“Bun, stop,” Isla says.
Kacy sighs. She doesn’t like herself when she dumps on Rondo; the dude is Mister Rogers with a medical degree. “Marry Rondo and live the dream.” She meets Isla’s gaze in the bathroom mirror. “Only you and I will know that the dream is a lie.”
“Bun,” Isla says. When Kacy bends over the sink to splash water on her face, Isla runs her finger down Kacy’s spine. “I’m going to tell him.”
That night, Kacy wakes up from a dream certain that Little G is dead. She calls the unit, and Sunny, her night-shift counterpart, says, “Little G is a tiny warrior. He’s doing great.”
Kacy wipes away a few tears, then goes back to sleep.
Like most extreme preemies, Little G is in the hospital for weeks and weeks. Kacy wishes she could put together a time-lapse film showing Gideon gaining weight, Gideon’s eyes opening, Gideon’s hair growing in, Mama and Papa G changing his diaper, Mama G reading him The Runaway Bunny, Papa G singing him “If I Had a Million Dollars” by the Barenaked Ladies.
Isla and Rondo look at wedding venues in Napa; they like Auberge du Soleil for the rehearsal dinner, the Charles Krug Winery for the reception. They go to a cake tasting; they register at Sur La Table. Isla assures Kacy that the wedding date is still more than a year away—she has plenty of time to back out, and she will, she will! It’s not as though the invitations have gone out; it’s not like she’s bought a dress.
Gideon comes off the ventilator and starts taking feedings by mouth. Kacy finally allows herself to imagine his future: Little G on a pitcher’s mound, Little G picking up his date for prom, Little G graduating from Stanford, Little G developing a new source of sustainable energy or becoming a civil rights attorney. He will do something that brings people joy, hope, peace of mind—and Kacy will have been a small part of it.
Then, only eleven days before Gideon is scheduled to go home with Mama and Papa G, something happens in the middle of the night. It’s not his lungs; it’s his heart. It just… stops beating. He crashes, the peds cardiac team are called in, they can’t save him. When Kacy gets to work in the morning, she learns that Little G is gone.
Kacy has dealt with hundreds of losses, but this one is cataclysmic. She goes into the break room and cries. Traditionally, the nurses create a memory box for each baby they lose—a lock of hair, a swaddling blanket and cap, the baby’s ID bracelet. Kacy can’t bring herself to do it, so Sunny handles all of it. It’s not fair! Kacy thinks. He was doing so well; he was so close to being discharged.
Isla tells Kacy she’ll come over that evening, even though it’s a Wednesday. Kacy is grateful; she’s always been good at keeping work and home life separate, but she can’t bear to face her empty apartment. And childishly, she likes the idea of stealing Isla from Rondo for a night.
Isla arrives and orders fried chicken, shrimp and grits, and a big bag of beignets from Brenda’s, but when the food gets there, Kacy can’t make herself eat. She cries in Isla’s arms, and Isla shushes her, smooths her hair, and reminds her that she was one of the most important people in Gideon’s brief life, every bit as important as his parents. He survived so long, Isla says, because of you.
In a way he was lucky, Isla adds. He knew nothing but unconditional love.
The following week, Kacy is functioning but still tender. She takes one morning off to attend Little G’s service. Mama G tries to read The Runaway Bunny but gets through only the first page before breaking down. A young woman with a guitar sings “If I Had a Million Dollars.” The coffin is the size of a shoebox.
When Kacy returns to the hospital that afternoon, she spies Dr. Rondo in the lobby. No, she thinks and she casts her eyes to the floor, but a second later, he calls her name. They’ve met on numerous occasions; Rondo often comes to pick up Isla after work.
“Kacy at the Bat!” he says. Rondo is famous around the hospital for using nicknames. He calls his young patients Champ, Trouble, T-Swift. “I just wanted to say thank you for agreeing to be Isla’s maid of honor.”
Kacy blinks. Rondo’s black hair is damp and freshly combed, as though he’s just taken a shower. In the middle of the day? Kacy would like to tell Isla that Rondo might also be having an affair, but then she remembers Rondo often plays squash in the afternoons with Dr. Dunne.
“Oh…” Kacy says. Maid of honor? Kacy would most definitely be Isla’s maid of honor if Isla were getting married, which she claims she isn’t.
“She doesn’t have a lot of women friends and she was really nervous on Wednesday when you two were having dinner because she thought you’d think it was weird. Since you guys have a strictly professional relationship.”
Kacy stares at the cleft in Rondo’s strong chin. She longs to tell him that her “strictly professional relationship” with Isla includes kissing her eyelids, braiding her hair, making her orgasm so loudly that her next-door neighbor has learned to play Puccini arias at top volume on Tuesday and Thursday nights. I love her more than you do, Kacy would like to say—but Rondo’s adoration of Isla is much talked about in the NICU. He sends flowers to the unit weekly, urns of coffee from Blue Bottle, boxes of Topogato truffles that look like they belong in a museum. Not only that, but he has created his own Pinterest board for their wedding. (The other nurses swooned at this news.)
Kacy privately feels Rondo might be too soft for Isla—he has no edges; he doesn’t swear; he doesn’t lose his temper. What Kacy resents most about him is that she can’t point to any obvious flaws. The other male docs at Children’s tend to be mansplainers or total bros who think nothing of talking over women. But not Rondo. He’s a gem.
“But she said you happily agreed,” he says. “Which is so great. We finally picked out invitations last night, and her mother is flying in from Mexico City at the end of the month to go dress shopping.”
Invitations, Kacy thinks. Dress shopping.
Rondo’s phone buzzes. He looks genuinely apologetic as he checks it. “Shoot, I have to go. But thank you, Kace. Truly.” He squeezes her shoulder and rushes for the elevator bank, then seems to think better of it and goes dashing up the stairs, taking them two at a time, like a superhero off to save the world.
On Tuesday, when Isla sneaks over to Kacy’s apartment, Kacy tells her she’s made a decision.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” Isla says. “Leave of absence? A week, two weeks, you’re burned out, you want to drive down to Big Sur? You want to go to Ojai or LA and sit by the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel?”
All of those options sound lovely and Kacy wishes that a short break was all she needed. But her father’s health, Isla’s impending nuptials, and tragically losing Little G (why had she let herself grow so attached when she knew better?) have brought her to a crossroads.
“I’m leaving for the summer,” Kacy says. “I’ll reassess in September.”
“Reassess?” Isla says. Her cheeks flare pink; her normally unflappable composure cracks. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“I’m going to Nantucket,” Kacy says. “My dad… I want to spend some time with my family.”
“You promised the next time you went home, you’d bring me,” Isla says.
“Isla, you’re engaged,” Kacy says. “I saw Rondo the other day. He told me you’ve chosen invitations. He said you’re going dress shopping.” She laughs unhappily. “He thanked me for agreeing to be your maid of honor. You’re getting married, Isla. How can I break up with you when you aren’t mine to begin with?”
Kacy realizes she’s issuing an ultimatum. Isla can save their relationship now. She can choose Kacy now.
But instead, Isla drops her head into her hands. “When are you leaving?”
“Two weeks,” Kacy says.
On their final night together, as Kacy packs, Isla lies across Kacy’s bed, as lush and naked as an odalisque in an Ingres painting. “Leaving on a Jet Plane”—Kacy’s choice—is playing over the speaker.
“You’re taking all your cute clothes,” Isla says.
“That I am.”
“I love your style,” Isla says. “Have I ever told you that?”
“Yes.”
