First Do No Harm Page 3

  After uploading a few carefully selected photos, Pierce closed her laptop and waited.

  * * *

  “Call her up and invite her for dinner.” Rowan stood in the bedroom, hands on her hips, looking at Galen with eyes that said this wasn’t a suggestion.

  “Do I have to, Ro?”

  “Yes. You do.”

  Galen pouted defiantly, then took a couple of steps toward Rowan, securing her hands around Rowan’s wrists and gently moving them from her hips to Galen’s. “But why? Don’t you want a nice, romantic dinner in with just the two of us? I was going to make chicken piccata. It’s your favorite.”

  “Actually, your steak tips are still my favorite.” Rowan smiled, remembering the days when Galen couldn’t so much as boil macaroni. She’d fallen in love with Galen’s charm and rebellious spirit and painfully good looks. But over the last couple of years, she’d fallen in love with her all over again. This time, with the woman who wore a buffalo-plaid apron and danced around the kitchen whisking and sautéing, just to make Rowan something that would impress her. This time, with the woman who made sure the apartment was clean when Rowan was at work for long days on end. This time, with the woman who would do anything to see her happy for the rest of their lives.

  “You know, you eat far too much red meat.”

  “We all have our vices. Now, stop avoiding it, and call Pierce. She’s lonely! She’s only been here a few weeks, and she hardly knows anyone. I bet she’s sitting at home right now ordering takeout for the eighth time this week, watching garbage TV.” Rowan’s protest remained fierce. Galen was so strong headed and stubborn, it was often hard to be more outspoken than her. But Rowan had learned when necessary.

  “You mean like you were doing before you met me?” Galen smirked, and Rowan pushed her away gently.

  She had to change her tactics.

  “Baby. Please. For me?” Rowan pulled Galen in again, puffed her lips, and ran her fingers through the back of Galen’s short, soft hair. Galen closed her eyes and sighed dreamily. Sometimes, when defiance didn’t work, Rowan had to use the still-magic spell she had over Galen.

  “Okay. Fine. But only because she’s lonely. Not because you’re being all cute and whatever. I don’t want this to become a habit to get your way. It won’t work.”

  Rowan traced her index finger over Galen’s lower lip, sucking her own into her mouth and biting until it was red and surely inviting. After years with her, Rowan knew exactly how to turn Galen into a Jell-Oy mess. And it was entirely mutual. “Thank you. I’ll go to the store and pick up some extra chicken. You call your cousin.”

  “Oh, Dr. Duncan. You sure do know how to work me.”

  Rowan smiled. “Right back at you, Dr. Burgess. Right back at you.”

  * * *

  Pierce was surprised to receive a text from Galen that night asking her to come over. It sure as hell beat leftover Chinese and watching the latest crime documentary that was streaming. The minute she’d gotten home from her shift, she’d stripped off her scrubs, showered, and put on sweatpants. It was rare she had to wear anything else. For the first time in a while, she pulled on a pair of jeans, spritzed down her short, wild hair with a spray bottle, and headed out the door.

  Idling in front of her apartment building stood a shiny, deep-navy BMW, its halogen headlights blinding her as she crossed its path. The car was a far cry from the mid-2010s Toyotas and Hyundais parked on the street, and Pierce knew immediately it had to be Galen.

  “Nice ride,” she said, gliding across the pristine leather of the passenger seat.

  It was dark, but she was pretty sure she could see Galen beaming a little.

  “Thanks.”

  “Five series, x-drive? Very nice. What year?” Pierce watched Galen’s expression brighten further.

  “2019. Just bought it at the beginning of the model year. I’m kind of obsessed with her…”

  “I can see why. Thanks for picking me up. I haven’t had a chance to register my car in Boston yet, and my Georgia plates are no good here. Oh, and uh, thanks for having me over for dinner.” Pierce’s cheeks warmed, and she looked out the window, grateful for the guise of darkness.

  “No problem. We’re happy to have you. Figured you could use a little change from whatever takeout you’d been eating lately.”

  “You aren’t kidding. I must have gained seven pounds since I got here. So, what’s Rowan making?”

  Galen laughed. “And why do you assume Ro is the cook here?”

  Pierce flushed again. “I just…You’re so…”

  “Butch?” Galen reached over and whacked Pierce in the shoulder.

  “I was going to say busy, but yes, that too.” They both broke out in a fury of laughter that lasted the entire way back to Galen and Rowan’s apartment.

  “Hey, baby, we’re home.” Galen shut the door to the apartment behind her and turned the latch.

  Pierce couldn’t help but gawk at the stunning surroundings. Boston was notoriously ranked one of the most expensive cities in the country. Even someone on Pierce’s salary, which was nothing to scoff at, couldn’t afford more than a one-bedroom with zero amenities in a moderate part of town for under $1800 a month. Galen and Rowan’s apartment was enormous. The ceilings seemed to reach all the way into the sky, and the floors were a gorgeous hardwood. Stainless steel and granite spanned the entire kitchen that was immediately to the left of the entryway. Everything was meticulously decorated, with furniture that had most definitely not come from Craigslist (like most of Pierce’s) and Simon Pearce light fixtures. And, to complete the dream, the place sat on the 19th floor of one of the handful of high-rises in the Fenway neighborhood, their picture window in the living room overlooking Fenway Park.

  “Well. Holy fuck.” Pierce moved absently to the window and took in the scene below her. Although it was winter, and baseball season was long since over, the field lights from the park blazed like the world’s biggest Christmas tree. She could see all the way down the third-base line. The horizon expanded out toward what must be Charlestown or somewhere equally as far, and little dots of white lit up the night sky to a hazy gray.

  “Pretty great, huh?” Galen said.

  “Great? I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m a huge Sox fan, you know.” Pierce had left Massachusetts when she was just a kid, moving around several times to follow her father who was in the army reserves. But Boston always felt like home.

  “Is that right? So are we. The three of us will have to get to some games this spring.” Rowan had joined them by the window.

  “I’ve always wanted to live in a place like this. You know, right in the heart of things,” Pierce said.

  “You know, when I met Galen I lived in this slummy little place in Brighton. It was absolutely awful.” Rowan put her hand on Galen’s shoulder.

  “I can’t imagine trying to live in Boston on a resident’s salary,” Pierce added. “I can barely make ends meet with what I make, and I get paid well.”

  “You’ll get there, Pierce.” Rowan was reassuring her.

  “So, what you’re saying is ‘marry up’?” Pierce immediately regretted her words. She often had trouble thinking before speaking, and sometimes things came out entirely wrong. Fortunately, both Galen and Rowan erupted in laughter, and Pierce eventually joined in.

  “If anyone’s marrying up here, it’s me,” Galen said, leaning toward Rowan and kissing her quickly.

  “Is she always this smooth?” Pierce asked.

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “Always.”

  * * *

  Learning to cook had really come out of necessity for Galen. For her first four years of residency, she’d survived off saltine crackers, peanut butter and jelly, and espresso. Of course she hadn’t learned to fend for herself growing up. Her family had a chef and a housekeeper, Gwen, and even when she moved out on her own, Gwen would come to Galen’s apartment to do her laundry for her. The system had always worked well enough for her. Until she met Rowan. Rowan also tried t
o sustain herself on a diet consisting mostly of white carbohydrates and things that could be microwaved. Then, on the first Thanksgiving they’d spent together, Galen had attempted to cook an entire dinner for her to surprise Rowan at the hospital. The meal was a disaster. The turkey was charbroiled, and the vegetables were ice. Rowan was eternally grateful and charmed. But as they began to spend more and more time together, and Galen’s schedule graduated from that of a resident to an attending, she tried again. This time, she started gradually, with easy chicken recipes she’d found online, sprinkled with a few helpful tips from Gwen. Everything Galen made seemed to impress Rowan immensely, probably because Rowan, who once had to find capers at the grocery store and didn’t even know what they were, couldn’t make pancakes from a mix.

  Galen had really grown to love cooking for Rowan. On the evenings they were both home, she’d find some new recipe to make and skirt around the kitchen in her plaid apron Rowan had bought her for Christmas, listening to Taylor Swift as she sliced potatoes with the precision of the surgeon she was. Every so often, Rowan, who’d be hanging around the kitchen fiddling with this or that, or reading her latest book, would come up behind her and wrap her arms around her waist, and they’d sway for a minute to the music and smile. This was really the reason Galen liked cooking for Rowan.

  “I hope you like chicken piccata, Pierce,” Rowan said.

  “I like just about anything that doesn’t come in a take-out container or Tupperware.”

  They sat at the aptly sized dining-room table, and Galen brought out a glass dish with perfectly portioned chicken cutlets sauced in lemon and white wine and capers. As delicately as she did anything, Galen took each cutlet one by one out of the dish and gently placed it on the plates. After this, she took a sprig of parsley, pulling off each individual leaf and sprinkling it on the chicken.

  “What’s she doing?” Pierce leaned over and whispered to Rowan.

  “She’s gotten very into her plating lately,” Rowan said, smiling sweetly at Galen in a way that reminded Galen just how lucky she was to have found someone who found her quirks endearing.

  “Presentation is key,” Galen said. “There. Done.”

  “It looks amazing,” Pierce said. She picked up her fork and knife, but before she could cut into the food, Galen jumped.

  “Wait!”

  “What?” Pierce asked, surprised.

  “We have to get a picture first,” Rowan said.

  Galen didn’t need any further direction. She knew to go to the same spot in the corner of the kitchen she’d been going for the last year, where she’d hold the plates up proudly and wait for Rowan to snap a picture for her archives.

  “Sorry,” Galen said, heading back to the table to sit down. “You can eat now. Ro and I have been chronicling my cooking forever now, and it’s kind of become a thing. Initially, she was taking shots to make a book or an Instagram account or whatever, but now it’s just become this tradition. I’m kind of superstitious about it now.”

  Pierce laughed. “You surgeons are all a bunch of weirdos.”

  “Careful. I’m pretty sure it’s genetic.” Galen winked at her.

  She liked how comfortable Pierce seemed with them already. Galen had been the youngest of all her sisters, and it was nice to feel like she could take someone under her wing for once. Being the older and wiser one wasn’t something she was used to. But it felt good.

  Chapter Three

  Once, Pierce had thought dating would be fun. It didn’t take long for her to realize that assumption was, in fact, completely false. She’d been out with three or four different girls since venturing into the online world, and they’d all come with their own brand of disappointment. It wasn’t that they weren’t kind, or funny, or successful, or didn’t each have her own something to offer someone, but something was always missing. Sometimes it was obvious, other times, not. And Pierce was beginning to realize just how rare it was to find someone you hit it off with and also happened to want to sleep with, and how lucky she’d been to have found that combination several times in the past. And, maybe, how stupid she’d been to dismiss it.

  Now that her training period at the hospital was over, and her schedule had freed up, Pierce decided to throw herself into meeting new people—particularly new girls. As the perpetual serial monogamist, she was under the extreme misconception that it was easy to find love or, at the very least, lust. Over the last few weeks, she’d realized just how wrong she’d been.

  Tonight’s date was Amy. They’d met online, on a dating app, of course, and had chatted for several days over text. Amy seemed smart and well-read and worked as a writing professor at one of the local universities. From her profile, Pierce thought she was probably cute, with fiery red, curly hair and a sweet smile. As much as Pierce hated first dates, Amy had potential.

  And Pierce fucking hated first dates. Add this to the list of things Pierce was learning about herself over the months. As outgoing and extroverted as she appeared to the world, she despised meeting new people, especially in a high-pressure setting like a date. She feared the inevitable awkward silences and, of course, the always unanswered “will they like me?” Her first date with Katie had been so easy. They’d instantly connected. The conversation flowed, and she’d never enjoyed talking to a stranger so much. Around that same time, she’d had only one other date with someone else, which was mediocre at worst. Her relationship addiction had left her with the impression that it was easy to find people you wanted to sit with for five hours straight, and they, of course, always wanted to go home with you. As she was learning, this was not the case. Katie was the hard exception and in no way a rule. Pierce was finding that the disgustingly vast majority of first dates are lackluster, even painful. And as much as she hated to admit it, Pierce supposed she’d been lucky in the past.

  For the first three first dates Pierce had gone on since moving to Boston, she’d spent hours picking out what to wear and getting ready. Now, it was impressive if she showered before she went. She figured the odds were about a million to one that her date was going to amount to anything anyway, so why put in all the effort? Pierce realized she sounded jaded already, but she couldn’t help it. Besides, there was always that quiet part of her that said, “This could be it.” She would forever be the hopeless romantic.

  Fifteen minutes before she was supposed to arrive at the bar, Pierce changed her T-shirt, put on a denim jacket, spritzed a substantial amount of cologne on, and headed out the door. She had yet to decide whether it was best to be the one to get there first, forced to wait awkwardly, alone, until the other person got there, or to show up late and figure out how to approach them with some degree of confidence and coolness she seemed to lose on those initial encounters. Basically, both options were dreadful. This time, she was the first one there. She waited outside for Amy, not entirely certain who she was looking for. Pictures online have a tendency to mislead. Everyone wants to post their best version of themselves on their dating apps, so what you often find in real life is someone with minimal resemblance to the cyber version.

  A taller, much curvier version of the girl in Amy’s photos came around the corner. Pierce assumed her photos were probably from several years ago and found herself wondering, as she often did, how many times girls had been disappointed by the real-life version of her. Amy was fine looking, with nothing inherently unattractive about her. But immediately, Pierce felt what she feared most—nothing. No initial buzz of electricity, no “wow,” just “oh. Okay then.” This had been an ongoing theme for her since she and Katie broke up and, she assumed, was almost always something that was reciprocated on her dates.

  Amy was friendly and a good conversationalist. She chatted about feminism and sex-positivity and her writing, and asked all the right questions. Pierce enjoyed her company. They were both old souls in many ways. But no matter how much Pierce wanted there to be, they just had no spark.

  By the end of the first drink, Pierce was ready for the date to be over. She mov
ed to close the tab, using her usual line about having to work in the morning, even when she usually didn’t have to. They walked down to the corner wordlessly.

  “So, I’m going this way,” Pierce said awkwardly.

  “I’m going that way.”

  They chuckled and looked at their feet. Then, Pierce quickly hugged the much-taller girl, said “thanks,” and rushed off.

  Pierce usually didn’t end dates quite so abruptly. But she was feeling off and, for whatever reason, just wanted to be home in her sweatpants watching The Twilight Zone, eating a giant cheeseburger. She’d been thinking about Katie a lot that day. And that left her in no mood to pretend to be interested in someone she wasn’t. Besides, Amy hardly seemed upset about the finality of it all. Pierce was pretty certain it had been entirely mutual, as usual.

  * * *

  It was an exceptionally busy afternoon in the ER. Stretchers containing groaning patients lined the hallways, some holding emesis basins and others wrapped up dramatically in blankets. A psychotic man screamed continuously from around the corner that he was being held against his will and wanted to leave. Pierce smiled to herself as she sat at her computer, documenting her last three patients, all of whom had some version of the gastrointestinal illness spreading through the city. This place was disgusting and chaotic and strange. But Pierce couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather be doing.

  “You aren’t, by any chance, the one looking for a surgical consult, are you?” Pierce turned at the familiar voice. Rowan stood just behind her, her contagious, sunny smile temporarily lightening the thick air around them.

  “Jackson? With the strangulated hernia? That’s me.”

  “You know, I try to avoid the Pit as much as possible, but for mini-Galen, anything.” Rowan winked at her.

  “Oh, come on now. I’m nothing like Galen.” But Pierce secretly warmed at what was a tremendous compliment.