleagues at the hospital talk, they’re eager to get called in to assist in surgery or consult in the ER. I dread it. Part of me envies Elle for her predictable work schedule. What would my life be like if I only had to work five days a week, nine-to-five?

Structured, stable, predictable. Literally the things my brain craves.

Most aspiring medical students would give anything for what I have right now. I feel like an ass for even suggesting that I take it for granted. I worked hard to get here. But it still feels unearned. And that is a feeling I’m worried I’ll never be able to shake.

“Oliver, are you even listening to me?” I blink a few times to bring my father into focus. I look him up and down again, the furrow in my brows growing as I evaluate him. Before I open my mouth to speak, not even knowing what to say, his phone rings. The Caller ID for the hospital lights up the screen.

Is this really where I want to be in thirty years?

If not, what the hell am I doing right now?

*

I forgot how overstimulating my family can be after having been away for so long. I don’t know what to make of the day I just had, but as I open the door to my apartment, I know one thing: I need to sit down.

I stumble into the living room, cursing this stressful day. As if seeing my family wasn’t stressful enough, beingtrapped on the train always gets to me. Driving there would have been so much more difficult, but at least I wouldn’t have had to go under the East River in a metal tube. The tunnels don’t make sense to me. How do they build them? How are they not the eighth wonder of the world?

To make matters worse, it started torrentially raining on my walk home from the train station, so my socks are soaked in my shoes.

After my father left for the hospital, my cousins proceeded to scream—what I call “screaming” is their normal speaking volume—at each other for the entire dinner. Between the heat blasting at 78 degrees and the overworked oven, it was sweltering in there. I could barely eat anything. I was too busy discreetly wiping my head with my napkin and trying to zone out from my cousins’ banter. What must it be like to look forward to spending time with your family?

I sit down on the bed of the treadmill, my knees almost reaching my shoulders. I don’t know why this is the spot I chose, but it’ll have to do for right now. I wish I could get up and wash my face, but I can’t seem to find the wire in my brain that connects to my legs and tells them to move. I haven’t had a panic attack in so long, I almost forgot what it felt like. But I could neverreallyforget this.

I rub my hands up and down on my cheeks until the stubble turns my hands red. I try to inhale deeply, and my exhale comes out shakily.This is panic, I tell myself.In a minute I’ll get up and take a shower, and I’ll feel better.These and other mantras are the strategies therapists have given me over the years, and in theory, they’re a good idea. But in the moment, when your body feels like the slightest touch could make you explode, they really do jack shit.

My legs still won’t move.

I try to remember more of the exercises the therapist I went to a few years ago taught me, but I’m coming up blank. Again, the strategies are great when you hear them, but when panic wants to take you over, then that’s exactly what it does. Panic has the power to freeze every muscle in your body, every neuron in your brain. It’s the invisible enemy that no one talks about, but whose power is all-consuming.

Inhale, I hear Elle’s voice say. My memory takes me back to the yoga class, when her hand was on my chest, her fingers laced with mine.

“I’m sorry I ran out of treats, but we’re going to find some, I promise,” a muffled voice says in the distance. My mind doesn’t fully register it, because I can still hear Elle’s voice commanding me.Exhale all the air out.

“Oliver?” Her voice sounds closer now, not as muffled as it did in the memory. My eyes flutter open and I see Thor bounding towards me, licking my face as soon as he reaches me. He shakes in front of me, flicking me with water. They must have been outside too. I hear Elle’s footsteps close behind him. “Oliver? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I try to meet her gaze, but my vision is blurry, and she won’t come into focus. I can feel her hands on my arms, like coal branding my skin.

“I’m having a… panic attack,” I mumble, my voice shaking.