You Can't Buy Love: Life Lessons

1

D o you think it’s too soon to propose?

I stop scanning the crowd of graduates in their caps and gowns waiting for the ceremony to start and slowly turn toward Cal. When his blue eyes meet mine, I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He’s British, so he always has a small, polite smile on his stupidly handsome face.

Yes, I say bluntly. I shake my head slightly in annoyance and sigh.

He looks forward again, pensively staring at the stage for a moment, until he says, I meant, is it too soon for me to propose marriage to Sasha, just to be clear.

I snort. I knew exactly what you meant, I assure him. So I presume that was British for, ‘But why is it too soon, Jules?’

Cal presses his lips together, trying to suppress the smile that says that’s precisely what he wanted to say.

Well, now you mention it … he replies.

Where do I even begin? I murmur, more to myself than him. "For starters, Sasha is graduating with her master’s in nursing today. And I know you wouldn’t want to take the attention off that achievement. So today is out."

I didn’t mean —

I hold up a hand to stop him, which is immensely satisfying as it’s something I could never do while we’re at work together. He is still more or less one of my supervisors, after all.

Oh, I’m just getting started, I respond. "Now that she qualifies to become a nurse practitioner, she’s going to have to deal with hospital administration to get promoted. And I think we both know that’s not going to be a walk in the park, even without being engaged to one of the doctors in our unit."

His brows pull together, and he runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. I hadn’t thought about that, he allows.

I raise an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic lack of forethought. So I presume this idea just popped into your head then? I ask. Though you’ve only been dating, what, four months? Which, by the way, is pretty much why yes, it’s way too soon.

Cal blushes, and I have to chuckle. For being a doctor and such a firm presence at Rutherford Hospital since he started five months ago, you’d think he’d be a little smarter about keeping his relationship with one of his nurses under wraps, even if it’s not technically against the rules. Not asking his head nurse practitioner, while in a public place mind you, if he should propose.

You’re right, he agrees. It was a silly idea.

I lay a hand gently on his arm. Sasha is like family to me, I remind him. So really, all I care about is whether you really understand what proposing means. If you’re ready to stick with her. You know, till death do you part and all. Because if you hurt her, I don’t care if you’re pretty much one of my bosses, I will have to kill you.

He looks me seriously in the eye. She’s it, Jules. I promise.

My heart melts. I resist reassuring him that they’re clearly meant to be and that I know Sasha feels the same way. Because she hasn’t outright said it, but we’ve worked together and been close friends for the better part of a decade. I can just tell.

Then you have my blessing, I reply.

To do what?

I jump in surprise at the voice suddenly coming from my other side. I whirl to see Becca, grinning like she knows exactly how much she just scared the crap out of me.

About time you showed up, I chastise her, ignoring her question and gesturing to the stage, where an older man in black robes is standing at the podium and tapping the microphone. They’re just about to start.

Becca flips her mane of chocolate curls over her shoulder, hands on hips. All sass, as usual.

The party never starts without me, she says with a wink, sinking into the chair next to me. As she takes her seat, I notice for the first time her boyfriend is with her. Great, I’m literally surrounded by happy couples.

Not that I don’t like Vincent. Becca is as volatile as Sasha is steady. I couldn’t have two more different best friends, yet somehow they’ve both found men who suit them perfectly. Vincent is laid-back enough to deal with Becca’s outrageous personality, but still exudes a strength that she bows to. It’s actually fascinating to watch, because lord knows as her supervisor I could use a few tips on how to keep her in line.

As the ceremony begins and the speeches drone on, watching Cal watch for Sasha while Becca and Vincent make googly-eyes at each other makes me wonder if I’ll ever find someone who suits me perfectly. But it was all I could do to get time off on a Saturday to make it to a huge milestone in one of my closest friend’s lives. Anything besides that or someone dying, and there’s no way I’d be able to get away from work. That all of us somehow managed it is nothing short of a miracle. Anyway, with that kind of schedule, dating is pretty much off the table.

I shouldn’t complain. I do love my job, despite recent struggles with the way the hospital is run that have made it less enjoyable than it once was. Though understaffed hospitals and overworked medical professionals aren’t exactly uncommon. And this life was my choice.

That’s my mantra: This choice was mine. There are a lot of things you can’t control with any job. But I get to help people, get them out of pain, out of fear, and hopefully living better lives.

It’s why I asked to be in the cardiac unit over emergency, intensive care, or even maternity. I’ve worked all over the hospital, and cardiac is one of the few units where you often see the same patients regularly, get to know them, and get to really understand your impact on their lives.

Bringing myself back to the moment, I watch Sasha take the stage finally to accept her diploma. Her dark blond hair is pulled into a conservative ponytail, her grin wide and infectious as her eyes nervously scan the crowd, probably searching for Cal. It occurs to me that my closest friends, who started as just coworkers, have impacted my life just as much as we impact our patients’. How would I make it through each day without these strong, supportive women? Let’s be honest — I probably wouldn’t.

So, while I’m happy that they’re both coming into full lives of career success, love, and all that … well, I can’t help noticing that I’m standing still. Possibly even going backward as the jerks in charge of my job continue to test the limits of my patience and hamper my ability to give the best care possible. I can feel it changing me, tearing at the shreds of my sanity.

I shake myself, focusing back on the moment once more as the ceremony wraps up and we rise to find Sasha and shower her with the love and pride she deserves.

When I get back to my small, quiet apartment that night, I settle onto the still practically brand-new couch. Even though I’ve had it for years, I’m not exactly here enough to lounge around on it. I mostly stumble home after a workday that’s twelve hours at best, sometimes stretching to as many as sixteen, after which I bolt down dinner — assuming cheese and deli meat on crackers with half a bottle of wine counts as a meal — then fall asleep fully clothed on top of my bed with the TV on in the background.

It’s a glamorous life I lead. Thankfully, this evening I’m spared my usual crap dinner, as we’d all gone out after the ceremony for a real meal. But without the physical exertion I’d have had throughout the day at work, my relatively calm outing has left me wide awake. And with far too much time to think. A dangerous situation for a single thirty-four-year-old woman who is becoming increasingly unhappy with her career, her love life — or lack thereof — and … well, life in general. I haven’t even had time to admit that to myself until this moment.

I rise restlessly, stalking into the bathroom. A long, hot shower can fix just about anything. I turn on the tap and examine my face in the mirror as the water heats. My dark red hair is getting ridiculously long, trailing almost down to my backside. Which is saying something, given that I’m five-foot-ten. My naturally thin frame is leaning toward undernourished from long hours, hard work, and little food. I’ve never been one to remember to eat regularly, and it’s taking its toll. The dark circles under my eyes, despite my attempts at hiding them with makeup, pretty much underscore that I’m desperately in need of more than five or six hours of sleep a night, some downtime, and probably a whole lot of other crap that falls under self-care. As a medical professional, you’d think I’d take my own advice and look after my health. But I’ve always been better at helping others do that.

I turn my back on my reflection and get in the shower. The heat instantly soothes me, and I stand under the scalding stream until I physically can’t take it anymore.

Once I’m out and dried off, I don’t even dress, simply flopping down on the bed in my robe. Life finally catches up with me, and my mind goes blissfully blank as I drift to sleep.

"Sundays are for rest and fun, Jules. You don’t have to come in here every week on your only day off," Katie scolds me as I tidy the common area of my parents’ nursing home.

Don’t start, I warn her. You know I’d come in to see Mom and Dad anyway.

Katie’s big brown eyes give me a pitying look, and she doesn’t even have to say it. I know they don’t recognize me, but it doesn’t matter. They’re still my parents, and it comforts me to see them, to be part of their lives, even if it doesn’t change anything.

I avoid talking about it, continuing to fold blankets, arrange magazines, or whatever the hell else will keep my hands and mind busy.

You seem especially restless today, she remarks.

Is there anything you don’t notice? I turn to her and cross my arms over my chest.

She gives me a patient smile. We’ve been friends a long time, she reminds me. Are things at the hospital that bad? Or is it something else?

I watch my parents at the table in the corner while I consider how to answer her question. It still amazes me how, even though they don’t know each other, much less their own daughter, they still somehow always need to be in each other’s spheres. My heart aches at the thought of a love so deep that, on some level, it persists even through the ravages of their respective diseases.

You know the Rutherford Group, I murmur distractedly. In fact, Katie was a nurse at my hospital before going into elderly care. It’s how we met, all those years ago. Always focused on expansion. It’s just been an annoyance in the past as far as funding goes, but it’s changed things too much now. Taken too much from the hospital. I just don’t get why they don’t care more about that.

Maybe they don’t know? Katie suggests, continuing to count pills to go with the lunches we’ll serve shortly.

I look up and catch her eye. I know what you’re trying to say, and there’s no way in hell I’m going around my bosses to tell them. I’m already in enough trouble with MacDougall for speaking my mind at last quarter’s budget meeting as it is.

Suit yourself, she replies.

Damn Katie and her gentle nudges. She’s right, really. Someone needs to say something.

So what happens to Mom and Dad, I say, my voice thick with emotion as I gesture angrily at my parents, when I lose my job for fighting that battle? Who’s going to pay for their care?

Katie looks up evenly at me. Now, Jules, it’s not me you’re really mad at, is it?

I snort. Katie is almost like a mother to me, and it’s hard not to resent her honesty sometimes. Especially when I’m not ready to hear it, much less do something about it.

No, I’m not, I finally agree.

So who? Dr. MacDougall is the chief of cardiac. As self-important as he’s always been, he’s just a puppet of hospital administration. You know that, she chides.

I know, I admit. Unfortunately, he’s as far up the food chain as I’m allowed to go without endangering my job. But believe me, I’ve been tempted to drive straight to Warren Rutherford’s office and give him a piece of my mind.

Katie’s eyebrows jump. Surely, you realize that going directly to the president and CEO of the Rutherford Group is overkill. There must be someone between Malcolm MacDougall and Warren Rutherford who can do something.

I shrug. If I’m going to risk my ass, might as well go straight to the top. Besides, it’s his name on the fucking hospital. He should know what kind of reputation he really has among people who aren’t paid to kiss his ass.

She laughs. Except you are paid to kiss his ass, indirectly, as it were, she points out.

I shake my head. "Oh, Katie, you know me better than that. I grew up with nothing. Money means shit to me. There’s no amount of it you could pay me to kiss anyone’s ass, especially not Warren Rutherford."

Her aged lips pucker. You’re lucky everyone here but me is senile and won’t repeat that to anyone who matters. Be careful, okay? We can always figure out a way to take care of your parents, but I’d hate to see you tank your career.

It’s all talk, I assure her. You know I’m only blowing off steam. I’ll keep going, same as I always have. Taking it up the ass with a smile on my face.

Katie gives me a mischievous smile. You say that like taking it up the ass is —

I throw my hands over my ears. Gah! Don’t even go there, I say, squeezing my eyes shut. My fault, I should know better than to say things like that around you.

Mother figure or not, Katie has always been way too comfortable talking about sex. Had she worked at Rutherford at the same time as Becca, I imagine they’d have been thick as thieves. And I’m no shrinking violet but, in my opinion, some things should stay private.

I peel open an eye to see that Katie has walked off, chuckling to herself. I shake my head and walk to the kitchen to start on lunch. As much as I hate talking about Rutherford, budgets, and their fucked-up politics, I’m just glad Katie didn’t get on me about dating again. I’ve got enough crap to worry about without the pressure to add a man to the mix. Lord knows they usually cause more problems than they solve.

2

D amn, Sash, back at work at six a.m. on a Monday morning already. Isn’t there, like, a honeymoon for graduates? Becca asks, tapping her