What do they usually do in this situation?” I ask Rita, who’s standing beside me by the nurses station.

My eyes scan the document in front of me. The words written on it seem familiar, but there are several ways we can go about this and . . . am I really supposed to make this decision on behalf of this patient?

“Honey,” she says, “you are ‘they’ now. You're the doctor here. I’m a nurse; I can't tell you what to do. You need to be the one making the call.”

Oh God.

I review the patient’s chart once again.

“I’m sure you know what to do. They must've taught you this stuff in med school,” says Rita, who seems to be in her fifties. She has this world-weary look on her face. I must seem like some wide-eyed, helpless baby bird to her.

Rita has just brought me the results from the patient‘s latest test, and it confirms what I thought about his condition . . . I think.

“So what are you going to order?” Rita asks.

“I . . .” The words start to form in my mind, but I can't be a-hundred percent sure I’m right, and a man’s life hangs in the balance. My heart rate goes up as I consider my options.

Oh, I know.

“Um… I’ll call Dr. Graham and see what she thinks.” I grab the phone receiver from the counter before Rita gets a chance to push me for a decision.

Why are people asking me what to do? I just read some books and sat for some exams. I shouldn't be in charge of people's lives.

The biggest responsibility I’d ever had before becoming a medical intern was making sure the money that my dad puts into my account every month goes into the correct bills at the correct times.

I’ve never even been responsible for a pet! I really think I should prove myself by keeping a hamster alive before moving on to human beings. They should make that a condition for graduating medical school.

At the beginning of the final semester, they should give out hamsters to the entire lecture hall and make it a requirement for every student to bring a live hamster to the last exam. The hamsters would make great photo prop at graduation time, too. Those pictures would get so many likes on Instagram.

Dr. Graham doesn’t sound too happy to hear my voice when she picks up the call. I can’t really blame her because this is the fourth time I’ve rung her today, but what else can I do? These people are not safe with me in charge.

Sure, Dr. Graham may be annoyed. But I’m trying to save people’s lives here—from myself.

“Like I asked you all the other times you called me, Aubrey, what do you think the patient needs?”

I pause. I do have a guess in my mind . . . “Forty milligrams of labetalol?”

“That’s good,” Dr. Graham says. “Now, if you call me one more time with something you already know the answer to, I’m going to start ignoring your calls.”

“Sor—” I hear the disconnect tone before I manage to finish my apology. Dr. Graham just hung up on me.

“So…? Forty milligrams of labetalol?” Rita asks with an impatient facial expression, her pen hovering over her note pad, ready to take down the order.

“Yes,” I say as I put the phone receiver back down. I give her a sheepish smile. “Thank you, Rita.”

Later when I tell Aiden about the incident over lunch, he chuckles when I get to the part of the story where Dr. Graham threatens to ignore my phone calls.

“How can you laugh at that?” I ask. “What if I really need her, and she doesn’t help me, and someone dies as a result?”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Aiden says as he stabs a piece of potato with his fork. We’ve been having lunch together every day since that first date we had after work, but we haven’t had much chance to do much else. We’re both too busy working.

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“Because I’m pretty sure she won’t really leave you to flounder on your own. It’s her job to help you. She can get into trouble if you mess up and they find out it’s because you couldn’t reach her.”

I pause. That makes sense, I guess.

“But you know,” Aiden says, his gaze softened, “sooner or later you’re going to have to do things on your own.”

I let out a big sigh. “I know. That’s what I’ve been telling myself, too. It just feels like a huge, sudden flood of responsibilities all of a sudden.”

“Every doctor goes through this. You’ve already learned everything you need to know to do this job. It just takes time to put all that knowledge into practice and to feel like you’re an actual doctor,” Aiden says sensibly.

“Do you feel like a doctor?” I frown. Is it just me who can’t adjust to this stressful work environment, where everything could be a life-and-death situation?

“No,” Aiden says, smiling. “That’s just what I’ve been told by the other doctors.”

“How do you know you’re going to just magically feel like a doctor one day?”

Aiden stops to consider my question, looking off into the distance before he fixes his gaze back on me. “I don’t, actually.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t know that I’m definitely going to feel like a doctor one of these days, but there’s a good chance I will. There’s no use worrying about something that may or may not happen.”

“But what would you do if you still feel like a fake doctor after years of working here?” I ask.

“I’d reconsider what I do for a living. But at the moment, it’s best to just do what I can and hope for the best.” Aiden’s gaze is gentle, his eyes the lightest blue under the sunlight streaming in through the big windows in the cafeteria. “You’re too hard on yourself, princess. As far as I can tell, you’re doing well. You don’t have anything to worry about. And even if you decide this is not the path for you, at least you’ll have learned something about yourself in the process.”

I take a sip of my apple juice. “I mean, you’re right. I really can’t fault your logic. But . . .”

“But . . . ?” Aiden levels his gaze at me.

I take a deep breath. “This is going to sound stupid to you, and it’s going to make me look like such a spoiled brat.”

The corners of Aiden’s lips curl up as an amused glint dances in his eyes. “Try me,” he says.

“Promise me you won’t leave me after hearing this?” I ask, only half-joking.

“Of course I won’t.” Aiden holds out his finger. “Pinky promise.”

“I’m not five,” I say, although I can’t help but smile. I take a deep breath. “In an attempt to be more independent, I told my dad he could stop sending me money.”

“That’s great,” Aiden says.

“Yeah. I have a job, and I can pay my own rent and bills, so I don’t need my dad’s money anymore,” I say. “But now I feel like maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Maybe I haven’t thought this through.”

“Why would you feel that way?” Aiden asks.

“I don’t know.” I sigh. I’ve been staying up way too late thinking about this, so I know rationally I’ll be fine, but still . . . “I can afford my rent and other expenses fine, but there’s not much left over. I feel like I should’ve tried to build up some savings before I completely cut off the money from my dad. What if I suck as a doctor and I lose my job? What if I don’t have any income anymore?” My heart starts to race as anxiety fills my system. “I can’t just call my dad and ask for money.”

“Yes, you can.” Aiden chuckles. “Your dad’s not going to let you live on the streets. You’re going to be fine.”

“I know I must sound like such a whiner to you. I have this safety net and I’m still bitching about it. I’m sorry. I know you have it much harder.”

“You know what? If anything, I’m the right person to give you some advice. I’ve been familiar with that fear of not being able to provide for myself—and my mom—my whole life,” Aiden says kindly. “The key is simple. You just can’t let that fear take over.”

I look at Aiden. “I know you’re right. I just . . . It’s one thing to know something makes logical sense, but it’s a different thing to really know it . . . you know?”

“Hmm… Yeah,” Aiden says.

“You do?” I’m surprised. I don’t think I explained that well at all.

“Yeah. And I know just the thing you need,” he says with a cryptic smile.

“What is it?”

“It’s a secret for now. A secret prescription for your anxiety. You’ll see tomorrow.”

I frown. What could this be?

Aiden’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat, which is suspicious, but he can’t possibly be planning anything evil, can he?

Nah. I can trust Aiden. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing. He certainly looks like he does . . .