What would make this evening nicer, even with having to work, is if there was a certain hot firefighter who could sit on the couch with me. Maybe he would be watching sports while I quietly worked, and when I was finished, he would pounce on me. This is a nice dream, and one that I hope will be true one day.
I miss Tim badly. He’s only been gone for two weeks. I foolishly thought for a few days that the ache would subside, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s grown worse as we bravely find ways to stay connected so that our bond continues to grow stronger. We talk on the phone every day. It depends on when he’s working and when I’m working, but we make it work. We’ve been able to Skype a few times, and I even spent the majority of one of those sessions talking to Sam about how badly he wants a dog but his mom and dad won’t let him.
“Mom and Dad are mean and won’t let me have a dog,” he’d whined to me. I could see Tim sitting behind him, and he rolled his eyes.
“Awww… they’re not being mean, Sam,” I told him empathetically. “It’s just a really hard time now with your dad living in an apartment.”
“But I could walk him every day,” he says desperately.
“But you’re not there every day,” I point out to him. “However, I bet there will come a day when you will be able to get a dog. You just have to be patient about it, buddy.”
It was a fine line to walk—commiserating with him without undermining his parents—but I think I managed well, and his big grin into the camera before he said goodbye to me told me that he really did like me. When he told me he couldn’t wait to see me again, well… that was just the best ever.
And I really enjoyed my Skype sessions with Tim on the nights that Sam stayed with his mom. We had inadvertently ventured into interesting territory.
“I miss you so much,” I whined to him one night. “My poor vibrator is on its last leg.”
Tim groaned, and his eyes were tortured. “Damn baby… you’re killing me here just imagining that.”
“Hmmm,” I mused. “I bet we can do better than just ‘imagining’ that.”
I then proceeded to show him how much I missed him. He, in turn, reciprocated, so I was well aware of how much he missed me.
I contacted a headhunter that specializes in medical placements in New York but so far, there’s been nothing available in a hospital setting. Tim has told me to take my time with my search, but it’s discouraging and I’m lonely, and I really don’t want to wait. I’ve even considered not only private practice, but also perhaps contract work or a teaching post. Anything, really, that will get me back to New York and Tim.
I’ve let the hospital administration at Tulane know of my plans because I don’t want them to be caught shorthanded. I’ve even encouraged them to start looking for a replacement, knowing that I might short change myself on a job here until I can find something in New York. But deep down…there’s a tiny part of me that kind of hopes they do find someone quickly so that I’m forced out. That would mean an immediate move to New York, which is doable for me. I’ve got a healthy savings account, and I could live cheaply there while I continue to look for something. It’s not the ideal situation, but at this point, I’m letting my heart start to direct my moves, which I know isn’t the soundest way to let a major life change take place.
There is one other possibility though.
It’s something I’ve toyed with, but keep rejecting time and time again. However, every day that passes with no job prospects, the idea starts to look more appealing. It would mean reaching past my walls that I erected long ago. It would mean opening myself up to my father.
I could ask for his help in finding me something. He has many prominent contacts in the medical community throughout the city. He has pull and leverage. I could swallow the acid that churns in my stomach over asking for his help, and just bite the bullet to do it.
In fact, I reason to myself, I could even justify it by the mere fact that he owes me. He owes me for all the wretched things he did to Tim and me so long ago, and it would almost be poetic justice if I used him to help me get back to Tim.
Yeah… justice would be served.
Without another moment’s hesitation, I pick up my phone and dial my parents’ number. My mom answers on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Hi Mom,” I say casually, which is sort of hard to pull off. I almost never call them, mainly because my mom still calls me at least once a week, and it lets me feed into the carefully constructed cool relationship I’ve nurtured over the years. This extended naturally to my mother, who not only supported my father when he threw Tim out of our house, but who fought against me tooth and nail right alongside my father when I wanted to leave Columbia. She picked which corner she wanted to do battle in, and it wasn’t mine.
I do believe this may be something she’s regretted to some extent over the years, as she’s watched us all drift further and further apart, but I don’t think she knows how to fix the problem. Hell, I don’t know that it can be fixed, but still… she calls me routinely and I will have to say it’s because of her efforts that I haven’t completely cut ties.
“Holly,” she exclaims happily. “What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”
“I’m good,” I tell her. “Tired… had a forty-eight hour shift and still doing some work. But good.”
“Life of a doctor,” she quips. “It’s the price you pay for being given all that talent and ability.”