She nodded.
“What is it?” Dr. Medina asked, looking between the volunteer and me as we both seethed in silence.
The med student continued. “He said he wasn’t comfortable prescribing birth control and sent her on her way. She is devastated and says her family is barely scraping by with the kids they already have. She used up all her savings for that appointment.”
Hector stepped in and asked the student to go to her next patient; we would take care of this one.
“What’s wrong?” he asked me when she was gone.
“What do you mean?”
“You have murder in your eyes. The only other time I’ve seen that look was when Sara was hurt.”
“Dr. Tyler Smith’s philosophy on birth-control is to keep your legs crossed. He probably told her that too. I’m sure she feels guilty enough as it is without her doctor putting her down.”
“Maybe I should speak with her. I don’t want you to say something you will regret.”
“I’ve been a doctor a while now, Hector,” I said with irritation. “I’m perfectly capable of composing myself.”
“Then, you won’t mind if I join you. Just to observe.”
I couldn’t very well argue with my boss again, especially so soon after biting his head off about taking liberties with my trial data, so I let him shadow me during my consult with the patient.
After our introductions, I pulled out my prescription pad. I handed her the prescription and told her to take it to a pharmacy for it to be dispensed. She almost cried with gratitude, as though I was handing her a lifeline.
“Don’t see Dr. Smith anymore, okay?”
“I definitely won’t,” she said, clutching the piece of paper to her chest.
I grabbed the prescription pad again and started writing on it.
“This is my assistant’s phone number. Her name is Amanda. When you need a refill, call her. She will arrange a prescription to be sent to any pharmacy you want. No charge.”
“Really?” Her eyes glistened with tears as she clutched the prescription.
“Really. I do need you to keep up with your pap smears, though. You think you can get those on schedule with your husband’s insurance?”
“Yes. He would have no problem with that. It’s cancer prevention, right?”
“That’s right. You’ll want to get a copy of your results, send them to Amanda, and I will get you prescriptions for as long as you want them. Okay?”
She left, showering Hector and me with words of gratitude, even though he’d not said a word; he was likely waiting for me to say something disparaging about one of our doctors. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, I couldn’t do that. There was no law against what that physician had done.
When the last patient left, most of the med students had gone. The new student stayed behind, helping me tidy up the office space. I looked at the badge hanging off her short white coat.
“Dr. Stuart,” I said. “Good job today. Keep it up.” She must be the chief’s granddaughter. He’d mentioned she would be graduating from medical school soon.
She beamed at me and waved goodbye. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
“I like this place,” Hector said.
“Really?” I said, and my brow arched.
“Why does that surprise you?”
“Doesn’t seem like you would enjoy being around . . .” I trailed off, unsure of how to remain politically correct.
“Around what? Humble people? Poor people? Hardworking people?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Why do you think I’m some pretentious ass on my high horse? I get that I have a bit of an ego, but—”
“A bit?” I laughed, and my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when I realized the sound had escaped against my will.
He shook his head.
“Sure, Dr. Ramirez. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and rubbing shoulders with peasants offends me.” A tone of irritation laced his voice.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Just tired, I guess.”
“Apology accepted. Want to make it up to me?” His grin reappeared.
My eyebrows raised all the way to my hairline.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Carolina. I only meant I need help shopping.”
“Shopping?”
“Yeah, shopping. I hate shopping, and my mother is coming to visit next weekend. I need—”
“Furniture?”
“Exactly.”
“A table, chairs, linens, towels, pillows? Hell, a second set of dishes?”
He groaned. “I knew there was stuff I hadn’t thought of. I need her to be comfortable, and I have no clue about any of that. I’ve never had to pick stuff out for a house before.”
“All right. I’ll help you if only because I’ve never seen a pathetic side to you, and I’m rather amused.”
Hector was amazed when I told him we could order most of the things he needed online and have them delivered. I would still need to go over to his house again to take another look at the spaces and measure to make sure the furniture I selected would fit. He gave me a budget and told me to pick out everything.
“Thanks for agreeing to help,” he said as soon as I stepped foot in his home.
“No problem. Consider my assistance your house-warming gift.”
“I appreciate that.”
I set my laptop on the kitchen island and scrolled through a few online furniture stores. Hector wasn’t being much help and gave no indication as to his own personal taste.
“Look,” he said. “I really don’t care about any of this, but my Mom will. Just pick out what you like. I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“All right. Tell me a little bit about your Mom’s home in Mexico. Anything you remember that might give me an idea as to what she likes?”
“I really don’t know, Carolina. I don’t pay attention to that kind of stuff.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. This was going to be more difficult than I’d imagined.
“What about your old house before you moved here? What was that like?”
“My wife decorated it. If it made her happy, I was fine with it. But it wasn’t really my style—”
“Okay, see, you do have a style!” I said. I was not going to ask him why his wife wasn’t decorating this house, not even with the opening he offered. Don’t get personal, Carolina. It’s none of your business.
“No. I don’t have style, but I can rule out hers. It was very pristine, all white, clear crystal, that kind of thing. I was afraid to touch anything.”
“Okay, so practical, durable, and easy to clean. That’s a start.”
I couldn’t resist it any longer, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Why isn’t your wife helping you with this?” I clasped my hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay.” Hector’s smile was lopsided now. “I’ll tell you about her, but not today. Today is a happy day. Okay?”
“Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”
We turned our attention to our task and moved past a subject I could already tell was a sore one. I picked out a console cabinet for the living room, some vases to go on top, and a few framed landscape prints. When I showed them to him, he shrugged. “Do you like it?” he asked.
“I do,” I said and smiled wide. I’d kill for that kind of furniture.
“Then it’s perfect.”
We repeated the process for every room in his house, from his guest room and bathrooms to dining room and dinnerware. He had no opinion on anything, though he did, at one point, say he thought his mother would approve of my taste, and that fueled the rest of the shopping experience.
When we were done, I sat back, pleased with myself. His house was going to look amazing. I hoped his mother agreed when she arrived.
Without a task occupying our collective mental spaces, being alone in his home became awkward. Too intimate in the still, ec
hoey space.
“So, that’s everything. You’ll have to be here for deliveries. I sent appointments to your calendar.”
When I was ready to leave, Hector took my hand in his but kept it there for one second too long. “Thank you, Carolina,” he said. “You are really saving me here.”
Chapter 13
Humble Beginnings
Hector was surprised at how much we got done online without having to go to any stores. But I still promised to help him on Saturday morning, after the deliveries all came in, to arrange everything and stage any finishing touches. He didn’t have to pick his mom up until six in the evening, so I showed up at ten in the morning to get started.
He was right: he had no idea what to do with any of it. He had given the delivery men completely wrong instructions, making me question if he had been sleepy or drunk while everything was set up.
“Have you no concept of feng shui?” I asked him.
“That’s the manual on how to arrange furniture, right?”
My nose crinkled at his definition. “Sort of.”
“Well, what’s wrong?”
“Her bed is facing the door. We can’t have that. We need the headboard side of the bed up against the wall with windows, so the feet point toward the solid wall.”
Hector burst out laughing.
“Are you making fun of me, Dr. Medina?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand why it matters, but sure. Let’s move the bed. And please, outside of work, let’s use our given names.”
I nodded. “You didn’t wash the new sheets?”
“I was supposed to?”
“Oh. My. God,” I said, taking the sheets and asking for his washer and dryer, which, thankfully, he did possess.
Everything was nearly ready by two in the afternoon. We were both a mess, sweaty, disheveled, and out of breath from moving all the furniture.
“You owe me big time,” I said.
“I definitely do.”
Hector grabbed us two glasses of water, and we sat in the living room around the coffee table. I took the room in, pleased with what I had accomplished.
The results were cozy and understated but with a modern edge. The mahogany console now displaying art and fresh flowers was to die for. The coffee table was dressed with a candle, a tray with a stack of art books, and a sculptural design I thought Hector would like. Knowing little of his tastes, I’d done my best.
“So, what do you think?” I asked.
Hector shrugged. “Do you like it?”
“Not this again. It doesn’t matter if I like it. I want to know if you do.” I almost rolled my eyes at him.
He nodded. “If you like it, then I like it.”
Stubborn man.
“By the way,” Hector said, changing the subject. “I never got the chance to tell you—I thought what you did for your patient was really nice.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you called it the Mary?”
I almost spat out the water from my mouth. This entire time, I thought he hadn’t seen it. “You saw?”
Hector nodded. “Why do you call it that?”
“Um—Mary was kind of a legend. She was a patient during my first year of residency and Sara’s favorite patient. She was an older woman—in her fifties—and she had been a beautician. Whenever she was admitted, and on the days she had the energy, she would go around the oncology floor and give little mini-makeovers to the other patients. It might have been as simple as putting lotion on a patient’s hands and giving her a hand massage, all the way to full-blown makeovers.
“Eventually, she started adding music to her rounds. Mostly hip-hop and soul music, but usually the more upbeat variety. The staff really grew to love her.”
“I bet,” Hector said.
“Yeah. She could completely turn around the outlook of a patient having a rough day.”
“She make it?” Hector asked.
My face turned. “No,” I admitted. “Breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” Hector said.
“Me too. She was an amazing woman. It’s a tribute to her that we keep the tradition going. If we have a patient who is really down, we have a girl’s day. It’s silly but—”
“Not silly at all. You know as well as I do that patient outlook is a big factor in resilience and is as important as chemotherapy or radiation.”
“Yeah, I know. Thank you.”
“I’ve also been meaning to ask you—”
“What?”
“Why do you volunteer at the clinic?” he asked.
“Hector, if I offended you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to place doubts on your motives for volunteering.”
“Relax. That’s not why I was asking. It’s just . . . you seem overwhelmed by everything you take on.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose with joking exasperation. “Okay. Number one, never, and I mean never, tell a woman to relax. You will have the opposite outcome—”
“Noted.”
“And number two, don’t underestimate me. Besides, I only volunteer for a few shifts a month. I can’t imagine not doing it.”
“But why did you get into it in the first place?”
My gaze drifted away into space as my thoughts turned to many years back. I was starting to realize that as much as I hated talking about my mother, for some reason, Hector always got it out of me.
“My mom. She didn’t have insurance before she was diagnosed, so she ignored the symptoms for too long.”
“And if she’d had access to a free clinic, things might have been different,” Hector finished for me.
I nodded, unsure of what else to say, but the doorbell literally saved me. “You expecting someone?” I asked.
“No. It’s probably another shipment of something you ordered for the house.”
“Nope. I had you pay out the wazoo for expedited shipping so everything could be here before your mom arrives.”
“Thanks for that, by the way,” he said wryly.
“Anytime.” I grinned after him.
He shook his head as he opened the front door. “Mami!” he exclaimed.
I sprang up to my feet and walked over to them. Hector embraced a small woman, barely five-one in height. There was no way that tiny woman had birthed him. If she did, she could run the world one day.
She wore a pink jacket, and her hair was perfectly pinned back into a low bun. I smiled, realizing she wasn’t coloring the gray out of her hair. This was a woman I could look up to.
Mother and son froze for the entirety of a minute. Eventually, they broke contact, and he let her inside.
“Hello, Mrs. Medina,” I said. She looked at my outstretched hand and pushed it to the side. She caught me by surprise into a hug, and I couldn’t help but hug her back. It was hard not to become emotional. I hadn’t embraced a mother of any kind in a long time.
“Please,” she said in broken English, “call me Marisela.”
Once I could see her face, I realized she wore a little bit of makeup, and short, pearl, teardrop earrings. She gave off an air of elegance, but it was understated and subtle. I could only describe her in one word: Grace.
“We can switch to Spanish if you’d like,” I said in Spanish. After that, all our conversations were in Spanish. It intimidated me a bit. Obviously, she and Hector would speak the proper Spain-derived Spanish of the Mexican elite, while mine would be Mexican barrio Spanish—’hood Spanish. I was relieved when neither of them commented on my linguistic shortcomings in our native tongue.
“Who is this?” she asked Hector but didn’t move her mother’s gaze away from me.
“This is Carolina Ramirez. She is a doctor at the hospital I work at now.”
“Oh?” his mom asked as she studied me from shoes to face.
“Yes, Mrs.—I mean, Marisela. Your son is my boss. I helped him get the house ready for your arrival.”
She looked back and forth between us, making me shift my weight from one foot t
o the other.
“Mamá,” Hector whined. “I was going to pick you up from the airport.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking a car,” she said.
“And you lied to me about what time your flight was coming in.”
“Well, how else was I going to manage to get a car? You are too busy. I wasn’t going to bother you.” She playfully palmed his cheeks twice. “I’m starving,” she said. “Let’s go out to lunch.”
“I’ll be heading home,” I said. “Marisela, it was so nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your time in Kansas City.”
She turned to me and pinned me with a look of warning. “No. You must join us.”
“I can’t . . .” I said as I looked down and pulled on the hem of the ratty old workout t-shirt I had worn in preparation for sweating and heavy lifting.
“Oh, you both can go as you are. We aren’t going anywhere fancy.”
“That’s right,” Hector said. “Mom loves going to American chain cafés when she’s in the states.”
“I do,” she said. “Please join us.”
There was no way out of this lunch. I wasn’t supposed to meet his mother. My part of the deal was to help him get ready for her arrival, not to meet her. Still, I couldn’t stop grinning.
We drove separately so I could make my escape after lunch and give them time to catch up. When we got to the café, Hector ordered our food at the counter. Marisela and I settled in at a corner table with a view of the patio.
“So,” she said, “how long have you been working with my son?”
“A few months.”
“Is he a good boss?”
“He’s okay,” I said, surprising myself.
She laughed. “I value honesty.”
I smiled at her. Hector brought us our coffee after placing our order. “You two talking about me?” he asked.
“We wouldn’t dare,” his mom said.
“So,” I said. “Where in Mexico do you live?”
“Oaxaca,” she said.
I expected Hector to have grown up in Mexico City for some reason. “And do you like it there? I’ve never been,” I said.
“Oh, it’s beautiful. Beautiful people and beautiful food. Whenever you want, you have a home there,” she said.
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