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Kintsugi
Kintsugi: the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, silver, or platinum lacquer, treating the breakage as part of the object's history rather than something to conceal.
A year in the life of Emma Nolan and Dr. Brendon Park.
---
July
The first time Emma met Dr. Park was after her first day in the Pitt, where she was assaulted by not one but two patients. But Emma wasn't a quitter. She stayed the whole shift, working past seven into the evening, waiting until the police came by to take her and Dana's statement. By nine PM, when a couple of the doctors and other nurses said they were going to gather in the park for beers and watch the fireworks, Emma could barely keep her eyes open.
"I'm good, guys," she heard herself saying. "I gotta get home."
Home to what? Her townhouse in Bloomfield with two roommates? The pizza place behind her apartment that took out the trash at one AM? But at least she could rest.
She got in the parking garage elevator and almost ran into the body of a tall, broad man.
"Oh, excuse me, I'm so sorry." She heard herself saying. A grunt came in acknowledgment. Then the man looked down at her.
"Jesus Christ, what happened to your neck?"
Emma looked up and saw a man — maybe late thirties? She was terrible with ages, and it was hard to tell with the name tag that read Dr. Brendon Park. This was Dr. Shark. Whitaker had mentioned him to her. The big, bad surgeon in the OR.
Nervously, she touched her fingers to her neck. "Um. A patient just got a little disoriented and tried to…"
Dryly, he looked down at her neck. "He tried to strangle you? Robby really does run a zoo down there." Then Dr. Park did the thing Emma was least expecting of him, but almost every doctor in the ER did. He grasped her chin in his hands and turned her face to examine the bruising.
"A shame." He tsked between his teeth, brow furrowed. The elevator door pinged. They were on the main parking floor. Dr. Park let Emma leave first. "When you get home, put a cold compress on. Then heat after 48 hours. You're not planning on going and getting drunk and watching the fireworks?"
"No sir, I don't drink." The honorific came out without thinking, and she could see the pupils in Dr. Park's eyes get a little wider.
"Good." He said crisply. "I'll walk you to your car."
This wasn't the version of the doctor that Whitaker or Santos had described. This man was kind. Helpful, even. Polite, almost charming.
"You don't need to walk me to my car. It's really alright."
"I insist."
Emma was parked at the far end of the lot and could feel herself internally grimacing as Dr. Park gave her 2007 Honda Civic a once-over. It was most definitely on its last leg. Her brother Tom had driven it in high school, then it had been given to Max before his accident. She had driven it from Sault Ste. Marie to Pittsburgh, and the car's brakes definitely needed replacing. Not until she got her second paycheck.
"Are you sure this car is safe to drive?" Dr. Park asked.
Emma waved her hand. "Yeah. My brother's a mechanic and checked it before I came here." Which Tom had, but he'd also told her she'd need the brakes replaced in the next couple of months.
"Well, I'm into cars. Happy to look at it if you need me to."
"It's really okay. Bye, Dr. Park. Have a good Fourth of July!" She said brightly, then sighed.
She could still feel his dark eyes on her as she drove out of the garage.
---
September
It had been two months since Brendon had that conversation with the nurse in the parking lot elevator and felt his blood pulsating with something close to rage at the idea of a stranger — a patient — getting his hands on her beautiful neck and marring her skin. If anyone was going to touch her throat it should be in pleasure. No. He couldn't let that idea get too much traction in his head.
It had been a while since a woman had gotten under his skin the way Emma Nolan had. Maybe not since Claire. And certainly never a woman that young. Emma looked nineteen, but he knew she had to be at least twenty-two, twenty-three, having graduated from nursing school. Still too young. And if he had gripped himself in the shower under cold water the last couple of weeks in self-loathing while thinking of her round cheeks and the fingerprints on her neck — that was just an overactive imagination and not enough of an outlet for his frustration.
He found himself going into the ER for consults more often, telling Garcia he could take this one. All in the hopes of catching a glimpse of that young, pretty nurse. In August he finally saw her during a consult for a pretty nasty crushed shoulder, holding the hand of a twelve-year-old boy across the room who had broken his collarbone dirt-biking. He walked past her and she glanced up and smiled at him. Smiled at him. She was maybe the first person in the ER who had. He wanted to know more about her. Her likes, her dislikes. He knew she drove a shitty Honda Civic that needed major work done. He knew she smelled like unscented soap and strawberry cream. That was about it.
But every time he saw her, they were in the ER and patients were around and he was dealing with yet another incompetent resident.
One weekend when Mira was at Claire's, while wallowing in self-pity, Brendon opened Instagram. He hadn't used the app since 2017 when Claire insisted he post a picture of their wedding. When they divorced two years later, he deleted that picture and never opened the app again. He looked up "Emma Nolan" but the name was generic enough that a hundred profiles came up. Then he thought to look at Donnie — the one competent nurse in the department besides Dana — and see if he followed Emma. Bingo. Her profile was public. In that moment he was glad for himself, nervous for Emma. Did she know how many older men existed on the internet? Never mind that he could classify as one of them.
Emma Nolan. Sault Ste. Marie || Pittsburgh. MSU 2025 grad.
Jesus. So she really was twenty-two.
She didn't have an absurd number of pictures on her profile — about thirty. One showed her in graduation robes with her mom and what looked like two brothers. One was in a wheelchair and appeared to have some kind of disability. He filed that away. A couple with her sorority. She was a Theta — he still remembered the Greek alphabet. He had been in a frat at Penn, though the memories were hazy, whether from it being 2004 or the fact that he was heavily drinking his last two years.
She liked cats, it seemed. And glitter. And the color pink. There was a picture of a knitting project and some watercolor painting. No boyfriend. In fact, besides the pictures of her brothers, there were no men in her profile. He zeroed in on one photo — a lake in Michigan, maybe earlier that summer. Her hand was shading her face from the sun. She had on a bikini top with cherries on it and jean shorts. He thought about that photo every night for two weeks.
So when he saw her in the flesh, even without talking, he felt a hot wave of shame. Did she know what she did to him? What he thought of her?
That afternoon he had thirty minutes between surgeries. His normal ham and cheese sandwich wasn't cutting it and he went to the hospital cafeteria. Desperate times.
Walking in, he saw two braids. Fuck, he thought.
Emma turned around.
"Hi, Dr. Park!" She smiled. She was the only one who smiled at him.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm fine. Aren't you supposed to be upstairs?"
"I could say the same about you."
"I have a break."
"So do I."
He glanced down at her hands. Hot chocolate with marshmallows. Of course. "Isn't it a little early to be drinking hot chocolate?" Mid-September in Pittsburgh was still fairly warm. Today was a balmy seventy-five degrees.
"It's never too early for hot chocolate." And then Emma winked. Fuck me.
"Let me buy it for you." He grabbed a fruit bowl as they headed to the cashier.
"Oh, Dr. Park, you really don't have to."
"I insist." Her eyes widened when he pulled out his AmEx Platinum.
"So how are you finding the Pitt?" he asked as they walked upstairs.
"You know. Nothing was as exciting as my first day."
He chortled. "I wouldn't say getting strangled is exciting. But that's just me."
Her eyes glanced down. "Yeah. Well. Besides that. Dana's been great. I loved Dr. Al-Hashimi. Donnie's awesome. I even got to work night shift once and Dr. Abbott is the man!" She laughed.
He didn't like her talking about Abbott that way. He felt a surge of jealousy low in his stomach. "I'm glad I'm here," she said, smiling up at him.
"Well. If you get into any more situations like this summer, you tell me. They don't treat their staff well down there." He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Promise. Thanks, Dr. Park!" she said, rounding the corner toward the ER doors. "Have a good day!"
He walked past the doors and to the elevators. As he did, he heard that younger med resident — started with an S — say, "Were you just talking to Shark?"
"Um. Yeah."
"Shark never talks to us. Let alone nurses."
"He talks to me. He's been very nice."
"Must be something in the water."
Something in the water, indeed.
---
October
It had been four months since Emma had started in the Pitt. For the first time, she finally felt like she was getting the hang of it. Dana no longer had to talk her through every procedure. Donnie trusted her. Even Dr. Robby, back from his sabbatical, was giving her more responsibility.
She felt like she knew the place. Knew how people operated. The only person she couldn't figure out was Dr. Brendon Park. The OR surgeon was coming down more often. At least that's what everyone in the Pitt said. "He usually leaves most of the work to Dr. Garcia," Whitaker told her. "Maybe he doesn't trust her anymore?"
Dr. Park was tough, she noticed, but fair. Everyone tried to be their best when he came down, including her. Once, he came in during a bad elbow break from a guy skateboarding. He barked at everyone except Emma. "Emma, can you hold his arm?" Even Dr. Al-Hashimi raised her eyebrows.
But that was the extent of their interactions. Emma hadn't seen him in the garage again, hadn't even seen him in the cafeteria, despite going back every shift around the same time he'd bought her that hot chocolate.
She wasn't sure what he was to her. A mystery. A crush.
One night, she tried googling him. There was barely any information online besides his bio on the hospital website and some very outdated high school sports stats.
Dr. Brendon Park specializes in complex orthopedic trauma, especially fractures of the pelvis, hip, and lower extremity. He graduated from the University of Pennsylvania in 2004 with a bachelor's in biology, magna cum laude, where he rowed varsity crew all four years and served as captain his senior year. Following undergrad, he attended medical school at Johns Hopkins University and then completed his orthopedic surgery residency at Inova Hospital in Fairfax, Virginia, where he served as chief resident, before his fellowship at the University of Pittsburgh. He joined Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center in 2015 and currently serves as attending physician.
Nothing about his family or hobbies. Except the crew part. She did the math in her head. Forty-two. She gulped. Even older than she'd thought.
She went back to Google. "Brendon Park Pittsburgh." Scrolling down, she saw a Zola wedding website. Brendon Jefferson Park and Claire Elise Collins invite you to their wedding at the Phipps Conservatory, June 3, 2017. Was Brendon married? She tried to remember seeing him in the OR or in the elevator or in the hospital cafeteria. He never wore a wedding ring. But many surgeons didn't. The website was password-protected.
She googled "Claire Collins Park Pittsburgh." Nothing. Then "Claire Collins Pittsburgh." A LinkedIn profile appeared. She was pretty, blonde, if a little generic-looking. An attorney at K&L Gates. God. Of course. This was the type of woman Brendon would be with. A lawyer, polished, forty-something if her Princeton undergrad and Columbia Law degree had anything to do with it. Not a nurse from MSU with a non-functioning car.
She turned off her phone and put it on her ten-dollar Facebook Marketplace nightstand and tried to sleep. But all she could think about was Dr. Brendon Park paying for her hot chocolate, and the color of his eyes — a deep, almost opaque brown.
---
Of course it was her luck that she got assigned to work Halloween. On a Saturday, no less. She knew Javadi and Mateo were going to a party and had invited her and a couple of the other early-twenties staff. She had to say no. At least she was wearing cat ears to cheer herself up. She'd even put in little pawprint earrings to make any kids who showed up that night smile. Overall she didn't hate working nights as long as she could catch up on sleep the day after. It was more that this particular night she didn't understand why she was assigned.
The shift itself wasn't bad. A couple of car accidents and candy stuck up noses but nothing catastrophic. She left right at seven AM when day shift came in, hiking her backpack up over her scrubs. Her stupid car was finally done for. She couldn't afford new brakes yet. Maybe a Christmas present to herself. The car was parked on the street for now, waiting until she could. So the bus it was.
She was waiting at the bus stop — she looked at Transit on her phone — another fifteen minutes. She sighed and was about to put her corded headphones in when she heard someone say, "Emma?"
She glanced up. Dr. Brendon Park had rolled down his window. Of course he drove a Porsche SUV. It was almost stereotypical. That car probably cost more than Emma's salary for the entire year.
"Oh, hey, Dr. Park."
"What are you doing? Don't you have a car?"
"It finally kicked the bucket. It needs new brakes."
"You should get them replaced."
"I need to wait for a couple more paychecks."
"Get in the car. I'll drive you home."
"Don't you have to work?"
"I don't have a surgery until nine. Garcia can handle it until I'm back. Where do you live?"
"Bloomfield."
"Shouldn't take long. Get in."
Emma walked over and opened the door. His car smelled expensive. She had never ridden in a car with leather seats before.
"This car is nice," she said.
"Cars are my one vice." He said, a smile almost peeking out. "Here. Put your address in my phone."
She did. They drove fifteen minutes in silence until Dr. Park pulled in front of her somewhat shabby duplex. She felt embarrassed that he was seeing it. She thought he probably lived in a real house with a yard. Maybe a wraparound porch.
"So where's your car?" he said.
"It's on the street. Like I said, I'll get it fixed when I have the money." She unbuckled her belt.
"I think I mentioned I like fixing cars." He said. "Let me fix it."
Emma's mouth opened slightly. "I can't pay for it to get towed to your place."
"I'll pay for it."
Emma glared at him slightly. "Dr. Park, no. I can't accept that."
"Please. It's enjoyable to me. That's the thing with new cars like this — there's nothing to fix."
Emma raised her eyebrow.
"Please, Emma. It would make me happy."
Sensing that Dr. Park wasn't going to take no for an answer, Emma relented. "Okay. But seriously. If it takes you more than a month, it can wait. I'm fine on the bus."
"Get me your key. I'll call someone to come pick it up."
Emma ran up the steps and grabbed her car key. What was she thinking? What was he thinking?
"Here's the key."
"I'll text you when it's done. We can figure out how you'll pick it up."
He handed his phone to Emma to put her number in.
And that was how Emma Nolan and Dr. Brendon Park exchanged numbers.
---
November
True to his word, Dr. Park fixed Emma's car in three weeks. They also became kind of, sort of, text friends. Dr. Park definitely texted like her mom — no abbreviations, no emojis except the occasional thumbs-up or smiley face. He used "lol" instead of "ded." He sent her updates on her car. Emma sent him updates on her knitting project and baking. They still barely interacted at the Pitt except for the occasional bump or smile. Emma had slowly understood that the Dr. Park in the hospital was a different creature from the Dr. Park outside of it.
He even drove her car back to her house. Got it cleaned.
"Truly, Dr. Park. I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you."
"It was no problem, Emma. Truly."
No one had ever done something as nice for her as that.
---
Emma still didn't have Thanksgiving plans. She had the holiday off — her first since starting at the Pitt — but didn't want to spend the money to travel home, preferring to save it for Christmas Eve. She was assigned to work Christmas, but she could fly home after Christmas Eve dinner.
Working the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Emma ran into Dr. Park again in the elevator down to the parking garage. Silence settled between them. Emma was trying to think of something to say.
"Any plans for Thanksgiving?"
Dr. Park glanced at her. "Going to my mom's outside Philly. You?"
"Staying here."
He nodded.
"Going to one of your roommates?" Since the car incident, Dr. Park knew Emma had two roommates — one from Delaware, one from Columbus.
"No. They both have boyfriends. I didn't want to impose."
"So you're spending Thanksgiving alone?"
She nodded. It wouldn't be bad. She was going to go to yoga, knit a lot, maybe catch up on Bridgerton. She hadn't seen the new season yet.
"Come with me to Philly."
Emma glanced up. "What?"
He rolled his eyes. "Nolan, I never say what I don't mean. Come with me to Philly. My sister and brother-in-law live in Los Angeles. My dad passed about ten years ago. It's going to be my mom and me. I guarantee you'll be ten times more pleasant company. I was planning on driving up Thanksgiving morning and back Friday. I can get you a room at the same hotel."
"Okay."
"Okay? So you'll go?"
"Yes."
And that was how Emma agreed to spend Thanksgiving with Dr. Brendon Park and his mother.
---
Emma didn't realize that the drive from Pittsburgh to Gladwyne was five and a half hours. Dr. Park picked her up at eight AM on the dot. She wasn't sure what to wear — most of her jeans were ripped. She settled on the one pair of black trousers she had for interviews and a pink button-down blouse. She braided her hair back.
"You look nice," Dr. Park said.
"Thanks."
"Did you go to the bathroom? We have a long drive."
The first hour was filled with awkward silence. Dr. Park tapped his fingers on the wheel. She noticed he didn't have a wedding ring on. That made sense, she supposed. He would have told her if his wife was coming.
It was as if he had realized what a mistake this was. They had barely spent a combined hour together.
"Dr. Park. I'm really sorry. I feel like I forced myself on you for Thanksgiving. You really didn't need to invite me."
"No. I wanted you to come. And Emma — we're friends now. You can call me Brendon."
Emma nodded. Brendon. The name sounded strange in her mouth. He would always be Dr. Park or sir in her head. She wasn't sure if that would ever change.
"Do you want to put some music on?" he asked.
"Sure." She grabbed his phone and searched. "Do you have Spotify?"
"No. I use Apple Music."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Okay, Grandpa."
He put his hand over his heart. "Hey. I'll have you know I was the proud owner of an iPod nano in med school. I was very cool."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Kill me now."
She opened the Apple Music app, her tongue a little out of her mouth. "What kind of music do you like?"
"Mainly rock. Foo Fighters, The Offspring, Alice in Chains, Red Hot Chili Peppers."
Emma gave him a blank look.
"Tell me you know who at least some of them are."
"I know Red Hot Chili Peppers. My brother loves them."
"Well. Who do you like?"
"Olivia Rodrigo, Doechii…oh, and I really like this newer singer. Kind of old-school, actually. Maybe you'd like her. Laufey?"
They sat in companionable silence as the slightly jazzy music played.
"I like it," Dr. Park said.
Turning in her seat, she looked at him. "So tell me what I'm getting into. What's your mom like? I don't know anything about you besides your CV and the fact that you rowed varsity crew."
"So you looked me up."
She smirked. "Maybe."
"She's old-school. Use your silverware from the outside in. Don't eat until she does. My dad died ten years ago. He was very strict. I think even with her. There's a reason my sister doesn't come home."
"And that's it? Just you and your sister and her family?"
He cleared his throat. "I was married."
There it was.
"What happened? If I can ask."
"We were incompatible. We met when all of our friends were getting married. It felt like the natural next step. Claire wanted the wedding with the party and the first dance and the photographer. But she wanted the husband who came with it too. I'm not very good at being a husband."
"Why?"
"I work too much. I'm 'emotionally unavailable.'" He took his hands off the wheel briefly to do air quotes.
"What happened then?"
"Well. We had a kid. That was a mistake. Not my daughter — having a kid together was the mistake."
What? Emma thought. Brendon had never mentioned a daughter. Please, she thought. Please let his daughter be young. Please let her not be a teenager. Emma would die if she were closer in age to Dr. Park's daughter than to Dr. Park himself.
"You have a daughter? Is she with her mom for Thanksgiving?"
"…Yeah. She's seven. Her name is Mirabelle. Mira. She lives with her mom and Claire's husband most of the time. I have her every other weekend. With my job it's kind of impossible to be fully present." He cleared his throat. "She's smart. Really into science right now. I'm trying not to put any pressure on her, but I think she could go into medicine. She won the science fair this year. Beat a bunch of fifth graders." He said it the way proud fathers do, entirely failing to conceal it.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Seven. She could do seven.
"Would you want more kids? Sorry if that's too personal."
"I'd have to find someone first, I think. And I'm getting kind of old. I'm forty-two."
"Forty-two is not old! I mean — you're in great shape for forty-two." She stopped, blushing when she realized what she'd just said.
"Do you want kids?" He turned the question back on her.
"Yes." She nodded emphatically. "At least three."
Silence settled between them again.
"What about you?" he said. "What's your family like?"
"Um. My mom. She's a third-grade teacher. That's part of why I want kids — I grew up helping her with her students after school. My dad. He's — he's not in the picture. He got involved in some bad stuff when I was little." She bit the inside of her lip. She was not going to tell Dr. Brendon Park, OR wizard, Penn and Hopkins grad, that her dad was currently incarcerated for armed robbery. "But my brothers. They're great. Well, one of them is. Tom is the mechanic — the one who told me I needed new brakes before you did. He's married. He's thirty. He has two daughters. My brother Max… he's the reason I went into nursing."
He nodded for her to continue.
"He was a power washer. Worked for a small company. Didn't go to college. Four years ago, he was washing a person's vacation home and fell off the roof. He broke his back and feet. Something happened with his spine. He's a quadriplegic now. I took care of him while my mom worked, until I left for MSU, and then went back home every summer. He's why I went into nursing. So I can help people like him. People who get into accidents. That's what I admire about what you do."
She smiled at him. That was more than she'd told anyone about her family since moving to Pittsburgh. She checked in with her mom and Max every day. She worried about Max. Someday she hoped she could bring him to live with her, knowing her mom was getting older and less able to manage.
"That's really admirable," Dr. Park said. "It must have been hard."
She shrugged. "That's life. We all have tough things happen. It's what we do about it that matters."
"How did you end up deciding on ortho rotations?"
"Have you ever heard of kintsugi?"
Emma shook her head.
"I had a roommate in college whose girlfriend majored in Japanese art history. Our senior year she wrote her thesis on wabi-sabi — a concept in Japanese philosophy centered on finding beauty in imperfection and the natural cycle of growth and decay. Kintsugi, which literally means 'golden joinery,' is an expression of that philosophy. It's a tradition in Japanese art to repair broken pottery with lacquer mixed with gold, silver, or platinum, embracing the fractures rather than hiding them. That idea really stuck with me. People can be resilient. They can become even more beautiful through repair. I think ortho is like that, and I want to be part of that process."
Emma felt tears prick at her eyes. "Dr. Park. That's beautiful."
He laughed. "I also just don't like talking to patients very much. Most of the time, they're under anesthesia when I'm working with them."
---
The rest of the drive went smoothly despite its length. Dr. Park bought Emma a pretzel when they drove through Lancaster and stopped at an Amish store. She chewed it slowly. She almost thought she saw Dr. Park's throat bob a little when she spilled some melted cheese at the corner of her mouth and licked it with her tongue. But that could have been her imagination.
By the time they finally arrived in Gladwyne, with the stops, it was about three PM. They pulled in front of a large house with a huge driveway. Emma's eyes widened. She had never seen or been inside a house this nice, even the vacation homes Max used to work on.
"This is where I grew up," Dr. Park said.
He parked the Porsche Cayenne and rang the front door. A housekeeper appeared.
"Dr. Park! How nice to see you. And this is?" She glanced down at Emma, who felt a flash of embarrassment, like even the housekeeper could tell she'd bought her pants at TJ Maxx.
"Ms. Emma Nolan. We always have extra food at Thanksgiving. I thought it wouldn't be an issue."
Dr. Park hadn't told his mother she was coming. Kill me now, she thought.
"It isn't," the housekeeper said smoothly. "Come in, Ms. Nolan."
The house had a grand staircase. Marble floors. A woman, elegantly dressed, in her seventies, came down the stairs.
"Brendon! How good to see you. And this is?"
Emma felt Dr. Park's hand at the small of her back.
"This is my friend Emma Nolan."
"What a lovely surprise." Dr. Park's mom smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Park. You have a lovely home." And then Emma curtsied. She closed her eyes. She curtsied. Who was she?
"Oh dear, you don't need to do that. How do you know my son?"
"We work at the hospital together. Emma's a nurse," Dr. Park said, answering for her.
"Ah! A nurse." Mrs. Park smiled tightly. "Well, let's go in for hors d'oeuvres and cocktails. Emma, what can I get you to drink?"
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Park, but I'm not drinking."
The stare Dr. Park's mother gave Brendon was sharp enough to cut. She could almost see the thought bubble above her head: Did you get this twenty-two-year-old nurse pregnant? Never mind that Dr. Park and she had never even held hands.
Emma felt compelled to quickly add, "No, ma'am. I just don't drink. I'd really appreciate a soda." She felt even more childish saying it, but it was true. Emma had never had a sip of alcohol. She blamed much of her dad's issues on alcoholism and had seen the damage it could do.
The rest of the night went much like the beginning. Mrs. Park interrogated Brendon. She asked about Mira, why she wasn't with Brendon for Thanksgiving, how he could let Claire have that much time with her, when was his last promotion, was he still wasting his time on the masters rowing club, why hadn't he renovated his house yet. She didn't ask Emma a single question.
After the third course was served, Mrs. Park narrowed her eyes again. "And are you seeing anyone?"
Dr. Park cleared his throat. "I don't really have time, Mom. I try to keep my free weekends for Mira."
"You're never going to get promoted if you don't get married. That's just the way it is. Hopefully you'll put a modicum of effort into the next marriage unlike your first."
Emma could tell that comment landed on him. His jaw clenched. Her hand moved to his almost automatically, without thinking, finding his underneath the table. His fingers slowly unfurled. Breathe. It's alright. She wanted the thought to travel through her fingertips.
---
They left his mother's house at eight PM. Emma wondered why they weren't staying at the house, but after hearing his mother's comments, she understood.
Brendon had made reservations at a nearby inn. The rooms were right next to each other. She could tell his mother's words were still with him. He seemed restless.
"Dr. Park. You should go for a run or something."
"I'm fine," he said curtly. "We should get some sleep."
They turned toward their hallway. "Well, thank you for bringing me," Emma said. "And for what it's worth, Dr. Park — I think you're amazing." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, and she could feel a single tear, warm against her lips.
---
December
Something had shifted since the Thanksgiving trip. It was as if Emma had been let inside the architecture of Brendon's heart and could finally read the blueprint. His gruffness, his desire to take care of others, his strict need for order — it all made sense now. It was like she had glimpsed something essential in him. But the more she tried to text him afterward, the more he pulled away.
She didn't see him the rest of early December. It was as if he refused to acknowledge that she had seen his vulnerability. It wasn't until the hospital holiday party happened — four days before Christmas Eve, across the street at the local bar — that she saw him again. She was headed home to Sault Ste. Marie in two days.
What did I do?
I'm sorry.
Those were her last two texts to him. Unanswered.
Whatever. She was going to go to this party. Princess had convinced her to change out of her scrubs into a brand-new skirt and a sequined red top. She thought it made her skin look even warmer, like she was lit from within. She had even put on mascara and lipstick.
She ordered a Shirley Temple despite Princess telling her to order a shot. Why was she moping over a man she had never even dated, let alone kissed? And not just a man — a forty-two-year-old attending. Maybe she needed to shake it off. Flirt with someone age-appropriate. She saw Jamie — the pharmacy intern, twenty-five or so. Easy to read.
She walked over to him. "Hey, Jamie!" She smiled, a little too brightly.
"Emma! Any plans for New Year's? I'm going to my folks for Christmas."
"Same, but I'll be back for New Year's."
"My roommates and I are throwing a New Year's party. You should come, bring some friends!"
"I will." She said. Good riddance. If Brendon was going to ghost her, she would do the same.
But then a chill went through the room.
"Oh, hey, Dr. Park. Didn't expect to see you here." Jamie gulped.
She turned around. Dr. Brendon Park, in black pants and a black sweater, arms folded. "Jamie. Nolan."
Dr. Park raised his eyebrows at Emma in a way that said we need to talk.
"Jamie just invited me to his New Year's party. I'm going to go." She knew she was being a brat, but she didn't feel like stopping.
"I need to talk to Emma about a patient. We'll be back."
She felt Brendon take her arm.
"But you don't even work together!" she heard Jamie say.
"WHAT is your problem?" Emma almost shouted as he half-dragged her out of the bar.
"You're being a brat."
"What? Because I'm talking to someone? You haven't spoken to me since you dropped me off after Thanksgiving!"
"I've been busy."
"With what?"
"Being an attending? Being a father? Mira had six Christmas shows I had to go to."
"You haven't texted me."
"I called you."
"You did?"
He glanced almost pointedly at her purse. She took out her phone. Twenty-five missed calls. One from one Dr. Brendon Park.
"I never check my calls."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not old," Emma said. "And anyway, you're so confusing. One second you're taking me to your mom's and the next you're gone. Are we even friends?"
"I could never be friends with you."
"Then what are we?"
And then Dr. Brendon Park took two large steps toward her. Grabbed her hand and kissed her. His tongue slipped into her mouth. She felt like she was being consumed.
She moved her head away.
"Someone could see us!" she hissed.
"I don't give a fuck." He almost snarled.
He leaned in again. Emma grabbed his head. She could feel his tongue at her ear. "I've wanted to do that since I saw you in the elevator on the Fourth of July."
---
February
It had been two months since Brendon kissed Emma. Since then, their relationship had gone in fits and spurts. She was in Sault Ste. Marie with her family on Christmas Eve. They both worked Christmas Day. He had Mira on New Year's Eve. But since that night at the bar, Brendon had taken it upon himself to court Emma. That was what she deserved.
He sent her flowers to her home. He hired a plumber to fix her leaking shower, even though he had wanted to do it himself. He took her to his gym, where she looked very cute attempting to lift weights. They hadn't done anything physical besides kissing, though their makeouts were now verging into heavy petting. He hadn't taken this long to get a woman into bed since high school. Maybe.
He was hoping Valentine's Day would be the night. He was committed to watching the Super Bowl with a college buddy on the actual day, but he was planning on cooking dinner for Emma at his place — spaghetti bolognese with garlic bread and a chocolate lava cake.
Emma still hadn't been over to his place, and he was looking forward to showing her. He didn't have Mira this weekend. She was at Claire's.
He was coming out of a long shift, opening his locker, when he saw his phone had two missed calls from Claire.
He called her back.
"Hey, Brendon. Can I ask you a favor?"
That wasn't a good sign. Claire's favors usually involved one of two things: changing their custody schedule, or answering one of her hypochondriac husband's health questions. Neither of which was fun.
"So Doug just got invited to New York for a company thing, and I was really hoping I could go with him. But I have Mira this weekend. Is there any chance you could watch her? Are you on call?"
Of course. The one weekend both he and Emma had off. But it was his daughter. He needed to say yes. He should say yes.
"Yes. I can watch her."
"Oh my God, thank you! You're a lifesaver. I'll drop her off on Friday."
---
Telling Emma he couldn't do Valentine's Day sucked. He could almost feel her disappointment through the phone screen.
"I understand," she wrote back.
He woke up Saturday morning. Mira was already awake and reading in the kitchen. For seven years old, she was strikingly precocious and serious. He had to give Claire — and Doug — credit. He had been an absent parent, especially in the early years, and with Claire having custody eighty percent of the time, he sometimes felt like he didn't fully know this small person who was half him.
"Do you want pancakes?" Saturday tradition.
"Sure," Mira said.
"What are you reading?"
"Harry Potter."
"Aren't you a little young for Harry Potter?" He looked at the title. He remembered his little sister being absolutely terrified of Professor Quirrell in the first book.
"No. Mom says I'm just right."
"Well. What do you want to do today?" He checked his weather app. Raining and twenty-five degrees. There went any outdoor activities.
"Whatever you want."
Not helpful.
Without entirely thinking it through, he walked into the living room and called Emma.
She picked up. He could still hear the sleepiness in her voice. "What are you doing today?"
"Uh. Yoga, knitting. I was maybe going to grab dinner with Javadi. Mateo is being hard-to-read again." He cleared his throat. He never thought he'd know the inside drama of the residents and nurses. And yet.
"Do you want to come hang out?"
"With you?"
"With Mira and me."
"Don't you think that's a little…early?" she said.
"I don't know. I don't think so. I'll just introduce you as my friend."
"…Okay. What are we going to do?"
"Children's Museum. Maybe dinner."
"Okay. I like kids. I'm coming."
---
An hour later, Emma showed up at his house. It was a strange thing, the first time — having her in the house he had bought with Claire when they got married, kept after the divorce, kept essentially unchanged. He could see Emma's eyes widen when she walked in. It definitely wasn't her duplex in Bloomfield.
"Uh. Brendon. This is really, really nice. I feel like I'm going to break something."
His eyes crinkled at her obvious discomfort.
"Emma. I have twenty years on you. And I'm a surgeon. This is fairly typical."
"Not for me!" She whispered.
She was wearing loose jeans, a lavender sweater with a pink rain jacket, and Nikes. She looked every bit twenty-two.
"Who's that?" came a voice from the kitchen. Mira appeared, book in hand, glasses at the tip of her nose.
"Uh. Mira, this is my friend Emma. She's going to hang out with us today."
"Hey, Mira! Nice to meet you. My name's Emma. I work with your dad."
"Are you a doctor?"
"No, I'm a nurse."
"That's better. Doctors can be so boring." She said.
"Hey," Brendon said, half joking.
"Besides you, Dad."
"Are you reading Harry Potter?" Emma asked, pointing at her book.
"Yes."
"It's so good! Have you gotten to the Quidditch match yet?"
And that was how Emma Nolan and Mira became friends.
---
They went to the museum, and Brendon was reminded why humans were supposed to have children in their twenties. Emma could go through all of the play exhibits with Mira, had endless energy, could ask her endless questions, and never seemed to tire. Brendon's back hurt and he was already exhausted. It was only two PM.
"Dad! Come look! Emma found the exhibit on dinosaurs. It's so cool."
"Why don't you just go with Emma?" He said, taking a seat.
That night, all he could think about was how Emma and Mira had discussed Harry Potter, the exhibits, Percy Jackson. He could see how Emma was a third-grade teacher's daughter, why every kid in the ER loved her, why she had told him she wanted at least three of her own. She was a natural. He was exhausted.
It did make him think about the future. Not that Emma and he had discussed anything like that. Would he be a father at fifty? Was that even realistic? Was that what Emma wanted? He shook the thoughts loose.
It didn't matter. He needed to stay in the present.
By eight PM, he knew he needed to drive Emma home. "Mira, we've got to go. Emma has to get home."
"Oh, but can't she stay?"
"I guess I should go," Emma said.
"Let me walk you to your car."
"Bye, Mira. It was great seeing you. I hope to see you again soon!" She walked over and gave Mira a hug.
Brendon walked Emma out of the house. For the first time, he let himself take her hand, holding it as they walked to her car. "Thanks for coming over today."
"It was my pleasure," Emma said, smiling. "She's really wonderful. You and Claire have done a great job." She leaned in. "And it was really hot watching you be a dad."
---
Three days later, on Monday, he left shift. Six missed calls. Three texts. All from Claire. CALL ME BACK ASAP.
Had something happened to Mira? He called her back.
"Jesus Christ, Brendon. Where were you?"
"In the OR."
He saw a resident walking by, staring at him, hearing the shouting through the phone. He gave the most vicious Dr. Shark glare he could manage. The resident scurried away.
"Mira came back from your house and this morning told me all about her new friend Emma Nolan. That she was the nicest friend of Dad's she'd ever met, and played with her, and talked about Harry Potter, and came to Dad's. Which is a shock to me, Brendon, because you and I agreed that whenever we were going to introduce Mira to our 'special friends' we were going to give each other a heads-up!"
"I can explain."
"No you can't! And then imagine my shock when I look up Emma Nolan Pittsburgh Nurse on LinkedIn and find out she's twenty-two. What the fuck, Bren? Twenty-two? Are you having a midlife crisis? Is this a cry for help? First it was the Mercedes convertible and now this?"
He thought about the Mercedes convertible he'd bought for his fortieth birthday. His one vice. Cars. And now, apparently, a twenty-two-year-old nurse with round cheeks and a soft voice named Emma Nolan.
"It's not a cry for help," he said. "It's serious." And then, helplessly: "She's really mature for her age."
He knew how bad it sounded. He internally cringed even as he said it.
"Mature for her age? Do you hear yourself?"
"Claire. I promise. I should have told you before introducing her to Mira — I'm sorry. I've known Emma for about eight months. We started dating a month ago. We're still figuring things out. And you know this isn't a pattern for me. I've mainly dated women your age."
That was definitively the wrong thing to say. It sent Claire into an even bigger frenzy. "Women my age? Am I over the hill? Did you need someone with fresh ovaries?"
He saw Dr. Mohan rounding the corner and she looked briefly alarmed. He lowered his voice.
"Claire. That's ridiculous, and you know it. You know me. I'm not Hugh Hefner. I like Emma. I want to see where things go. I made a mistake in not telling you. I'm sorry."
That seemed to calm her down.
"Okay. I want to meet her. And next time — heads-up that she's twenty-two."
---
March
Emma had been dating Brendon since January. She had met Mira. She still hadn't told her mom. Or Lydia, her best friend from college. Or Javadi. Or her roommates. He was just the shark emoji in her phone. They mainly hung out at his place, which was twenty times nicer than hers. It had a two-car garage with the Porsche and the Mercedes. She had looked the house up on Zillow and when she saw the number — $2.1M — she had to sit down. Brendon was also a good cook. He was good at many things. Cleaning, cooking. He had even gotten Emma onto the water with him in his shell as part of his rowing club. She mainly sat there and looked decorative while he did the work.
He tended to compartmentalize. Work in one bucket, Mira in another, Emma in another. They sometimes caught each other's eyes at the Pitt, but nothing ever came of it. She could see why Brendon had a bad reputation at work. He wasn't friendly or cheerful. She told him he could stand to smile more, to be a little warmer. "But why?" he asked her.
"The residents would respond better to you."
"They learn. They learn fast."
"And what are your professor ratings?"
That shut him up. But she did notice he wasn't raising his voice as much during consults, wasn't criticizing Whitaker the same way.
"Someone's getting laid," Princess told her one afternoon, after Brendon actually smiled at Jesse during a procedure.
If only that were true. She and Brendon still hadn't slept together. They'd made out extensively. He had fingered her, made her orgasm several times, and gone down on her — that seemed to be one of his favorite things. But he still hadn't let her do anything for him.
She was determined to change that this weekend. It was St. Patrick's Day. Brendon had asked if she wanted to go out, but both of them had the weekend off, Mira was at her mom's, and Emma just wanted to be with him.
"Are you sure you don't want to go out with your friends? Be, you know. Young and fun?"
"No. I just want to be with you," Emma said.
"I don't want you to feel like you're missing out because of me. Normal twenty-two-year-old things."
"I'm not a normal twenty-two-year-old."
"I know you're not. I just don't want you to regret me."
"I won't."
So that was how Emma found herself at Brendon's the weekend of St. Patrick's Day. He cooked a real Irish meal — corned beef and cabbage. She even wore green. After dinner, they were on his couch watching the new Game of Thrones spinoff. It wasn't very good. Emma started kissing his throat, then his mouth. It slowly got hotter and she took her shirt off, then stepped out of her shorts. Her bra and underwear were matching green.
"Jesus. You're trying to kill me." He said.
"Maybe." She dove back in, kissing him again and unclasping her bra in the same motion.
Emma started peppering kisses down his chest, taking his shirt off. For someone who was forty-two, he was in very good shape — probably thanks to all the rowing and erging. She took off his jeans, undoing his belt. She could see he was already hard and started rubbing him through his boxers.
"Emma. Jesus. You have to stop soon."
"What if I don't want to?"
She took his boxers off and put the length of him in her mouth and sucked. She could see his Adam's apple bobbing, as if he were barely holding himself in check. It didn't take long to feel him on the edge, his hips beginning to lift.
"Emma. I'm going to come soon. Where do you want me?"
Emma released him. "Wherever you want, sir."
And then he came on her breasts, shuddering, and looked down at her with something that lived between pleasure and wonder.
"Not bad for an old man," Emma said, laughing.
"Oh, you'll pay for that," he said, grabbing her and tickling her on the couch.
---
May
Brendon was turning forty-three this weekend. Not that he needed reminding. Despite his health, his low BMI, his good eating habits, he still had high cholesterol. Getting out of bed was a chore some mornings. And dating Emma, he was constantly made aware of her energy and, honestly, her sheer appetite for life. He didn't really want to celebrate. But Emma insisted.
Reluctantly, he mentioned that he and a college friend had a cabin in Ohiopyle, near a lake. Emma clapped her hands and said "Perfect!" And honestly, once they were there, he found himself enjoying it. They grilled chicken and vegetables one evening. She had even made him a German chocolate cake, his favorite, and he blew out the candles.
The weekend was perfect in other ways too. He knew Emma was finally ready. She had gotten the Nexplanon recently, and they had talked through her experience — one boyfriend in college, a handful of times, unremarkable. Since March, they had given each other a number of mutual orgasms, but it was like the last step still held some weight for her. He knew she wanted it to mean something. He didn't find that the least bit cheesy.
He also knew they needed to report their relationship to the hospital administrative team. Especially now that it had become sexual. He didn't want her reputation damaged or anyone to think badly of her. He kept trying to bring it up. She kept putting it off, insisting she wanted it to stay "just theirs" a little longer.
He tried not to bring it up on the trip. But on Saturday night, after making a wood-fired pizza, they were in the hot tub.
"Emma. We really need to let the hospital know."
"I know," she said, edging slightly away from him.
"No. I'm serious. It could jeopardize both of our jobs."
"I know. I just… I don't want to be seen as just the nurse sleeping with the attending."
"You won't be." He nodded. "I promise. People love you. You're smart, you're empathetic, you work harder than anyone on that floor."
She swam over to him. "I guess. I just. I didn't think I'd meet someone at work, and especially not my first year. And especially not an attending. I don't want people to think that's all I am."
"I promise they won't." He said, pushing a loose curl from one of her braids behind her ear.
"Okay. We can tell them." She looked up at him from under her eyelashes.
"Alright. You'll need to tell Dana. I'll tell Dr. Chisterdan." Chisterdan was the Chief of Orthopedic Surgery, someone Brendon respected. It wasn't going to be his favorite conversation — telling his Chief he was seeing the twenty-two-year-old ER nurse — but there could be worse things. And for Emma, he would do anything.
"Okay. Can we stop talking about it now? I just want to be here tonight. With you." She wrapped her arms around his neck and started kissing his throat. He could feel himself hardening beneath the water. As he always did with Emma.
"I know you're trying to distract me."
"Is it working?"
"Yes," he said, somewhat breathlessly.
She reached for the top of her bikini and undid the strings. He glanced around. The lights were off in the cabin and the nearest one was another mile away. He felt her tug down his swim trunks. Before he could form a rational thought, he felt her shift her bikini bottoms aside and then, almost without thinking, he entered her.
She gasped. "It's too much."
"You can take it, baby." He said quietly. He entered her slowly, feeling the walls of her against him. And then, in that moment, he understood why people called it making love.
---
June
Emma walked into the Pitt. It was almost a year since she had started, a year since she had met Brendon, a year since everything had changed. Before she could chart in, she felt Dana grab her arm.
"We're going to admin."
"What? What did I do?"
"We'll talk about it. Robby's already there." They were in the elevator. Dana wouldn't look her in the eye. Oh shit. Her stomach dropped. Had someone found out about her and Brendon? She had been planning to tell Dana soon, and Brendon to tell Dr. Chisterdan.
They walked into the office. The last time she was here was when she signed her onboarding paperwork and got her ID. Robby was already there. Kill me now, she thought.
"Emma. Do you know why you're here?" Monica from HR said.
"Um. No?" She tried to play dumb.
"Inappropriate pictures of you were seen on Dr. Park's phone by a colleague."
Emma gulped. She had sent Brendon some photos of her in lingerie he'd bought her last week. She thought they were over text. And she had assumed he hadn't saved them.
"How?" she whispered.
"Apparently he was showing a colleague photos from his daughter's recent soccer match, and she noticed the photos of you above them in the album. As you know, this can constitute a violation of the hospital handbook."
"Are you serious?" Robby said. "This is why we're here? I have patients. Can we get this over with?"
Monica looked down seriously. "Dr. Park has confirmed the relationship is consensual and sexual. Is that true?"
Emma felt the blush reach her ears. She nodded.
"Will you sign paperwork attesting to that?"
She nodded again.
Monica slid over a piece of paper. No inappropriate workplace conduct. They couldn't work surgeries together. He couldn't show favoritism. She signed quickly. She just wanted this to be over.
"Alright, are we done here?" Robby said.
The rest of the day passed in a trance. She could vaguely hear Dana telling her that if she found out Emma was lying, that Dr. Park had coerced her in any way, there would be hell to pay. Did she realize how much older he was? That he had a child? That this was how it was in the old days, doctors taking advantage of nurses? Emma heard herself saying: no, he hadn't coerced her. Yes, she knew his age and his situation. Things had changed.
She could feel everyone in the Pitt watching her. What a day. Brendon was supposed to give her a ride home, but she just wanted the bus.
She was waiting at the stop when she heard a familiar Porsche Cayenne slow beside her. "What the fuck, Emma? I was waiting for you for twenty minutes."
"Yeah. I don't want to talk to you right now."
"That's a mature way to handle it."
"Well, you weren't the subject of all the gossip today."
"It'll be a different topic tomorrow, I promise."
Emma walked to his car window. "What happened? How did she see those photos? They were supposed to be private. You were supposed to keep them hidden."
"You can do that?"
"OH MY GOD. You can have a hidden album on your Photos. You are such a Gen X person sometimes."
"I'm actually not Gen X. I'm an Elder Millennial." He said, trying for a joke.
It did not work.
"I'm sorry, baby," he said. "I was trying to show Dr. Garcia photos from Mira's soccer match, and I think she saw the photos of you in the lingerie I got you."
"Ugh. For someone so smart you are so technologically helpless." Emma heard herself saying. "I guess I can't stay too mad at you. At least I wasn't naked in them."
"Come in the car. I'll drive you home. And you can show me how to make a hidden album. I don't want to get us in trouble again. At least everyone knows now. And we can't be too mad at Dr. Garcia. She was doing the right thing."
Emma opened the car door.
---
July
It was the anniversary of the first day Brendon saw Emma. That's how he would always think of the Fourth of July now.
He wasn't the same person he was a year ago. He felt it. His mood was lighter. He even thanked his staff. He was never going to shed the Shark reputation entirely, and honestly he didn't particularly want to. But he didn't want to deserve it, either.
Now everyone at work knew about him and Emma. It felt like a weight off his shoulders. The rumor mill had already moved on — according to Emma, the current hot topic was that Dr. Mohan was pregnant and word among the nurses was that Dr. Abbott was the father. That would hold attention for at least another month.
Emma saw Mira every weekend he had her. He had introduced her to Claire — which, by all accounts, had gone about as well as it could have. He was going with Emma to Sault Ste. Marie over Labor Day to meet her family. He was hoping he could take a look at Max and see if there were any specialists worth referring him to.
Emma beamed at him from the passenger seat. She had taken to spending nearly every night at his place, her piece-of-shit landlord having failed to fix their air conditioning for two weeks running. Emma didn't know it, but he was planning to ask her to officially move in with him tonight, once their shifts were over.
They got in the elevator together. He glanced over at her. She smiled.
The doors closed.
He thought about her round cheeks, her corded headphones, her cherry bikini top, her hot chocolate in September. He thought about kintsugi, and broken things repaired with gold.
He reached over and took her hand.