“Uh-huh. I figured you weren’t calling to pretend to be interested in my job again.”

I roll my eyes, and it’s just as satisfying as if he were able to see it. “I’m going to get pizza with some of the other residents. It’s some new place on Mulberry. Mom and Dad’s is fifteen minutes out of the way…”

He sighs. “The cat?”

“Mom said she left detailed instructions on the fridge.”

“Okay. I’ll head over there now.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “Have fun. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Noah. Seriously. Between this and moving, you’re making a promising run for Brother of the Year.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

It’s a ten-minute drive to the pizza place. I luck out with a street parking spot and head inside. The air is saturated with the scent of roasted garlic, oregano, and tomato sauce. Most of the other residents have already arrived. I’m not the only one still in scrubs, which makes the group easy to spot. Across all the specialties, Charleston General’s residency program has a couple hundred doctors. About a quarter are first-years, more often referred to as interns. All the faces at the table are familiar, but the only person here I’ve exchanged more than a few words with is Rose, since we share the same chief resident and attending.

“Evie!” Rose celebrates my arrival as soon as I start toward the table.

I take a seat between her and Ben Harland, one of the neuro interns. He’s cute, with blond hair and brown eyes. He’s nice too, immediately asking about how my shift was. It’s perfectly reasonable to talk about work—it’s what we have in common. But that was one of the things that bugged me about my relationship with Logan—sometimes our choice of career felt like all we had in common. I shove thoughts of my ex away as I answer his question. At least I don’t have to worry about Ben’s eyes glazing over as I talk about the coronary angiography I got to watch earlier. I’m only a week into the three-year internal medicine residency I have to complete before I’ll be able to sub-specialize and start a cardiology fellowship. But I’ll grasp every opportunity I can get until then.

Stephanie Williams is on Ben’s other side. She’s petite, with a blonde bob and tortoiseshell glasses. Her locker is next to mine, so we make small talk most mornings. Across from me is Chris Aarons. He’s the class clown with unexpected depth type. A jokester most of the time, but I saw him retain complete composure when he had to do an emergency intubation in the ER last week. He’s earned a reputation for more than his sense of humor too. Tuesday’s lunch was spent gossiping about his relationship status.