THE STARS ARE BEAUTIFUL - WATTYS AWARD NEW ADULT WINNER 2019

Callum | Chapter 21

WHEN I TURNED EIGHTEEN, my father gave me a savings account that was a few cents shy of a million dollars. He never told me what to do with the money (small exception: become a lifeguard), and I always assumed it was for med school, but when tuition was due, he had a check ready. I concluded it was a lure. He wanted me to run away from my plans of becoming a doctor—not go down the same path he'd found himself hating—but the money had never swayed my choice.

I liked anomalies and puzzles—sure—but there was something else that I couldn't explain about why I wanted to become a doctor. Something a bit like that invisible cord Everly Anne had tied around my ribcage.

What I didn't know was that fate had stuck a dart between my childhood and my adulthood. The paper I was handed at eighteen meant very little, unless I looked at the money like it was a stack of coins destined for a wishing well. But I didn't have the foresight or dreams yet to understand the importance of this rule yet.

***

Tatum stared at me as we split a brownie at Noelle's café. "Georgia? But why?"

"Everly had a grandpa there. Whenever she talks about him or Georgia, she looks happy. I could apply for residency at a good hospital in Atlanta. What's that look for? You don't think I could handle southern-style livin'?"

She laughed around licking fudge from her fingers. "One does not simply move from New York, Callum."

"I would fuckin' miss New York." I groaned. "You've got me there, Tot."

She fell back in her seat. "And you'll resent her, and your great love affair will ..." She whistled our love-life plummeting toward earth, then caused an explosion with her hands.

"I can't resent her if it's my idea."

Tatum pushed the rest of the brownie toward me. "What if she gets back home and decides she likes them boys with big ole muddin' trucks and dip-stuffed cheeks. What if she wants to have bonfires and moonlit kisses by the creek, and you're just this high-brow doctor who ain't never home to scold them chil'ens and to go to church on Sundays?" She sat forward. "Man, I should write that down—it sounds like a great country song in the making."

"You're right, Tot. Everyone who lives in Georgia dips, has a monster truck, and canoodles in a creek. How on earth has Georgia survived with such simpletons running the state!"

"I'm just joking, Callum. Atlanta is just as good of a place to hate being a doctor as New York."

"You know I hate that word." I crumpled the pastry-paper as I shoved the last bite of brownie in my mouth. "It's only an idea, anyhow. Truth be told, I'm not even supposed to be dating Everly, much less moving her to another state."

"I thought she looked a bit young."

I tossed the paper at her wise-ass grin. "She's twenty. Fuck off, Tater."

"So why are you barred?" she laughed.

"Well, for starters, you know Brighton is both my attending and her father."

"And for the second course?" she encouraged.

I debated for a moment, but relinquished. "She has CIPA."

"The hell is a sippa?"

I sighed. "It's this rare condition—maybe three people in the whole country have it—a genetic disorder that affects her nervous system. She can't feel pain, decipher temperature, or sweat. And then there's other shit because of how it affects her mentally, emotionally."

"Is... Forgive me for sounding dense... But is there a treatment?"

"It's how she's made. There's nothing anyone can do about it except tailor her life around her condition, which brings us back to why I'm barred from dating Everly."