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Enjoy a preview of This Is Now which will be released on September 25, 2021!

CHAPTER ONE

Margarita strode through the hospital’s cool halls, ignoring the cell phone buzzing in her white lab coat pocket. She had just finished her morning clinical rotations and needed to clear her mind for a moment, so she walked and inhaled what to her were the calming scents of antiseptic and the occasional whiff of flowers that relatives brought their loved ones.

She had been paired with the most amazing attending physician and had spent the morning getting career advice and working by her side seeing patients. This third year of medical school was different from the previous two. The last six months she’d been getting a real flavor of what it was going to be like to be a doctor, and it was like a jolt of caffeine right into her veins. She was tired a lot, but also excited. Helping people feel better when they were sick and vulnerable, knowing that in a small way she was responsible for their recovery, kept her going through the most exhausting of days.

As she exited the internal medicine building, leaving behind the murmur of voices, beeps, and intercom announcements echoing off the walls, she checked the time on her phone, confirming it was way past her lunch time. She also noticed that Jonathan, a guy she had dated for a few months, had called three times, and her sister, Jessica had called about a half dozen times. She sighed and paused in a small courtyard, designed to give patients some quiet time alone to rest, reflect, and cry.

She wasn’t going to call Jonathan back. That guy just wasn’t getting the hint that it was over. He sent her flowers, and she wasn’t a flowers kind of woman. He sent her long emails with declarations of love and poetry. He left her depressing voicemails about wanting and missing her.  But lately, the messages had changed and felt almost threatening. She didn’t have the time or energy for that nonsense. Hopefully, if she kept ignoring him, he’d go away.

Now, the calls from her sister were different. A cement bench nestled between a two-tier, gently cascading fountain and a potted plant of mixed flowers beckoned for her to sit and call Jessica back. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the bench—it was guilt. Jessica was dealing with their mother’s terminal cancer diagnosis all alone. She had Grandma and Dad and . . . well, others too, but they were there to support Mom, not Jessica. Margarita had let her little sister deal with the shock of Mom’s diagnosis on her own while Margarita focused on school and tried not to think about how this was the third time her mother had cancer, and this time there was no saving her.

She played Jessica’s most recent message. “I don’t know why you’re not answering,” Jessica’s voice broke through her tears. “I know you’re busy, Margarita, but . . . (she cried) the doctor gave Mom three to six months this morning.” Jessica sounded like she was trying, and failing, to control her voice. “Just call me. Or come home. Come home. This is it, Margarita.”

Margarita took a seat on the bench after all and leaned her forearms on her legs, bending forward, hoping she didn’t pass out. This is it. No. Impossible. Her mother couldn’t die. Not her mother. She took deep breaths to get control of her emotions. Her hands shook. Her whole body shook as she tried to hold in the pain. And finally, as tears clouded her vision, she did something she hadn’t done in years—she covered her face and sobbed. Every unkind word she had ever said to her mother, every stupid disagreement, every holiday she’d missed suddenly felt like major betrayals. Like those were the cancer cells killing her mother.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat outside crying. But when her tears dried, she continued to sit and stare straight ahead, not seeing the patches of grass and lovely garden planted with fragrant flowers designed to remind visitors of life. Somewhere in her consciousness she knew her phone had buzzed again. She was supposed to do something, but she wasn’t sure what. She stood and passed through the glass door, out of the courtyard, back into the sterile hospital. She needed to get out. Go home.

“Margarita!” someone called out, stopping her.

She turned to see one of the other med students coming her way.

“Where have you been? You missed the beginning of a rotation. Dr Zhang wants to see you.”

“Oh, shit.” What was she thinking? She couldn’t leave. “Is she in her office?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay, thanks.” She hurried to the third floor, passing a blond little girl who looked to be around three or four years old. The child cried and seemed lost, standing in place, but circling as if looking for someone. Margarita cursed under her breath and stopped. “Hey, hi there. Are you lost?” She crouched down to the child’s level.

The girl continued to cry, her little face red and streaked with tears. Margarita held out a hand. “Let me help you find your mommy.”

A harried older man rushed to their side and picked up the little girl. “Wendy, oh my God! I’m so sorry. Grandpa’s here.” He glanced at Margarita. “The doctor just told us that my daughter . . . didn’t make it.” He squeezed the little girl harder. “My wife broke down. We all . . . I didn’t realize Wendy had walked away.”

“I’m so sorry,” Margarita replied. What else could she say?

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for watching her.”

Wendy dropped her head on her grandfather’s shoulder, looking content, no longer scared. And the man walked away, probably back to his devastated wife. Some aspects of being a doctor sucked.

By the time Margarita reached the third floor, Dr. Zhang was exiting a patient’s room. She glanced at Margarita and nodded toward the next patient room. A couple of other third years were with her as well.

She had read up on the patient chart earlier when she arrived at the hospital that morning, so she was able to follow the digestive issue this patient was having. Dr. Zhang suggested surgery, and even though the patient was not thrilled to hear that, he agreed.

“Margarita,” Dr. Zhang said after a short explanation to the group and an order to fill out the appropriate information on the computer system. “I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

Margarita stayed behind.

“I’m sure you have a good reason for missing our first patient appointment of the afternoon, but I don’t want to hear it. You know the importance of punctuality and being considerate of my time, and the patient’s time.”

“Yes, I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to get your work done then.”

Margarita rented an apartment with another med student less than ten minutes away from the hospital. She and her roommate, Rachel, had such different hours they almost never saw each other. Tonight was no exception.

Margarita pulled a bottle of Modelo out of the fridge and collapsed on the couch. She downed half a bottle without a break. Damn, that felt good. She drew in a deep breath and burped, then finished the rest a little slower. Her brain and body were exhausted, and the cold beer tasted so good. She’d missed lunch and was too tired to cook dinner.

She needed to call Jessica back, but what could she say? She couldn’t just leave medical school as she was wrapping up the third year. And she didn’t fucking want to. She sighed again and went back to the fridge to get another beer. She sat down in the living room and sipped this one. Thinking.

She pulled her cell phone out of her bag and called up Jessica’s name, staring at it.

Hitting the green call button, she prepared herself for the conversation that she dreaded. When Jessica answered, Margarita said, “Got your message. You okay?”

“Definitely not okay. I feel like I can’t catch my breath. Hours and hours go by and all I can think of is that Mom is going to die and there’s nothing we can do about it. How can that be? Why won’t she get chemo? Why is she giving up? I don’t get why she doesn’t think she can do anything about this like she did last time?” The last time, five years ago, a hysterectomy had “cured” her cervical cancer because it had not spread to her other organs.

Margarita rubbed the cool bottle of beer on her forehead and closed her eyes as she listened to her sister. “Slow down. Take those breaths. There comes a time, in the progression of the disease, Jessy, when it becomes too strong, and you just can’t fight it.”

Jessica started to cry, and Margarita let her. She listened, knowing that sometimes patients’ families needed to cry because that was all they could do.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica said. “I hate this so much.”

“Me too.”

“You have to come home.”

Here we go. “I, ah…I don’t see how I can right now, Jessica.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . when she gets close. When, you know, at the end, I’ll be there, of course. I’m sure I can get a few weeks off. Or maybe between quarters—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She interrupted, cussing, and Jessica never cussed. “Margarita, is that what you want? To see our mother’s very last moments?”

“Of course, I don’t want to see that.”

“I mean is that all you want to see? You don’t want to spend time with her? You don’t want to—”

“Stop it. I want to spend time with her. I just don’t know how to do it. How to get away.”
            Jessica started crying again. “You know, since I was sixteen and you went off to college, Mom’s always made excuses about why it was okay that you didn’t call or visit often. You’re studying. You’re going to be a bigshot doctor, you’re—”

“Jessica.”

“You’re just so busy and she’s so proud, and Margarita’s allowed to miss birthdays and family events, and everything that’s important. She can bow out of our family entirely if being there is too inconvenient.” She took a shaky breath.

Margarita knew tears were streaming down her sister’s face. “Are you finished?”

“It’s not okay for you to miss this.”

Margarita’s eyes filled with tears. She took another sip of beer. “No, it’s not.” Margarita felt like the biggest ass in the world. A horrible sister. An even worse daughter. Her mother was more important than medical school. If she had to redo the year, she’d do it. Somehow. “Jessy, you’re right. What am I thinking? I’ll be there. I’ll get a ticket home in a day or two. I’ll handle this. I’ll be there to see Mom through this.”

Jessica breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh my God, thank you. Margarita, she will be so happy. I just don’t know what to do. How can I do this alone without you? What do I say? How do I make her feel comfortable or in less pain? I don’t mean to be so weak, but I’m completely lost. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not weak. Like you said, you’ve been there. I haven’t. But I’m on my way.”

She ended the call. Then sat there in silence drinking her beer. A blazing, electric rage shot through her, and she threw the bottle across the room. It shattered into a zillion pieces. Margarita dropped her head back and felt some of the anger ease. Only some. But she didn’t know how to make it go away completely.