"We passed our boards!"
"We killed the boards!"
"Yes, yes, we absolutely knocked it out of the park, but if you two could get off the tables, I could actually celebrate without worrying."
Rather than heed my request, Cristina and Meredith grab either one of my arms and yank me onto the table with them. I sigh under my breath and relish in the feeling of being done with our residency.
As for the fifth and last year of our residency, other than the normal aspects, nothing far-fetched or severe had occurred.
The first time in four years, to say the least.
Once the end of the party hits at precisely 1:37 A.M., I venture back to the apartment where Derek sits hunched over at his desk.
My hand grasps the nape of a bottle of non-alcoholic wine — one of the few palatable ones recommended by April — and I enter the room.
"Care to put away the files for one night and have your way with your wife?"
He swivels in his chair, a bright smile beams across his features. As his hands find mine, I'm tugged into the lap of the neurosurgeon with no voluntary movement of my own.
"How was the celebration?"
"Filled with tequila. And April Kepner rocking her head of hair so hard, she nearly broke her neck. Twice."
A hum vibrates the back of his throat.
"Hunt needs to know where we are on Boston, and I gotta let Harvard know what I'm doing by tomorrow."
"Today tomorrow or tomorrow tomorrow?"
"Uh. . .today tomorrow."
"Regardless, we're not going." My hands clasp just under his hairline at his neck. "Could we pop open this bottle of wine and make love?"
"You know — I may have told you — I have family on the east coast."
"And I may have replied the only bit of family I have left lives here in the forms of Cristina and Meredith. If Cristina chooses Stanford, it'll only be a two-hour plane ride. And if Meredith chooses U.C. San Francisco, same thing."
"But if she chooses Columbia, it's only a two-hour train ride."
The attending chuckles at his own rhyme, to which I cock a brow.
"We're not going, Der."
"They want me to run the entire neurosurgery department at Harvard."
"Webber and Bailey love me. I could create a whole department for surgical oncology."
"I will be teaching the best fellows in the world."
"We're staying."
"We're leaving."
Realizing there's no end to this discussion in sight, I take the wine bottle with me to bed and switch on the television.
"Enjoy the couch."
- - - - - - - - - -
"Is this Dr. Leven Phoenix?"
"Yes, this is she."
I stand beside Derek in the elevator, although neither of us have said a word to each other since yesterday's late night talk.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Hartshorn, the head of the Boston University Medical Center Program. I wanted to personally call you and congratulate you on your acceptance into the hematology-oncology fellowship."
"O-Oh, thank you. Thank you, this is great news."
"You're very welcome. Have a great rest of your day."
My finger slams the "end" button to the cellphone, and I silently celebrate the highly-esteemed offer. The elevator doors swing open, and Mark walks in.
"Am I interrupting a makeout session?"
"No, that's just you and not Lexie."
Sensing some tension lingering in the air, Mark steps out of the elevator just as the doors shut again. Derek clears his throat and says:
"Who was on the phone?"
"Boston University."
"What?"
"I got a spot for their hematology-oncology fellowship."
"We're going to Boston."
"We're. . .we're thinking about Boston."
For the first time, lunch with the residents is one of excitement and low stress, given that almost everyone has received offers from their desired programs.
Jackson stabs his fork through an unsuspecting meatball. "We can add Spaghetti Wednesday to the list of things I'm not gonna miss about this place."
"Are you kidding? It's the best deal in town." Meredith slips her second latte of the day. "I've watched Alex go through six bowls already."
"True that." Alex shoves more strands of pasta down his throat.
"Doesn't Stanford have a farm-to-table chef? I heard you can text your order right from the O.R.."
The only one of us to stay in Seattle, Meredith, has made it her life's ambition to make each one of us stay.
"I still haven't made my decision."
"Well, it's gotta be Stanford. Where else would you go?"
"She could go to Columbia. According to Derek, it's only a two-hour train ride from Boston University."
Congratulations pour out from the table as everyone realizes I received an offer from them. All except Meredith.
"I still haven't decided, you know. I could stay."
"So could I."
Cristina and I share a look before diverting to our respective plates of spaghetti, a similar decision hanging over our heads.
After a long day's shift, the completed building of our future home is a wonderful sight. The fireplace and its stonework, the massive kitchen, and the view from the large windows.
"You've done it again, you know that? You're a genius inside and outside the O.R.."
"I will build you a dream house in Boston."
"And what would we do with this one?"
"Mark will buy it. His dreams have always been my dreams."
"I thought he'd be living in the garage of wherever we'd be living."
My heels click over the hardwood floors, and I smooth a hand over the granite surface of the kitchen island.
"Harvard is offering me a ten-million-dollar endowment." Derek announces with his hands clasped. "They're setting me up with an entire research team. I'm gonna cure C.O.P.D., Leven. That's my dream. Not this house."
"Really?"
"But fulfilling my dream won't mean anything if you're not by my side."
A breath hitches in the back of my throat.
"You're making this choice with Cristina because of Meredith."
"I'm not."
"And I'm your husband. This is a decision you should make with me."
I take the long steps towards him, my fingertips grazing his cheeks and hindering just at his jaw. Our lips mold together in a silent agreement before parting ways.
"We're leaving."
- - - - - - - - - -
"Leven! Leven!"
My eyes shoot open, the darkness that consumed what feels like mere moments ago now morphed into broad daylights.
"Leven!"
Derek's voice rings through a clearing in whatever forest we crashed into. My fingers grasp a rock in the dirt, and I hit it against the metal of the airplane part.
"D-Derek?"
"Leven?"
He draws closer to where I am. With every bit of energy left in me, I continue to create the thudding sound for him to follow.
"L-Leven."
"Oh, Derek."
"I heard your voice. I thought. . .I thought I was dreaming."
He releases a breath of relief, only his eyes are drawn to my chest. My brows narrow, and I follow his gaze to the precise spot.
Where a metal shard sticks out of my ribs.
"Derek?"
"You're gonna be okay, Leven. Just don't —"
And that's the last thing I heard him say before my eyes closed.