Dear Ava,
I did a heart transplant on a kid today. It was a success and it was exhilarating. His name is Noah and he’s the smartest freakin’ ten-year-old I’ve ever met. Over the last couple of months he kept getting sicker and sicker until finally he had to be placed on the transplant list. The sad thing is that some other kid lost his life somewhere. Noah kept asking me if his personality would be different after the transplant. I just told him that a healthy heart would do him a lot of good. I wondered if that’s what you were always trying to tell me.
I hope you’re well, chasing your dreams. I’ve been making a lot of plans lately. I don’t know if you’re reading my letters but I’m not going to stop sending them.
My conversation with Noah today before his surgery reminded me of you, but then again everything reminds me of you. Nate.
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September 14, 2010
Dear Ava,
Today I came back to my house on the lake and packed up a few boxes. I’m planning to move next month. I got my job back at UCLA. Of course there’s talk that if my father weren’t the head heart surgeon there, I’d be down and out.
Olivia keeps convincing me that I’m the best and that’s why they want me back, but I only feel like the best when I’m around you. I have an agent looking for a house for me near the beach. I thought you might like that. I know you won’t answer me, so I just have to hope you’ll like it.
I’ve been working a lot but not too much. Dale and Redman keep me grounded on my days off. I had the pleasure of sticking my arm up a cow’s ass yesterday on the ranch. Dale still laughs hysterically whenever I do anything like that for him. I just pretend it’s the most serious of life-changing procedures. I’ve started calling out commands like I’m in the operating room. “Giant jug of lube please.” “Preparing to fist this cow’s ass.” I keep a completely straight face, and that’s probably what gets Dale rolling on the ground laughing. You can’t take yourself too seriously. That’s what I’ve learned lately. Even at the hospital around sick people, I’ve learned laughter is the best medicine for them and me. I guess that’s part of the bedside manner I was lacking before.
I always wonder if you ever think about me. Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed, I can feel you. It happens a few times a week, just as I doze off. I can feel your warmth. This is fucking killing me, Ava. Sometimes I think I want to give up but then I don’t even know what that means because it’s not like I’ll stop missing you.
I haven’t washed my sheets and I know that’s disgusting but I don’t want to wash away the smell of your hair on my pillow. It reminds me of you as I’m falling asleep, but then again everything reminds me of you. Nate.
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October 14, 2010
Dear Ava,
Today is my thirtieth birthday and my last day in Montana. Happy birthday to me. I miss the fuck out of you. The scrub nurses took me for drinks after surgery today. They tried to have their way with me. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but I’m drunk and proud of myself. I had to beat them off with clubs. Just kidding. No one comes near me because all I talk about is you and our house in L.A.
Oh yeah, I got a house overlooking the ocean. I’m moving into it in two days. The house is awesome but it needs some work. I hope it will be ready by June. I’m going to do all the work myself. There are these amazing wooden built-in hutches in the dining room that have been painted a million times over so I’m going to strip them down and stain them and restore them back to their original beauty. I think you’ll love it.
So guess what? Redman punched me in the face last week, that ornery old man. He said I was smarting off to him. I think his hand hurt worse than my face but I pretended that he got me good. He has a serious hoarding problem and I told him that he needed to see a counselor, so he socked me. Then I told him he needed anger management and he tried to sock me again but I ducked. Bea said his anger management is punching sacks of grain. Everyone misses you. Not as much as me though.
Bea and Red are crazy but great. I promised them that I would come back every summer so they made me put it in writing. There was a clause in there about you, too. I hope it’s not just my dream anymore. I walked by your cabin and saw that you had someone box everything up. I don’t know what to think anymore. Time is dragging on. The porch swing was swaying a bit from the wind and it reminded me of you but then again everything reminds me of you. Nate.
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November 14, 2010
Dear Ava,