Murphy's Law

The next twenty-four hours were a blur of clinical hours, studying for certification exams and trying not to get myself too worked up about my date.

It would be a gigantic lie if I said I wasn’t practically elated that I had a date with one of the most desirable bachelors in Chicago. Things like this simply did not happen to normal people, right?

This is why I was watching the time dribble by slowly, getting more and more anxious, the entire time I was at coffee with my very best medical school friend, Brandon.

“Helloooo, Earth to Rhett,” he waved a hand in front of my face.

“Oh, sorry, B. I’m a bit distracted today,” I cracked what I hoped to be a natural looking smile.

He frowned at me, “Why are you such a space case today?”

I fiddled with a napkin on the counter we were seated at, “Nothing, just thinking about my Peeds clinical this morning.”

Poking me in the side, “You are such a liar. Something’s going on, I know it, spill.” He stared at me expectantly, turning his body so he was perched on his stool facing me, hands behind head and leaning on the wall that was now behind him.

I bit my lip and set the napkin I had begun shredding into tiny, annoying little pieces of paper confetti.
“I have a date tonight.”

He made a very un-masculine sounding noise and lightly smacked my shoulder, “Shut up, who’s the lucky dude?”

I rolled my eyes, as habit dictates, “Brandon, I know you’re gay and all, but the squealing is not okay.”

He stuck his tongue out briefly and insisted, “Rhett Elaine Pearson, tell me about this supposed date.”
Knowing he was beyond thrilled that I was dating again after my pretty awful breakup, which was now nearly nine months previous, I humored him.

“Well, his name’s Jonathan, and he spilled coffee on me before I practiced my defense on Tuesday morning,” I started, leaving out certain details.

Raising his eyebrows, “And you decided going on a date with him was reasonable, why?”
I had to laugh a bit at how ridiculous this sounded.

“Okay, he paid for my coffee, was super apologetic, and I ran into him later, after my meeting.”
Brandon, ever the subtle listener, “Is he hot?”

Turning about as red as the Starbucks holiday cup perched in front of me, I breathed out, “Incredibly.”

Brandon whistled, “You pulling the stick out of your ass to go on a date with an “incredible” looking guy? Is hell freezing over?”

Smacking him on the shoulder, “Yeah, well, my date’s tonight and I haven’t had time to figure out what I’m wearing.” I threw my hands up in exasperation.

Brandon all but jumped off his stool, “Looks like this is a job for Gay-Best-Friend Man!”

I shook my head. You might think a 26 year old man nearly done with medical school might be less childish, but not Brandon.

“B, I have to get back to the clinic and finish up like a thousand patient forms still,” I flopped my head back.

He grunted, exasperated, “Okay, fine. I’ll help you do them, and we can go back to your place and find you something to wear. How about that saucy green lace top we bought in that weird store in Wicker Park?”

“Brandon, I’m not going for “saucy”, just presentable. And I don’t trust you to not write puns on the forms again. Hudgens doesn’t appreciate that at all,” I chided, referring to our overseer on the floor.

“Too late, I’ve decided, it’s happening,” he stood up and bounded towards the door, people turning to stare at the excited young man in a crisp white doctor’s coat. Slinking along after him in my own white coat and scrubs, trying to be inconspicuous, I followed him back down the street to the hospital, as he verbally ran through my entire closet.



Four hours, several cups of coffee and a few paper cuts later, we had mowed through the stack of patient medical histories and appointment charts.

Brandon pursed his lips as he filled out the last chart in his pile, “Was Kenny Brackman’s rash oozing or just itchy?”

“Definitely just itchy,” I replied.

He slapped the paper down, “Done!”

Leaning back and stretching, I told him, “Might as well get home, I know you’re dying to pick my outfit out.”

He grinned, “Of course I am.”



Holding up a grey, knee-length sheath dress to his own body, Brandon asked, “How about this one?”

Screwing up my face I said, “I don’t want him to think I’m Amish.”

Exasperated, he laid back on my bedspread, “Who is this guy that you care so much for?”

He had been sifting through my limited wardrobe of nice outfits for about an hour. I had showered, and started doing my hair in the attached bathroom.

Thankful he couldn’t see my burning pink cheeks. “Like I said, he’s just someone I met,” I tried to sound flippant.

Luckily, he burst out before he could interrogate me further, “I’m a fashion genius!”

Sticking my head out the door, curling iron in hand, I Rolled my eyes at him, “Now what, Einstein?”

Holding up a lovely grey lace pencil skirt and a burgundy top with a gold geometric pattern, he waggled his eyebrows. With black tights and boots, it would be rather cute but casual enough to pass off as something I had just thrown together.

I nodded my approval, “I like it.”

Proud of himself, he flourished as he hung them on the front of the bathroom door.

He leaned against the same door as he watched me finish curling my mess of brunette hair. I pulled my ratty t-shirt over my head, in order to change into the outfit Brandon picked out.

Whistling, he said, “You even have that matching lingerie set on, I need to meet this guy, he has to be a real Casanova.”

I burned bright red yet again, “Hush, B. It’s just a confidence booster.”

He smiled at me, “Well, whoever this guy is, sure is lucky.”

I gave him a small grin, “Thanks, Bran. And thanks for helping me out today.”

Tucking my top into my skirt and smoothing it out, I looked in the mirror. For the first time in quite a while, I felt rather attractive.

Across the room, my cell began ringing, the familiar ringtone alerting me to the fact that my mother was calling.

Immediately, I was confused. It was very unlike my mom to call at 6 PM on a Thursday. She typically was busy at her law firm on weekdays and only called on the weekends to check in.

“Hey mom, is something wrong?” I answered.

“Oh, honey. Caleb is in the hospital,” she sounded exhausted and worried.

“Again? Is it the…same thing?” I questioned.

She sighed, “The doctor thinks it might be. He has a pain in his shoulder that won’t go away.”

My 17-year-old brother had survived one battle with osteosarcoma a few years ago. Unfortunately the particular kind he had was prone to coming back.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Are you at Mt. Sinai?”

She breathed out , “Yeah. We will be for a while. Thanks, honey, I think he needs his big sister right now.”

Hanging up, I bit my lip, “I have to go, B. It’s Caleb.”

He nodded, clearly unsure of what to do or say as I rushed around to get my coat and phone. I ran down the stairs, jumping in my little sedan that I rarely drove, except when I had to visit my parents or transport things.

I sped to the hospital as quickly as possible, wanting only to see my baby brother.



“Oh, Caleb, how are you?” I breathed as I hugged my ‘little’ brother.

“You know me, it’s always something,” he shot me a tight grin. The heart rate monitor and IV bag he was hooked up to of course indicated it wasn’t nearly as light as he made it seem.

For a stout young man, he looked dwarfed by the hospital bed. Or perhaps it was the fear looming over his head that made him seem to withdraw into himself, his personality seeming to visibly shrink. My brother was always very mature, rational and upbeat, while I was always the more neurotic sibling.

Glancing at my outfit, “You didn’t get all dressed up for me, did you?”

Gasping, “Oh my god. Jon. I forgot, I had a date tonight, I need to call him to cancel.”

Caleb squeezed my hand, “You don’t have to cancel on your date for me.”

I smiled at him, “Caleb, nothing is more important to me than being here.”

Pulling out my phone, I noticed I had a text from Brandon.

Ran into your…date on the street. We NEED to talk. Told him u went to hospital, he understands
I blew air through my nose, thankful he could drop the bomb of me canceling, but anxious about the explanation I would inevitably have to give Brandon for keeping the identity of my date from him. Not to mention the fact that I was blowing what could be a once in a lifetime date,

Figuring that since Jon knew where I was, and I could call later to apologize, I turned back to the room where my parents, brother and a nurse were. Regardless, I’m sure he has a laundry list of women to take out at his beck and call.



I found a pack of cards in the bedside table and had begun a game of war with Caleb when a nurse poked her head in the door.

She looked kind of nervous and asked, “There’s a gentleman here to visit, he was asking for a ‘Rhett?’”
I stood, definitely concerned, “That’s me.” I followed her out of the room, and down the hall to the floor lobby.

Standing there was none other than Jonathan Toews, holding a Get Well balloon and a card.
I couldn’t help but grin as I walked up to him standing there, somewhat awkwardly.

He started, “I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have just shown up.” He held the items up, “It only seemed right, and I didn’t call because I wanted to come as soon as I could because I know visiting hours end soon and…. How is he?” He caught himself rambling, and looked genuinely worried for the well-being of my brother.

I could have cried I was so touched by the thoughtfulness.

“It was very…sweet of you to come,” I smiled, kind of at a loss for words. Grabbing his hand, I led him back down the hall and to my brother’s room.

I stuck my head in, much like the nurse before.

“Guys, I have someone for you to meet,” opening the door a bit more, I revealed the man standing next to me.

“I bailed on Jon tonight to come here and he so kindly came to check on Caleb when he heard the news from Brandon.”

Caleb, wide-eyed, threw his IV-threaded hands up, "Jesus, Rhett, you blew off Jonathan Toews to play cards with me?!”