#get hyped

The smell of cheap alcohol and takeout wafted through the overcrowded backyard, friends and family alike clustered under string lights to celebrate your brother's accomplishments. Above the patio doors hung a large banner, his face plastered and slightly wrinkled across the plastic material. The words “I understood the assignment” are printed at the bottom in bold lettering, almost impossible to miss.

 Jesus Christ. This was embarrassing. 

You shift your weight against the edge of the auburn patio, watching as your brother gets pulled into another conversation. He’s smiling politely, nodding like he hasn’t already told this same story twice. At this point, he seems more like an aspiring actor rather than an upcoming doctor. Someone laughs loudly at something he says, snapping you out of your own thoughts. 

Finally, the inevitable happens. Someone asks the question.

“So, Joey, what’s it like working at PTMC?”

His face instantly lights up, his exhausted expression completely disappearing.

“Oh, great, man.” He nodded. “You know, it’s stressful. Emergency medicine. But it’s fulfilling.”

A few people in the circle surrounding him murmur in sympathy, like they understand what that means, like “fulfilling” isn’t just a word people say when they don’t want to explain how difficult things can be.

You watch your brother gesture vaguely as he talks, his hands moving as if he’s still at the hospital instead of standing in a backyard surrounded by folding chairs and plastic cups. His movements appear to be calculated despite the lax environment. 

“And the attending?” your uncle asks, leaning in. “What’s he like again?”

Of course.

You exhale through your nose before you can stop yourself, fighting not to roll your eyes.

Joseph does not hesitate.

“Oh, Dr. Abbott?” he says, like the name alone explains everything. “He’s… he’s honestly incredible. Like, you don’t even realize how much you’re learning until you’re in it with him. He sees everything.”

There it is. Again.

You glance away, bored of a man you’ve never met. Part of you feels guilty for tuning your brother out. He worked hard to get to where he is today, and it’s important to you that he’s enjoying this new chapter of life. But he doesn’t just talk about him. He fixates on him. Frankly, after hearing your brother constantly rave about mundane medical knowledge that his attending seems to be so well-versed in, you’re truly starting not to care.

“He’ll catch stuff you didn’t even know you missed. And he doesn’t, you know, uh, he doesn’t baby you. He just expects you to keep up.” He said, a prideful grin stretched across his face. At this point, it might be safe to consider that cheeky smile a lovestruck expression.

Someone lets out a low whistle, impressed.

“Sounds intense,” a family friend says.

“It is,” your brother admits, his tone laced with pride. He pauses before speaking again, softer, almost sentimental. “He’s fair, though. Dr. Abbot.”

Fair. Of course he is. This guy is clearly just the best. Smart, fair, incredible…

You shift your gaze toward the patio doors again, letting the redundant conversation blur into static. The celebratory banner flutters slightly in the warm air, Joseph’s face stretched across it. The large spectacle amused you when you first walked in; however, as you stared at the banner, you couldn’t help but feel taunted.

Another chuckle. Another question. Another story.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, as you’re fading in and out of the forced dialogue, you realize with growing certainty that you are going to be hearing about Dr. Abbott for a very long time. A very, very, long time