Page 8 of True Blue

The way he says it so easily does something very strange to my chest.

“Thank you. You too—I mean, not beautiful—well, actually you are quite beautiful—I mean... you too,” I finish lamely.

Teddy blinks at me, looking slightly dazed, and I want to climb into the ground. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. Or worse, that I’m not competent enough to treat his grandmother.

“Indie girl," Ellie says, a twinkle in her eyes. "I’m positively parched, could you go grab me a ginger ale from the cart—oh, and a few snacks, Teddy, go with her and carry it for her!”

“Oh, he doesn’t⁠—”

“I’d love to! I mean—I-I’d love to help you, not that I think you need help or anything. I mean, you’re a doctor, for God’s sake—but I’m good in the manual labor department,” he points to the business name on his chest, finishing awkwardly. “Obviously.”

My mouth curves before I can stop it, a small laugh escaping me.

Ellie’s smile is downright smug as her gaze flicks between us like she’s just set a plan into action. Teddy and I walk over to the snack cart, sharing glances with each other, my cheeks flaming when he catches me looking at him, or when I catch him looking at me.

“You’re kind of young to be a doctor,” Teddy observes as I load up his big arms with buttery crackers and oreos and pop.

“Oh, well, I’m just a resident,” I explain. “Not an attending. Yet. I did start med school early, though.”

“Wow,” Teddy smiles, impressed. “Your parents must be proud⁠—”

“I don’t have parents,” I say quickly. A little too quickly, but it’s instinctual at this point. I don’t even know where they are now. They were drifters, bouncing from one place to the next, one hobby to the next, one addiction to the next.

For some reason, they thought it was a good idea to have a kid, but when I arrived, they quickly lost interest. I wasn’t even named until they were about to leave the hospital and the nurses chased my mother down about my birth certificate.

Apparently, my mom saw the hospital signage—Indiana Trauma Medical Center—and figured Indiana was a good enough name.

When I turned eight, I told everyone I wanted to be called Indie, as a way to claim something of my own.

“Oh,” Teddy says, going a little pale and scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’m so sorry⁠—”

For some reason, the chagrined look on his face makes me feel awful, so I open my mouth, and the words tumble out again.

“I mean, I have parents—obviously, but I don’t have a relationship with them. I emancipated myself when I was sixteen.”

“Wow,” Teddy whispers, looking genuinely impressed once more. “So... you’ve supported yourself since then?”

“Yes.”

“Like... med school and all that?”

I nod.

“Wow,” he breathes, before saying baldly, “You’re incredible.”

"Oh," I scoff, “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he says, sounding so sure.

My throat feels tight, and I have to clear it before I ask, “You, er—you work as an electrician?”

Teddy’s smile drops immediately, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s my dad’s business, so...”

“You don’t like it.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement.