Ten Summers Back to You

"I've had my fun. Let's end it here." I threw a wad of cash at Patrick and ended our relationship in front of the whole class, right after senior finals wrapped up.

As he boarded the train to a top school in Boston, I was flying out of state for a long course of chemo.

Years later, when treatment had cost me my hair and I was busy picking out a wig, the door to my hospital room opened. Patrick, in a white coat, locked eyes with me.

Chapter 1 When Patrick walked in, I was on the bed with my butt stuck up in the air. A liveshopping host's shrill voice blared from my phone: "Summer Mega Sale!

Go wild and hit that order button! Don't walk on by!" "Ms. Delaney, looking at wigs again?" The noisy semiprivate room went quiet in an instant. The nurse pointed at me. "Dr.

Merritt, this is the newly enrolled patient.

She's already signed the consent form." The instant Patrick looked over, I was bent over headdown, my neck twisted sideways, and my mind went completely blank. Ten years.

I'd thought we'd never cross paths again as long as we lived. Now he was suddenly my attending physician. And he'd barged in right in the middle of my gasrelief exercises.

Kill me now. I scrambled upright and straightened my crooked mask. I didn't dare make a peep. Even without meeting his eyes, I could feel his gaze land on me. Ice cold.

Not a trace of warmth. Nothing like the look he used to give me back when I got problems wrong—exasperated, but gentle. "Ms. Delaney, this is Dr.

Merritt, our chief hematology fellow. He'll be coordinating your treatment plan with the attending." My eyes darted away, and I gave a quick nod. I didn't make a single sound.

The intern beside him, holding the chart, dutifully began reciting my history. "Josie Delaney, female, twentyeight.

Ten years ago a routine physical found swollen lymph nodes in the neck. Initial diagnosis was nonHodgkin lymphoma. Further pathology showed—" "You can skip the rest." "Huh?

You know this patient?" My heart leapt into my throat. I pretended to be very busy fiddling with my phone.

All I could feel was Patrick's gaze resting on my goofy little hat with the sheep horns. After a long pause, he said flatly, "No. It's just an unusual case.

I reviewed it ahead of time." My phone jumped to the shopping app's checkout page on its own. The payment countdown started. The seconds ticked by.

My mind wandered, and for a long time I didn't tap the button. The intern conscientiously finished presenting the treatment plan.

Patrick heard him out and spoke without any particular emotion. "Fine. Continue the current treatment. Recheck tomorrow." Then he moved on to the other patient in the room.

Rounds took twenty minutes. Right up until he left, he never looked at me again. I moved my stiff neck and realized my back was drenched in sweat.

With all that distraction, the wig I'd had my eye on had long since sold out. Ugh. Just my luck. The one saving grace, though, was that Patrick had long since forgotten me.

Even when the intern read out my name, he hadn't reacted at all. When Patrick and I first met, we didn't get along. My family had a bit of money, and I leaned on that to run wild.

My grades were dead last. To push me to study, our teacher assigned Patrick to sit next to me. At first, Patrick couldn't be bothered with me.

Every day he just worked through that set of practice tests of his, over and over. He had brains, a good personality, and good looks. His only flaw was that he was poor.

Chapter 2 I was the opposite. No brains, bad personality. Sitting next to Patrick, I looked like a brainless rich airhead. Luckily, I was good with people.

While every girl in school was giving him flowers and love letters, I bought him SAT prep books. Every practice set he owned, I'd bought. In less than a semester, I'd won him over.

The day I nervously kissed Patrick happened to be his birthday. His white shirt was rumpled, his lips smudged with my lipstick.

He lowered his eyes. "What does this mean?" It was my first time kissing a guy, and my brain crashed too. I stammered, "Yyou still don't get it?

Be my boyfriend." The tips of Patrick's ears went a little red. He said softly, "Okay." Those days were so good.

I'd never liked studying, but once I got to class, I'd sit obediently next to Patrick while he tutored me. In one year, my SAT score went up more than a hundred points.

By my count, I could get into a school in Boston. No longdistance relationship with Patrick.

If only a physical hadn't later turned up something wrong with me… "Hurrgh—" The sound of my retching echoed through the hospital room.

I clung to the toilet, vision going black, drenched in cold sweat. My best friend patted my back. "This can't go on.

You're reacting this badly—I'm going to get a doctor." I grabbed her hand. "Don't.

I'm used to it." Back then I'd gotten through twentyseven rounds of chemo out of state on my own, hadn't I? I'd held on for ten years, and then it came back.

Who knew how much longer I'd have to suffer. If I called a doctor every time, I'd probably get on their nerves. My best friend wouldn't let it go. "Isn't Patrick on your care team?

I'll go find him. He'll know what to do." I threw my arms around her leg. "Girl, please, I'm begging you, give it a rest. You should be grateful he didn't recognize me.

If he did, he'd prescribe me a hundred rounds of chemo." "Who said anything about a hundred rounds of chemo?" A cool voice came from behind me. My whole body went rigid.

I didn't even dare turn my head. My best friend let out a long breath. "Dr. Merritt, Josie's not feeling well—" "It's a normal reaction to chemo.

If she can't handle it…" Whatever Patrick said to her after that, I didn't hear. Because the only thing in my head was: He didn't hear what I just said, did he?

That evening, the nurse came to give me an antinausea shot. There was a hint of probing in what she said. "Do you know Dr. Merritt?" I flopped back on the bed, dead inside. "No.

Why do you ask?" "Dr. Merritt never handles this kind of thing.

This time he made a point of going to the office, talking to your resident, and ordering the antinausea shot." I looked at myself in the mirror— Much thinner, my color poor from everything the illness had put me through.

Compared to ten years ago, I was a whole different person. No way… No matter how good Patrick's memory was— Yes. His memory was excellent.

What if he'd been holding a grudge this whole time? My full name, "Josie Delaney," was written plain as day on the whiteboard at the head of my bed.

What made me think he wouldn't recognize me? My best friend chimed in. "Your Dr. Merritt is only twentyeight, right? A chief fellow that young?" "Ooh, you know a lot! Dr.

Merritt did a sixyear BS/MD program, so he had his MD at twentyfour, and he flew through residency after that. He's one of the youngest chief fellows this hospital has ever had.

A résumé like his is one in a million.

Ordinary people can't compare." Chapter 3 Seeing that my best friend was interested in Patrick, the nurse laughed. "You want to go after our Dr. Merritt? Save yourself the trouble.

He's already got someone he likes." My best friend winked at me. Then we heard the nurse say, "The hospital president's daughter. She got her PhD overseas.

They could be getting married any day now." My best friend's smile froze on her lips. I tugged at my baggy hospital gown and suddenly took a deep interest in a loose thread on it.

After the nurse left, my best friend couldn't hold it in. "Josie, I'm sorry…" "Oh, come on.

What's there to be sorry about?" "I'm twentyeight now, not eighteen." That sweet dream about some cool, untouchable heartthrob falling for me—I'd stopped having it ten years ago.

After that day, I didn't see Patrick again. Even though I didn't see him, I always caught bits and pieces from other people's conversations.

If he wasn't away at an academic conference, he was off doing research at the lab. He managed to come by for rounds once a week and weigh in on the medication plans.

Between rounds of chemo, patients could be discharged to go home. So right up until I was discharged, I never saw Patrick again.

On the way home, I got a call from our high school class president. "Josie Delaney! Are you still in Boston?

How's treatment going?" The other end of the line was crowded and noisy, full of life. The class secretary's voice cut in: "Why didn't you tell anybody you were sick?

If the class president hadn't brought it up, we'd never have known." I'd been fairly popular in high school, and over the years I'd stayed in touch with the class president and the others now and then.

I gave a wry laugh. "I didn't want to bother everyone." "Don't say that. Tell you what—where are you living?

We'll come see you tomorrow." I couldn't refuse their kindness, so I gave them my address. Over the years, my family had spent a lot of money on my treatment.

Thanks to my best friend's help, I'd found a reasonably cheap place in Boston and rented it. Ground floor, with a yard on the south side.

If I were healthy, I could grow some flowers and plants, maybe even get a dog. Most of our high school classmates had stayed in our hometown.

The rest were scattered across the country. So not many came this time. Just five or six.

Everyone hauled in bag after bag of groceries. "We were going to do hot pot, but it's so hot out. Let's just stirfry a few dishes." I was wearing a thick knit beanie.

I smiled. "It's fine, we've got AC. Who cares? I want hot pot too." Everyone crowded noisily into the kitchen. The place came alive all at once.

It almost felt like we'd just graduated.

As he trimmed vegetables, the class president asked me, "Have you gotten in touch with Patrick?" I froze for a second. "What?" "Tsk, don't you know he's an expert in blood disorders?

He specializes in lymphoma. Why not ask him?" "Oh, I—" I really didn't want to get too tangled up with Patrick. And then the doorbell rang.

The class president wiped his hands on his apron and got up to answer the door. Right after that, I heard my classmates break into a lively shout. "Patrick Merritt!

You finally made it!" "Well, well, if it isn't the Professor. Long time no see." "Come in, sit.

Josie wants hot pot—you're the expert, so tell us, can she have it or not?" I stood rooted to the spot like an idiot.

My unmasked face felt suddenly exposed to scorching sunlight, burning all over. I'd never imagined they would actually get hold of Patrick.

Or that I'd come facetoface with him without having even washed my face or put on a mask.

Chapter 4 Patrick looked at me calmly and said evenly, "Have the plain broth." "Okay, okay, whatever the Professor says! No spicy broth!" Everyone got busy again.

Patrick took the slippers the class president handed him and changed into them. Then he passed a bag of fruit to a classmate in the kitchen.

The class president took it upon himself to smooth things over. "Come on, whatever happened, it's all in the past." "Let bygones be bygones.

Patrick, be the bigger man—don't hold it against Josie." "Now hurry up and help with the veggies." A colander full of green beans was shoved into Patrick's arms.

He was pushed onto the sofa across from me. Just like that, it was only the two of us left in the living room. The AC unit in the corner rattled and clanked.

I avoided his eyes and hurriedly fished the mask out of my back pocket, about to put it on.

With a crisp snap, Patrick broke the end off a green bean and said coolly: "You've already been recognized.

Is there any point in covering up?" The mood in the living room was a little awkward. No. To be precise, I was the only one who felt awkward.

I thought it over for a moment, then sheepishly pulled my hand back, a little deflated. "I thought you didn't recognize me, so I didn't say hi at the hospital the other day." "Not necessary." "What?" "We're not close.

No need to say hi." Patrick kept his head down, deftly snapping green beans, with no intention whatsoever of chatting with me.

I nodded silently and, stiff and clumsy as a stranger, nudged a glass of water toward him. "You… have some water." "I'm not thirsty, thanks." So cold.

He'd turned me down, and I couldn't keep throwing myself at someone giving me the cold shoulder, so I just sat there.

I racked my brain, trying to remember whether I'd done anything embarrassing while I was in the hospital.

The class president popped out of the kitchen. "Josie, we're out of paper towels. Grab me a roll?" "Oh, sure." I hurried over and dug through the bottom of the cabinet.

The landlord's old furniture had some years on it. Pull out one drawer, and the whole cabinet shook like an earthquake.

The picture frame propped facedown against the wall on top was the first to give. It let out a few low, hoarse groans, then tipped forward. By the time I reacted, it was too late.

All I could do was crouch on the floor like a scared little rabbit, arms over my head. And wait for the frame to come crashing down. The next second, my view went dark.

Patrick had caught the falling frame. With the light behind him, I couldn't make out his expression.

I could only sense a chill coming off him, like he wasn't too happy. "Thanks." Patrick ignored me.

Only when I crawled out from under the frame did I see what he was looking at— A photo I'd secretly taken of Patrick asleep, back then