“Seems a little unfair to delay the vote on my behalf,” I said. “I can understand why she’d be frustrated.”
“Eh, it wouldn’t have mattered,” Gibson said dismissively. “No shade to you, I’m sure you’d put up a heck of a fight, but it’d be a landslide in her favor no matter how long I waited. Her team loves her and she’s a hell of a physician.”
“Then why bother putting off the vote?” I asked.
He picked up his menu and started to look it over. “I don’t like the optics of her running unchallenged. It takes validity out of the win and I don’t want anyone whispering under their breath that she got it because there was no one else. It’s not fair to her and it’s not a good way to enter a position of leadership.”
Zander bobbed his head. “So you put her up against an obvious front-runner—and let her obliterate him.” He looked impressed. “I like it.” He nodded at me. “Fucked up for you, but I do like it.”
I also liked it. Not the me losing part, but the reason for it. At least it had been well intentioned.
“As noble as it sounds, I’m still going to have to opt out,” I said.
Gibson nodded. “Noted. Well, I’m sticking around anyway in case someone else brave enough to challenge her surfaces. And honestly, I’m happy for the extra couple of months. I’m not ready to leave yet. Quitting after twenty years is a lot. And spending all that time with Jodi? I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”
“You’re not,” Zander said. “Trust me. I look forward to my husband’s curling trips all year so I can get some peace.”
Gibson shook his head over his menu. “I suppose you don’t take a job like this one if you’re happy at home. Unless you’re in your position. I’d imagine Amy didn’t care, since she saw you at work anyway.”
“She cared,” I muttered. I didn’t elaborate. “And anyway, I didn’t really want the chief position then either. I was sort of pushed into it by the team. It’s not really my thing.”
Gibson waved me off. “If they pushed you into it, it’s your thing. You’re diplomatic, fair, and you don’t lean toward drama. They respected you. Briana’s the same way, actually. Though a little bit more of a bulldog.”
Zander raised a finger at a server to call her over. “Briana will make a good chief—if you ever get the hell out of here.”
Gibson chuckled.
“How’s the anxiety?” Zander asked me. “Not easy being the new guy.”
“It’s been okay,” I lied again.
“Starting a new job has gotta be like your own personal hell,” Zander went on. “The grown-up version of standing up in front of the class and introducing yourself.”
I scoffed. It was exactly like that. Only I was naked too and my dog ate my homework.
Luckily our server came over before I had to get more into it. Zander ordered one of every appetizer for the table, so the guys didn’t order any entrées, but I got a salad. I’d try what came, but I wouldn’t fill up on fried foods and sodium.
When my mental health was struggling, I had a strict self-care regime. The second I started to notice the glitchy, staticky feeling creeping in, I made a concerted effort to exercise and get enough sleep. I cut out alcohol, processed sugar, and carbs, tried to eat more whole foods. Journaled. It all helped. And right now I needed all the help I could get. I was teetering on some precipice, trying not to fall. Amy and Jeremiah, my family, my new job—all of it prodding me to the drop-off.
The guys’ cocktails were delivered, and I got my club soda and lime. They went into stories about their patients as I sat back and enjoyed the distraction. I was glad I came. I needed this. A reminder that there were people who liked me.
Interactions like this one didn’t wear me out. They knew me. They didn’t take it personally if I slipped into silence and just listened. They didn’t give me a hard time about not having any alcohol, which is something I never did either, to anyone. You never knew what someone’s reason was for not drinking.
These friends were easy. Not all of them were.
Different people had different energy demands. Some people took more from me than others. Dad, for example, was low energy. I could spend days with him in his workshop and never feel like I needed a break. Jill and Jane were easy too. But Mom and Jeremiah and Jewel? They were high-energy people who could drain me in a matter of minutes. There was only so much of them I could handle.
Amy was the highest-energy of all. There was never silence. She had to fill every moment.
In the beginning, I liked it. I didn’t have to be charming or force conversation. She’d do it all, and I’d get to sit and listen and laugh at her stories, and she never needed me to contribute. Listening was my contribution. When we went to parties, she handled all the small talk with everyone and I got to just be there. It took pressure off me. My family loved her. It was easy. I think my reserved personality made her feel listened to and the center of attention, the way she liked. And it made me the opposite. She made me invisible, the way I liked.
But then one day I realized I knew everything about her and she knew nothing about me. Nothing. And I was lonely, even though I was with someone. So I finally brought it up to her and…well. Here we were.
Gibson nodded to Zander. “Did I see Benny come through today?”
“Yeah. Infected catheter.”
I sat up. “Briana told me about him,” I said, suddenly interested in participating in the conversation. “Autoimmune disease.”
“Man, shit luck for that kid. Zero to kidney failure in eighteen months.”
“Is his sister donating a kidney?” I asked.
Zander took a swallow of his bourbon. “Not a match. So far nobody is.”
Gibson shook his head. “Poor kid. Lost his job, girlfriend broke up with him.”
“That pissed me off,” Zander said, tipping his glass at Gibson.
“Why’d she break up with him?” I asked.
“Couldn’t handle it,” Gibson said. “No end in sight, didn’t want to wait it out.”
I shook my head. “How long does someone like that wait on the transplant list? It can’t be that long.”
Zander bobbed his head. “Depends. Can be anywhere from three to seven years. But he’s got a rare blood type—the rarest blood type, actually. Might be longer for him.”
I sat back in my seat. “Longer than seven years,” I breathed. “God, I can’t imagine.” No wonder his sister was so upset.
I hadn’t meant to be insensitive with my comment about dialysis. I’d meant it to be reassuring—because it was true. Dialysis would keep him alive. But the quality of his life would suffer in the meantime. Today had been a prime example of it.
Besides the health roller coaster, he’d be strapped to a dialysis machine for four hours a day every other day. He couldn’t have too much liquid, since his body couldn’t get rid of it. No soup or ice cream or watermelon. No drinks with friends. Not even a Coke. Nothing salty because he wouldn’t be able to handle the sodium, nothing fried. He couldn’t do the thing I was doing right now, eating random appetizers and thinking nothing of it.