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Part of becoming a doctor, Margot had realized, was learning very similar lessons over and over again. She had also learned that she did not thrive learning the same thing over and over again.

In med school, she’d grown restless, bored of the repetition. The flash cards, the diagrams, reviewing the same slides of chemistry equations until 2 or 3 in the morning. It wasn’t until her first ED rotation that a part of her relaxed, finally. The part of her that she had kept buried beneath the role of dutiful daughter- the way she ached for a thrill, a rush, to run as far as she could as fast as she could- had direction, and purpose.

It was a perfect fit.

Everyone saw it.

And there we go, folks. Margot felt like she fit somewhere. But there were some things you could only learn by repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

Like how, when you get a call from Norah Finnemore at 6:55 AM, and you only see it when you check your phone after a grueling night shift, you don’t call her back.

Margot sighed. This should be fun. She knew she shouldn’t call her back- knew she should drive straight home. Bitch about the asshole in South 5 with Parker, the one who had kept calling her sweet cheeks before vomiting blood all over the floor. Give herself a moment- just a moment- to mourn the three car accident victims she had lost working with Abbot. Text Florence, her twin sister- ask how it was living with her long-term girlfriend instead of Margot. Take a long hot shower, collapse into bed, then take her Lexapro with a breakfast sandwich she had meal prepped with Parker and send an apologetic text before she came in for her next shift- sorry, it’s been crazy. my next day off is saturday, call then?- but no. She’ll call her mom back, because she never learns her lesson, the deer that wanders directly in front of the car, the character in the horror movie who ventures into the basement to investigate the noise.

She climbed into her car and pulled out her phone, pulling her oversized fleece tight around her. The winter wind in Pittsburgh didn’t bite the way it did back home, but Margot had always run cold, and early December was already beginning to be achingly so. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, hi, sweetie, hi.” The way the vowels rounded in her mother’s Maine accent hit Margot with an instant wave of homesickness. In the background, if she strained her ears just slightly, she could hear the coffee maker, the morning news at a respectable volume. She wondered if there was already snow on the ground in Bar Harbor, or if the wind and waves were cold and aggressive in that way that always made her feel like a character in a Virginia Woolf novel. “Is this a good time? Did you just get off your shift?”

That’s two different questions, Margot thinks, but she decided to answer the second one. “Yeah, I did. I’m in the car heading home right now. Don’t worry, you’re on the car Bluetooth.” Margot looked over her shoulder, pulling out of the PTMC staff parking lot and onto the road. Her and Parker’s place was twenty minutes away from the hospital on a good day, and she was determined to give her mother those twenty minutes and those twenty minutes alone. Thirty if there’s traffic. “What’s up?”

“Well, I just wanted to see how you were doing. Flossie called the other night, and she mentioned that you’re living with a coworker. I hadn’t realized you’d moved out.” Norah sighed, her voice fraying at the edges. Put-upon. The way anyone in the family sounded whenever they had to talk to Margot. Ever since she’d graduated undergrad, everyone she was related to except for Florence treated her like a nuisance. Like a houseguest that had long overstayed their welcome.

And yet, they kept calling.

“Well, when Flo invited Eli to move in with her, I sort of took it as my invitation to leave.” Margot eased into a stop, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She needed to get her nails done. “Did she tell you she thinks Eli’s proposing?”

There was an audible gasp on the other end of the line. Norah might have been ambivalent about her daughters, hateful towards her son, and heartbroken over the loss of her husband, but her one true love was gossip. “Really? So soon?”

Margot laughed. “It’s been two years, Mom.”

“Two years. Wow.” Another pause. A dog barking. “Does the bride’s family still pay for the wedding when there’s two brides?”

“Okay, well, there’s not even a ring yet. But I told her I’d help plan, if she’ll let me.”

She could hear her mother’s poor attempt to stifle a snort. “Really, sweetheart? Residency’s so demanding, I’m just not sure you need anything else on your plate right now. I’m sure she’ll ask you to be maid of honor. Maybe you can plan the bachelorette.”

What her mother didn’t say: You? Plan? Never in a million years, even though you’re a doctor and clearly have some capacity to commit to something.

In that moment, Margot wished that the horror movie slasher in the basement would just stab her. She hoped the grit in her teeth wouldn’t translate over the phone. “Yeah, maybe.”

A longer pause. The “fun” part about talking to her mother, Margot knew, was that she had a particular knack for taking someone else’s good news and turning it into a cross examination of your own failures.

“How about you, Maggie? Any luck in the love life department?” Her mom’s voice felt thick, weighing down the phone lines with a knowing condescension, that same sickly sweet tone she used to talk down the extended Finnemore family behind their backs. The Miranda rights flashed through Margot’s mind. Anything you say can and will be used against you.

Ever since Margot and Florence had been teenagers, talking to their mother had always felt like someone had dropped a loaded gun on the table, and they were all waiting to see who would fire first.

“No, no luck.” Margot double checked the street signs. Ten minutes away from her and Parker’s place. “Just trying to focus on my residency, is all.”

“Flossie said you’re living with one of your coworkers? She also works the night shift?”

She wondered, not for the first time, if her mom had picked their names solely for the potential of calling them cutesy nicknames. No one ever called Florence Flossie, or her Maggie, and while she knew that’s supposed to be what makes it special, bile rose in her throat even still. “Parker, yeah. She’s great, we get along well.” A horn honks. Margot realized she forgot to merge.

Parker was great. Parker was respectful, and kind, and clean. But she also made Margot laugh, and gave her rides when Margot’s shitty car wouldn’t start. Parker refilled their stash of energy drinks when it was running low and always picked up her favorite candies on Trader Joe’s runs. Parker was so great, actually, that Margot was feeling things she hadn’t felt in a long time. It had only been six months since Hannah dumped her. It shouldn’t feel like an eternity, but it did.

And that was terrifying.

There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. Then, “Listen, sweetheart. I wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”

Margot sighed, already anticipating the argument they’d have this year. They’d had it last year, after all. “Before you ask, I did manage to get a few days off, so I could fly in the 23rd and leave the 26th-“

“Caleb called.” Norah’s voice was quiet now, soft. “He wants to come home.”

Margot had always thought that the description of someone’s heart dropping was exaggerated, somewhat. Until her mother said those words- then, she swore, her heart was consumed by the sea of bile in her stomach. The ever- present sore spot on her head throbbed. Almost as if just hearing his name gave her nervous system flashbacks.

“Then I can’t come,” Margot heard herself say, as if she existed outside of her body.

Norah exhaled through her nose. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

“You’re gonna let him come?” Emotion gathered behind Margot’s eyes. “Back to the farm? Deirdre has kids now- you’re gonna let him around kids?” Her voice broke on kids. Her cousin’s baby had just turned two- not exactly Caleb’s type, but still. Dread coiled in her gut.

“He’s my son.” Norah’s voice had grown thin now. “My son, Margot- not that you would ever understand what it’s like to be in my position. If you want to rip the whole family apart for Christmas-”

“This isn’t about what I want, Mom, it’s the protective order.” Margot let out a sob. “I can’t come back. You and I both know that the house isn’t big enough for that.”

Silence again. Margot wondered, once more, if her mother really had thought anything through at all. Ever. In her life. You would think a NICU doctor would understand how actions have consequences.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” And her mother did genuinely sound very sorry. “I can come see you- well, it wouldn’t be the 25th, or any days around them, and I probably can’t take the first two weeks of January off, so- how does the 15th sound? You could come show me around, I could meet your friends? Help Flossie figure some stuff out for the wedding?”

Here it was. An olive branch.

“Okay.”

Margot had taken it. “It’ll obviously be weird without everyone, but-“

“They’ll understand,” Norah finished. “I don’t think they understand why he’s invited anyway. They adore you, Maggie. You know that. Even Maya is coming in from New York.”

Maya. Her favorite cousin, pride and joy of the family. She played professional hockey for the New York Sirens, and Margot hadn’t seen her since she had graduated college. “I’ll invite her down on the train one weekend. It’s been too long.”

“I’m sure she’d love that.” Norah sounded very relieved that Margot wasn’t mad at her anymore.

Then, “Flossie doesn’t know.”

“I’ll tell her.” Margot pulled into the parking lot of her building. She rested her head against the steering wheel, letting out a sob. “Mom?”

“Yeah, baby?”

A pause. “He should be in prison.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But he wants to mend fences. He asked how you were.”

How fucking dare he.

The sound Margot made was not another sob, but instead a hollow, bitter laugh. “Caleb doesn’t get to know that.”

“I didn’t tell him anything.” Beeping on Norah’s end. Probably her leave the house now alarm. “I gotta go, Maggie. I love you. I’m sorry. Call me within the next month, okay? I missed hearing your voice.”

No, Margot thought. “Yes,” Margot said. “Love you too, Mom. Have a good shift. Save the babies.”

Norah laughed before she hung up. Margot dropped her phone into her work bag, sniffled once, then moved inside on autopilot. Her code in the keypad, two flights of stairs, a key in the door. Shoes off near the mat. Parker on the couch, with the serene look of someone who did not just get off a twelve hour shift and was then emotionally eviscerated by her mother.

Parker stood up. Walked over. Wrapped her arms around Margot’s stiff body, only freezing up a tiny bit when Margot started to heave great, wailing sobs. She wondered, distantly, if Parker knew what a loon sounded like when it called, how similar it sounded to her sobs.

She really did miss Maine. She had been looking forward to coming home. He had ruined it- just like he always ruined everything.

Parker didn’t know. Parker knew about the headaches, about the fact that their apartment needed to be kept at 70 degrees and how Margot couldn’t deal with overhead lights in the common areas. She didn’t know why, though. Margot didn’t want to tell her. She didn’t want Parker to see her as any less capable or competent at work. There were some doctors- Trinity Santos came to mind- who wore their heart on their sleeve, let their personal experiences guide their care. Parker found that foolish. She’d said as much to Margot.

Parker didn’t need to know about what Caleb had done to her. Not yet.

“Rough night?” Parker asked against her hair.

“You think so?” 

She zips up her purse, gets up off the bed and comes to stand behind you by the mirror. In its reflection you can see her outfit too, the long burgundy dress she bought specifically for this occasion, the black high heels. 

“Look at me,” she says, and waits for you to glance back and meet her eyes. Her voice is measured, sure. “You’re perfect. You always look perfect, tonight is no different.”

You can’t hold her gaze. You look into the mirror instead, taking in the way you look beside one another. “We look good together.” 

“We do. That’s why I want you with me tonight.” 

You hum in feigned disapproval. “Is that the only reason?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Wow, you’re not even going to pretend otherwise?” 

Baran steps closer, takes your left hand in both of hers and raises it to examine. She adjusts your diamond wedding ring, spinning to the center of your finger. 

“This,” she says, “is why I want you with me. You’re mine, and I want to show you off.” 

Your heart swells and you nod, unable to keep up with the joke anymore. She says it so easily — you’re mine — that it leaves you speechless. 

“They’re going to love you,” Baran says. She leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, and when she pulls back there’s a mark on your face from her lipstick. “I love you.” 

— 

With a drink in your system and a seat comfortably close to Baran’s at your table, you’re feeling amazing. 

Introductions went well with her coworkers. You’re able to put faces to names now, conversation is easy, and you’re comfortable as long as Baran stays at your side. 

She leans close to you, speaking into your ear. “I told you they would love you. Smart people.” 

You don’t deny it. You reach for her hand on the table, entwine your fingers with hers, and watch as the seats at your table keep filling. 

“What do you think?” Baran asks. She looks at you hopefully. 

“Everyone seems nice,” you say. “Except Robby. You were right about him.” 

She nods. “Well, at least now you’ve seen him for yourself. It’ll make my stories more vivid.”

You raise your joined hands and press a kiss to her knuckles. “I like being here with you. We should come to more of these, I want to support you.” 

“I’d like that.” 

At the other end of the table, Trinity Santos leans in conspiratorially to whisper to Cassie. But she’s a terrible whisperer, you learn this quickly, and the whole table can hear it when she says, “Did Garcia and Walsh ride together?” 

Beside you, Baran tenses. Her grip on your hand tightens, she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and she turns to look at you guiltily. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, leaning closer to her. “Baran, are you okay?” 

“I kind of—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. With every passing second, she looks more anxious. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. 

At first, you don’t understand why. Her words only make you nervous, and a thousand terrible possibilities flash through your mind all at once. 

“I didn’t know she would be coming,” she continues. “Please stay calm. We can talk about it at home.” 

You turn and look at the door to the event center and your stomach drops to your heels. 

—

“I can't go back out there, Baran! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She sighs, leaning back against the sink in the restroom. She looks down at her shoes. “I didn’t think it was important.” 

“You didn’t think to tell me that you’ve been working with your ex-girlfriend all this time? My ex? Our ex, which I can’t believe I’m even saying.” 

Baran looks up to meet your eyes. She gives you a pleading look, begging you to let it go, but you can’t yet — you’re still angry. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice softer now. “Please don’t.” 

“I’m not looking at you in any special way.” 

“You’re giving me that look you do when you want me to forget whatever you’ve done to piss me off and pull you into my arms,” you accuse. “But that is not happening right now.” 

“Baby…” 

“No,” you interrupt. “There’s nothing you can say right now to make this better.” 

“We share an ex,” she says. “So what? We’re gay, that’s the landscape. Everyone has dated everyone else, it’s nearly incestuous!” 

“I’m not angry about that. I’m angry that you’ve had a thousand opportunities to tell me you work with her, and you haven’t taken any of them.”  

“She works in surgery,” Baran says tiredly, as if she’s already thought this over a thousand times to assess the risks and talk herself down — she likely has. “She’s not always down in the ED.” 

You cross your arms. “Do you talk to her?” 

“When I have to, and it’s always professional. I dated Yolanda in college and it was nothing, less than nothing. I know your relationship with her was similar.” 

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because I knew you would react this way,” she answers. “I knew you would be upset, and I didn’t want to make you upset. And you know very well that seeing Yolanda at the hospital would be at the bottom of the list of terrible things that happened on my first day at PTMC.” 

That last part is probably true, and you won’t argue it. But you also won’t bend and tell her that everything is fine, you forgive her, it’s water under the bridge. 

The restroom door opens. In walks Yolanda Garcia, who sees the two of you and pauses. 

“Evening, ladies,” she says. She looks between you, a small smile playing on her lips as if she knows exactly what you and Baran have been in here arguing about. “Trouble in paradise?” 

Baran gives her a sharp glance. “Yolanda, please.” 

“No, no, I’m kidding. Seriously, I hope I didn’t cause any problems earlier. I walked in and the two of you disappeared.” 

You can’t look at either of them. You don’t trust yourself. You study the floor, the space between the white tiles. 

“Crazy how you two ended up together,” Yolanda says, crossing her arms. “Married and everything. I was like the curve in the queer little road that brought you together.” 

“You didn’t bring us together,” you tell her bitterly. “If anything, you’re having the opposite effect.” 

She clutches her chest as if you’ve just shot an arrow through her heart, like you’re some malevolent equivalent of Cupid. “Harsh.” 

You move closer to Baran. You suddenly remember all the reasons you left Yolanda, all the reasons you started seeing Baran. 

“Can you two argue about me somewhere else?” Yolanda asks. “I really have to pee, and I don’t want to hear about how much you two hate me while I’m tinkling.” 

You reach out a hand for Baran to take. Immediately, she slips hers into it. 

— 

Despite the heavy summer heat that blankets the city during the day, Pittsburgh can still get chilly at night this time of year. You shiver when you walk out the doors of the convention center, but you don’t stop.

“We can’t go home,” Baran says. “I know you’re angry, but we can’t just leave!” 

You lead her through the parking lot, past rows of cars that make you wish you’d parked closer. 

“Being around Yolanda is part of my job!” she continues, struggling to keep up with you. “Can you slow down a little?” 

You finally reach the car. You stop, turn around, and Baran nearly runs into you. 

“You have to stop hiding things from me,” you say. “You know it’s a bad habit of yours to keep quiet about things you find upsetting. That needs to stop.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes,” she assures you, stepping closer. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. I don’t want to fight with you. After not telling you about her that first night, I thought I could avoid it altogether.” 

You shake your head. “Look at where we are now.” 

“Yes,” she says again, and grabs your left hand. She compares it to hers, making you look down at your matching diamond rings. “Look at where we are now.” 

You can’t argue that. 

“I’m married to you,” she reminds you. “You’re married to me. Yolanda has no place in this.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise,” she meets your eyes. “You know the reasons why I left her. They were your reasons, too. That’s why we work well together.” 

You look down at your rings again. You find yourself drifting closer to her, and if you tilted your head up then you would be in perfect range to kiss her. 

“I don’t want anyone but you,” Baran says. 

You look up, meeting her eyes briefly before leaning in and kissing her, drawing closer to her. The sharpest edges of your anger dull, she softens you. 

“I shouldn’t have been so harsh,” you tell her quietly after you part.

She shakes her head. “I should have told you about Yolanda.” 

You kiss her again, deeper this time, letting her back you up against the side of the car. The handle of the backseat door digs into your back and you gasp at the sharpness of the sensation, releasing a shaky exhale, and Baran’s lips dip down to your neck. 

“Tell me what you want to do,” she murmurs. “Do you want to go home?” 

You consider it. It’s appealing to abandon this place and go home with her, let this continue in the privacy of your home. But you’re all dressed up, the night has just begun, and you think Baran would buy you another expensive drink from the bar to atone for her mistakes if you asked her to. 

“Not yet,” you answer. “You don’t get off the hook that easily.” 

“I usually do. This must be a grave offense, because there’s this spot on your neck that if I…” 

You push her away gently, kissing her one more time before taking her hand and leading her back through the parking lot. 

thank you for reading <3