Page 20 of Obeying

"It was self-defense."

"Against what? My attempt to return your ID badge that you left at the nurses' station?"

She freezes. "That's why you followed me?"

I reach into my coat pocket and slide her badge across the table. She stares at it, then at me, then she drops her face into her hands and groans.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah."

"You chased me down a dark street to give me my badge."

"I didn't chase. I walked briskly."

She lifts her face and she's completely red, and she's laughing again. This time, she doesn't try to hide it. It's a real laugh. Open and unguarded and a little bit embarrassed. I sit there watching her, and I don't say anything because I don't want to break it. This is the first time I've seen Kristen Portland laugh like she used to, and hearing it somehow makes me feel lighter.

The conversation loosens after that. She asks about my residency, how I ended up as department head so fast, and I give her the short version. Residency, fellowship, junior attending, a lot of late nights and a last name that comes with expectations.

"Was it worth it?" she asks.

I think about it. "You know what's funny? Every time I hit a milestone, whether residency, fellowship, the department head position, people weren't impressed. They just nodded like they expected it. Like I was checking boxes on a list someone else wrote." I turn my glass on the table. "After a while, it stopped feeling like an achievement. It just felt like I was meeting the bare minimum."

She doesn't tease me or fire back. She just looks at me and nods. She listens, she understands, and I realize I just told Kristen Portland something I've never said out loud to anyone. Just like that—over chips and guacamole at a Mexican restaurant after she pepper-sprayed me.

I clear my throat and try to change the topic. "So. How often do you pepper-spray people? Is this a regular thing for you, or am I special?"

"Ugh. It was an accident, okay? And you're the first one. I'm treating you to Mexican food. That should be enough."

"Hardly. If I go blind, my career is over. And that's on you."

"Oh, don't be dramatic. You won't go blind from pepper spray."

"I could have, with how you aimed it directly into my eyes. You're going to have to take me in." I pause. "Actually, remember that bet we made at graduation? This is it. I'll become a househusband."

"Oh my God, please don't remind me." She covers her face. "God, were you always this insufferable, or did you develop that in my absence?"

"Oh, I was always this insufferable. You just forgot."

We go back and forth like this for a while, and it's easy. We reminisce about med school: the professors we hated, the ones we liked, the attending who used to fall asleep during his own lectures and who nobody had the nerve to wake.

"Remember the simulation lab?" she says.

"Which time?"

"The time they kicked us out."

"You started that."

"I started that?" She puts her fork down. "We were doing the emergency laparotomy sim. I controlled the bleeding and ligated the vessel. Textbook. Clean. The professor asked the class if the management was appropriate, and everyone said yes. He was literally about to agree when you raised your annoying hand and said I should have obtained proximal control before ligating."

"Because you should have."

"My management was correct. The bleeding was controlled. The sim patient survived."

"Your management worked. Mine was better. There's a difference."

"No, there's not. Yours was just different. And you only suggested it because I called out your knot tension earlier in front of the whole group. Your square knots were slipping, and everyone could see it."