Page 8 of The One Where They Fall in Love

It’s not that I don’twantto be a doctor. It’s that I’mtired. I busted my ass for four years in undergrad at Stanford and then another four in med school. I was told I’d make a great doctor from the moment I could pronounce “chemistry,” and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the pressure from my family. I’m tired of the weight that my family puts on said expectation. And I’m tired of doing something that is supposed to be my passion, but isn’t something I reallylove. I’m tired of having no one to share the burden with.

Sophia always tells me that I like to avoid things. And it’s true. I thrive in avoidance. I butted heads with my father for my entire childhood before I finally had the opportunity to avoid him in the best way possible: moving to the literal opposite side of the country A six-hour flight separated me from my family in Long Island, and I finally feltfree.But it didn’t last for long. My father was furious when I didn’t match with a surgery residency. At that point, I didn’t think I would match at all, and it felt like a relief of sorts. So when I finally matched with one residency—at Mount Sinai in New York City, where my father’s Stanford roommate justhappensto be Chief of the Medical Staff—I found myself on a plane back to the state I escaped eight years ago.

Needless to say, I’ve been having second thoughts about moving back to New York for months. But after I just spent the last eight years of my life dedicated to becoming a doctor, what choice did I have?

None, according to my father.

So yeah, a support group would be nice. I don’t have any friends at my residency, and my messed-up schedule and near-constant exhaustion makes it pretty hard to meet people out in the world. The only person I know in New York is my friend Henry, who I’ve only seen a handful of times since we graduated college. The one pro to living in Sophia’s apartment is that it is close to Henry, who is a much-needed comfort right now. That, and the fact that I get a free membership to the gym he owns.

After a particularly brutal session with the punching bag that didn’t distract me from ruminating on my life choices as much as I’d hoped, Henry and I start to head back to my apartment for pizza and beer. My hand is halfway to the door when I see a wisp of blonde hair out of the corner of my eye, and I spin so that my back is blocking the door.

“What are you doing?” Henry asks, just stopping short of chest-bumping me. He’s shorter than me by a few inches, but I’m positive he would crush me in an arm wrestle—not that I would ever sign myself up for that. The guy’s arms are so wide, I’m not sure how he fits through most doorways.

I ignore him and block the door, peeking over my shoulder to see Elle walk in the other direction. She has on a puffy winter coat and black leggings so tight they should be illegal. Her hair is up in a ponytail, but it still reaches down to the middle of her back and swishes side-to-side with every step. She has a yoga mat strapped around her back like a bag, and she stuffs her hands in her pockets as she walks in the direction of our building. I get a weird feeling in my chest when I think about her walking home in the dark by herself, and I try to shake it off. We only live a block away, she’ll be fine.

“Sorry,” I say to Henry as he smacks my arm. “Thought I saw something.” Once I see that Elle has rounded the corner, I open the door and step out into the more than brisk night. You never forget how cold New York winters are, but it’s definitely a shock to the system after living in California for so long.

While Henry locks the door, I take a moment to look at the building. It’s a three-story walkup with an industrial exterior, easy to walk by and not think anything of, like most buildings in the city.

“What’s above you?” I ask, looking up at the makeshift sign under one of the small windows.

“There’s a yoga studio on the second floor—owner issupersnippy—and storage on the third,” Henry explains. He pulls his collar up to his ears and stuffs his nose into his jacket. “Let’s go, dude, it’s freezing out here.” I roll my eyes at him.

He starts walking, and I look back at the second floor of the building again, still in disbelief that now I’ll have two places where I might run into my pretty, yet questionably sane, new neighbor. I shake my head, wondering whether she’ll be waiting to give me a hard time after my next overnight shift.

I walk slow enough that there’s almost no chance we run into Elle on our way into the building. The entrance is actually a few steps down from the street, so it’s easy to see that the light in Elle’s basement apartment is on. I don’t want to act like a creep, but I can’t resist peeking over the line of trash cans to see into her window. It’s not that I’m interested in her or what she’s doing, it’s just… when you find a girl sleeping outside of your apartment door in themiddle of the night, it’s natural to be a bit curious about her. Right?

“So how are you liking the place?” Henry asks, looking around my newly clean apartment as we enter.

“It needs some work,” I mumble, handing Henry a beer. I try not to focus on the mess of my things flooding the apartment. I’m a minimalist, so even the small amount of stuff in this tiny space has given me a permanent twitch in my eye.

I have to admit, if I was any taller, I’m not sure I would fit in this apartment. It’s narrow, to say the least, especially with the treadmill. One could argue a treadmill has no place in such a small apartment, but when I made this arrangement with my sister, I told her the only way I would pay her rent for a year is if she got me a treadmill before leaving. Another stipulation should have been that I will not take care of the dog that she adopted three weeks before spontaneously moving to Italy, but I have to admit that the little guy is growing on me.

Thor has black eyes and a round snout, a wet black nose, and a black patch of fur over his right eye that makes him look like the dog fromThe Little Rascals. He’s mostly white, with spots of black skin showing through his thin fur like freckles. He’s cute, there’s no denying it. It’s not that I don’t like dogs, I’ve just never had one myself. I don’t know what to do with him.

And then there’s the name.

Knowing my sister, she chose the name assuming that he would grow, but this dog is never going to be taller than my shin at the rate he is going. His legs are short and stunted, and his head is small, with ears that stand up and flop over.He’s currently about ten pounds, and doesn’t seem to be getting any bigger.

So I’m going to be the six-three guy walking down the street with a tiny dog called Thor. Great.

Thor curls up in Henry’s lap as I fetch us drinks. At least I can open the fridge with ease now that the eggs are in a carton on the right, the fruit is washed and put in plastic containers, and the drinks are lined up in size order on the left. I adjust the carton of milk and move it behind the peanut butter as I grab two beers.

“The dog suits you,” Henry jokes, scratching behind Thor’s ears.

I scoff. “The girl who lives below me would disagree.”

“Not making nice with the neighbors?” Henry asks, raising his brows. He runs his other hand through the side of his short brown hair. In college, he had long, straight hair that went down to his shoulders. He rocked a man-bun for the whole four years, but he cut it before graduation and hasn’t gone back. That doesn’t stop me from whispering “Garnier” to him at random moments, though.

I rub my hand over my eyes, remembering the shit show that was my first encounter with my new neighbor. “This girl is unhinged. And trust me, I know crazy.” I wave my hand in front of my face. “But this girl… she was sleeping in the hallway outside of my door when I got home from work the other night.”

“What?” Henry says, putting his beer down. “That’s definitely not what I thought you were going to say.” I recount the whole thing to Henry, watching his face light up with glee at the insanity of it all. “I guess it’s kind of nice that she was looking out for the dog. Was she hot?”

“Gorgeous,” I reply immediately. “But I can already tell she’s going to be a gigantic pain in my ass.”

Henry chuckles, taking a long drink of his beer. After a beat, he says, “But are you happy? I mean… are you glad you’re here? Glad you… didthis?” he gestures to the apartment.

“I kind of didn’t have a choice,” I mutter, taking a sip from my bottle.