2. April

CHAPTER TWO

april

"Who wants a margarita?" Callie's voice trumps the loud playlist she has on. She put together a bunch of music that mentions London in its lyrics and right now, Fergie is telling us her London Bridge wants to go down. It's the clean version, for Preston's daughter's sake, but I still don't think it's clean enough for a five-year-old.

"It's ten in the morning, Calista!" Preston's stern voice reprimands her from the living room. She's in my kitchen, fixing our favorite cocktail as a parting gift and they scream at each other as if this isn't a 480 square feet apartment.

"It's three in the afternoon in London, Dr. Preston. Get into the mood." I laugh at their exchange and soak in their bickering, knowing I'll miss the heck out of it. I wheel another suitcase out of my bedroom and join them at the campsite that my living room has turned into. Boxes everywhere, furniture covered in plastic sheets.

Preston's wife, Blake, sits on my couch, one of the few pieces of furniture left uncovered. She shifts in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position for her and that seven-month belly of hers to no avail. Poor thing looks miserable.

Callie offers her a drink and Preston grits his teeth, waving with both hands at his wife's unmistakable pregnant bump. "She's pregnant!"

"Oh. Right."

A stranger might have fallen for her airhead act, but I have over five years of Callie's drama school under my belt. There's also her diagnosed inability to resist a chance of messing with Preston. It's a condition she suffers from. And a talent.

She pulls the drink away but one glance at Blake's face and she's extending her arm again. "You sure? You look like you could use it."

Blake smiles, and that seems to instantly unclench Preston's jaw. She whispers Callie a thank you and pulls Preston to sit next to her. He kisses his wife, asks if there's anything he can do to make her feel better and pulls her feet up for a massage. It's like watching a Hallmark movie.

"What about you, Lily?" Oh, crap. What was that? Ten seconds? Yeap, that's all the rest Preston's going to have. Lily's pigtails pop from behind the boxes she made a fort with and she raises her arms to reach Callie's mini margarita. She couldn't look more excited.

"Goodness sake, Calista. She's five!" He jumps from the couch and hurries to his daughter's rescue, snatching the shot glass from her greedy fingers before she can take a sip. The devastation in her eyes makes me stifle a laugh out of respect for her loss.

"Relax, dude. It's a virgin." Callie rolls her eyes and huffs as if it's preposterous to expect anything different from her. I know them both well enough not to judge either party. "I made her some lemonade and put sugar on the rim." Preston smells the shot glass and his shoulders sag in relief. He still licks the rim for his own peace of mind, though.

"Daddy, what's a virgin?"

Nope, there will be no peace for this man today.

"Ask your mommy, sweetie. Daddy needs to help Auntie April finish packing." Preston drags me and Callie out of the room by the arms as we laugh at his sorry excuse to evade giving his daughter an answer. He shuts the door and rests his back on it. "I thought I'd have a few years before I had the sex talk with her." He squints his eyes at Calista. "Thank you for that."

Her words are coated with even more sarcasm than his and she punctuates it with a wink. "Anytime, boo."

Jett hangs his gray head, but not in defeat. I catch the smile he's trying to hide. Once he pushes himself off the door, he's all business again, bossing me around as if we're in scrubs. "Are you checked in? Did you check your baggage allowance like I asked?"

"Baggage allowance?" Callie chuckles and blows a raspberry. "She's flying first class. Getting paid an indecent amount of money to be Max Sinclair's live-in nanny."

I cough at her comment-slash-dig and lift two unimpressed eyebrows at her.

Raising her shoulders and putting her hands up, she corrects herself for my ego's benefit. "Private physician, sorry." She's not sorry and I'm not offended. She's right, and she's actually paraphrasing me. I called myself that first.

Callie turns back to Preston and rants on about how different the next few months of my life are going to be. "You know she's going to live in the same building as him, right? Just imagine what kind of apartment the highest paid soccer player in Europe lives in."

She steps closer and removes an invisible lint that was never on his knitted jumper. "Well, commoner. Your pupil is about to be his neighbor." Callie skips her way back to me, her Chanel high heels clacking quickly and sharply, creating a beat in sync with her excitement. She's giggling and I can see each one of her pearly whites in that shiny, professionally whitened smile of hers.

"She's about to have a taste of the good life." Callie puts one arm around my shoulders, side hugging me. "God." She throws her head back, possibly addressing the man himself in a loud prayer. "I hope you're insufferable by the time you're back."

"Why?" Preston deadpans. "Did you always want a twin?"

He smirks and I laugh along with him when she fails to deliver a better comeback than a spaced out ha ha ha .

When we're not in scrubs, that's their dynamic, and I'm going to struggle with some serious withdrawal symptoms.

I flop onto my back with a sigh, landing on the bare mattress of my unrecognizable bed. A shrine to comfort and my sleep, it used to be adorned with a thick comforter, the coziest blanket ever and more pillows than a single woman could possibly need. Without them, even my lavender bedding spray scent is gone too.

"I can't go. How are you two going to survive without me as a referee?"

Of course it's a joke, even though I wish it wasn't. The time to boycott this so-called opportunity of a lifetime has passed. But my stomach making its way up my esophagus to jump out of my mouth tells me I'm less at peace with my decision than I thought.

Callie throws herself next to me, bouncing on my bed and facing me. "Aw, look at her, learning soccer lingo to mingle with her new coworkers. Cuuuute!" Her expression changes in an instant, as if she's foreseen a catastrophe. "If you make a new bestie, I'll cut the bitch. Be warned."

Preston sits at the edge of the bed, on my other side. He sees right through my nerves. "It's going to be worth your trouble, April. It's only a few months, but it could define the rest of your career. Our careers, to be fair. You're making sure Max doesn't mess up our work, and the Jett-Hadden technique"—he pokes me in the ribs, just like he does when humoring his daughter—"is as successful as we know it can be. You picked him to be our poster boy. Now go see it through."

Callie catches what he misses. They really are my Yin and Yang, always keeping me balanced. Making me whole. "Are you scared because it's London?"

I nod, unable to put it into words and verbalize my fears.

"Babe, there are over eight million people in that city. What are the odds you'll run into your dad? Use that glorified brain of yours and tell me." I would, but she doesn't give me the specific number of inhabitants and the time variant for me to work it out. "That man did enough damage to your past. Don't let him dictate your future. You'll be back in no time and he'll never know you were ever there."

The springs from the mattress bounce with Jett's restless leg. The mere mention of my progenitor is enough to set him on edge. The man is dead to me, while Jett wishes he could kill the man.

He not-so-subtly changes the subject. "Look at the time," he declares before he catapults himself off my bed in one swift move and starts barking the checklist he made for me. It's the same stern voice he uses to review the case before we step inside the OR. "It's not as hot in London. Did you pack a jacket in your cabin bag?" Muscle memory prompts us to stand and listen up. "Put a sweater in there too. Damn airplanes are always freezing." I'm not sure I did either, but I nod to placate the man now pacing my bedroom.

Pressing my lips together to contain a smile, it dawns on me how lucky I am that he took me under his wing when I was just a resident. I watch as he ticks off the list, an actual, literal list he has on his phone. "And an extra set of clothes in case your luggage gets lost or delayed?"

Callie mimics Preston's tone and fabricates a checklist of her own on the spot. "And did you pack lingerie in case you get laid?" She snorts, impressed and amused. "It rhymed!"

I turn my back to Preston and nod to her. In earnest this time.

Back in character, she coughs before impersonating Preston's throaty voice again. "Right. The essentials." That's how he always starts a patient's checkup. "April, did you pack your toys?"

"Toys? I want to see," a small voice interjects. Where the hell did Lily come from? We all turn back and watch as she stands, holding the door wide open. "Can I play with your toys, Auntie April?"

The answer comes loud and in unison. "No!"

Lily grunts and turns to leave, but walks straight into her mom's legs.

Uh-oh. Blake's face is too many shades of green and I gulp down my own nausea in solidarity. She's already used my last rolls of toilet paper and kitchen towel in her previous morning sickness episodes. For the sake of my deposit, she better keep this one in.

"Darling, I don't think I can make it to the airport." Preston rushes to her, checking her temp and pulling a pack of ginger candies from his back pocket. He pops one out and feeds it to her.

They make a great looking pair. Pres in his late forties with an early head of gray hair and matching closely trimmed beard, and Blake, the yoga teacher with perfect skin, straight blond hair down her waist, and blue eyes. A textbook Disney princess. They're both annoyingly fit. You can't even tell she's pregnant from behind.

"Do you want me to drive you home?" He has a hand behind her back, leading her to sit on my bed, but she stops him.

"No, don't be silly. Take your eldest to the airport." Blake winks at me and I stick my tongue out at her. Great display of maturity, April .

Preston worships the woman and I love Preston like a father, so yeah, I like her. Well, I like her enough. Kind of. But it's just because I can't read her. And I have this nagging feeling she's either jealous of me or jealous on behalf of her daughter. Which is crazy either way.

Perhaps it's just my suspicious self over-analyzing things. I try not to dwell too much on it, since—lucky me—I get to spend a lot of time with Pres and Lily, but not her.

He runs his hands up and down her arms. "Are you sure? April will understand."

"Absolutely," I pipe out, not wholeheartedly, to which Callie adds, scooping Lily into her arms, "Girls' road trip! Alright, kid. Are you in?"

Lily squeals her agreement as they spin together. Preston just scoffs, not dignifying Cal's comment with an answer.

Blake's phone pings, and she glances at the notification. "That's my Uber driver. He's downstairs." She kisses Pres on the cheek and takes a step back, patting him on the arm. "You go and take Lily with you. I just need some peace and quiet."

Ouch. I hope Lily is too young to catch on to that. Blake waves the rest of us goodbye from the door and goes.

Okaaaay, then.

Callie and I lock eyes, exchanging an entire conversation in less than a second. It's a knack we have. Yeah, it's shady. But it's out of love for Pres, too.

Preston started as my boss, became my mentor, and turned into my father figure. Calista is more than my best friend, she's my sister, and Lily is my niece. My goddaughter, actually. I've known her since she was born.

As for Callie, she sees Preston as a big brother and Lily as her little sister.

If asked, I'm sure Preston would say he sees Callie as a pain in the ass, proving her point.

They're like roughhousing twin toddlers. Their love language is bullying.

My mom died a long time ago. I don't have a father, and I'm an only child. So I feel pretty blessed to have found these crazy, loud, unapologetic, amazing people to call my family.

Preston takes my suitcases down in the elevator and into the trunk of his SUV. We can hear his parent-approved cursing as he comes back for his second trip and I just laugh it off. All and any judgment is water off a duck's back to me. How does one pack when you don't know whether you're staying for three or six months? How? Or, as much as no one else wants to admit it, maybe even more? In the dark, quiet, secret depths of my heart, sure, I hope I'm back home in no time. But as always, I run the worst possible scenarios ever and prepare for them.

And since I have no clue how to pack, I packed everything. There. Problem solved.

That fills four suitcases. The fifth and largest of the lot, just shy of exceeding the weight limit, is a gift from Callie.

My best friend's gifts are… unique. She didn't give me just a suitcase. She gave me a packed one. With a plastic security seal on it so I can only see what's in there once I arrive in London.

Callie herself is one of a kind. She's also rich. So damn rich, she spends her money like she's Elon Musk —carelessly, and many times, stupidly. As I drag the case to the door, I try one more time, knowing damn well my chances of success are next to none. What can I say? My curiosity trumps my pride. "Are you seriously not telling me what's inside?"

"And pass on the opportunity to watch you squirm?"

Damn her, she's right. I'm itching to know.

She ups the theatrics. "Will security stop you from boarding?" Her eyebrows go higher. "Will they flag something on the x-ray?" Her chin drops down with a gasp. "Will you be banned from all international flights for eternity?" She pulls out her phone and points the camera at me. "Here, let's practice a mean look for your mugshot."

I laugh at her silliness and pull her close for a brief moment. I'm not big on hugs, but she and Pres are the exceptions.

"Awww. If I knew a suitcase of designer clothes would get me a cuddle, I would've bought you one ages ago."

I push her away but hold her by the shoulders. "You. didn't."

"I had to run my mouth and ruin the moment, didn't I?" With arms wide open, Callie puckers her lips and nods her head back. "Come 'ere, sugar," she says with a rough voice, "Give me some love." She pretends to barf in her hands. "God, I even irked myself," she declares and I lose the fight with the smile that wants to break free.

Her eyes shine and double in size. "I made you a London starter pack." She sounds so freaking proud of herself, which makes me equal parts excited and scared.

"But seriously, nothing illegal, right?"

"Illegal? No, of course not. I'm not that crazy." Jury's still out on that. "It's just a harmless surprise." I'm willing to trust the not-illegal bit, but I wouldn't bet on the harmless. "I packed some crucial, basic stuff for you to brave the city and start this new phase on the right foot. In a sparkly pair of Jimmy Choos, obviously." She holds up a tag that reads ‘London Essentials'.

I'm torn between chastising or hugging my crazy-ass friend again when Preston comes back for his final haul.

"Wrap it up, you two. Time to leave." He looks inside the apartment for his daughter and shouts a military, "Lily, let's go!" before wheeling and parking the last suitcase at the elevator door to hold it open for us.

A blur of black hair jumps from behind the cardboard boxes for donation and zooms past us to her father. Yeap, the chief-of-ortho-voice works on her too. He leans over to kiss the top of her head and asks her to stay there. He checks if every window is locked and all lights are off, even though I told him I'd done that already. I pull the boxes that Lily was playing with into one big pile.

Callie figured I should just lock the apartment door with all my stuff inside and hand the keys back to the landlord. And to my complete shock and potential heart attack, Preston sided with her. That was a first.

It took me a long time to find this family, but I guess they don't realize that it took me just as long to find somewhere I could call home. I've done enough moving around, so no, I am not ready to give this place up, especially when, with just a month's salary—the new one, of course—I can afford to keep my apartment locked, waiting for me when I get back.

The move gave me the excuse for a good spring clean and I have a bunch of boxes with stuff going to charity. I got my cleaning lady coming in every two weeks to make sure dust doesn't build up and Callie will adopt my plants. Although I've had to forfeit my right to complain if—or when, her words, not mine—they eventually die of either thirst or drowning.

"April, are you coming?" Pres calls as I stand alone in the middle of my living room. I join him at the door and his familiar, comforting hand squeezes my shoulder before he leaves to give me some privacy.

I stare at my apartment, stripped bare of what made it mine; the noise, the mess, the people. My fingers tighten into a white-knuckled grip on the door handle to steady my trembling hand.

I turn the last light off and my mind pops the same question for the millionth time: "Are you really doing this, April?" The empty apartment ahead of me provides the answer my throat is too tight to profess right now.

Closing my eyes, I inhale the grounding and familiar smell of home and mouth a silent thank you to everything I got to live inside these walls. I close the door with the utmost care, afraid I'll shatter all the good memories.

I'm not ready for whatever comes next, but when has that ever stopped life before?