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I — You could’ve met her the first week.
She’s bubbly, there is absolutely no reason a med student should be bubbly when you have her cleaning pus out of a homeless man’s foot. Not to mention it’s eight in the morning, and you both have been here since it was…however long ago Thursday was. But she’s there, and she’s humming, and making conversation with the guy like he comes here every day. If this is what it felt like for Benton, you should try a lot harder to convince him to go to a fancy dinner with your credit card, or every single Doc Magoo run, or you could wash his car every week.
You’re thrown clear from your Benton pity party by an older woman tapping at your shoulder, “I’m sorry, have you seen a Lucy Knight?” She’s got a kindness to her that feels overly familiar, and you stomp down your annoyance because, huh , this is what Lucy will look like when she’s older. There’s a shiver down your spine at the thought of Lucy matching at County, at working with Lucy until you both have grey hairs and sciatica. You’re still staring at this woman with wide-eyed horror when you hear a gagging sound—she must’ve started on the other foot. “I think she’s probably gonna need a minute,” you smile, and you know it's a bit too gleeful because you can see Benton’s lip twitching upwards in the corner of your eye.
Lucy swirls into your vision a half hour later, vigorously chewing a breath mint Carol gave her, and her eyes make her look like a deer, and she honest to god squeals when she hugs her mother. You catch yourself smiling again, and Lucy Knight has absolutely no place at County General for sheer lack of professionalism. “You’re staring,” Chuny whispers, bumping past you with charts.
II — You could’ve met her at the grocery store.
She even ends up going to your grocery store. It’s not like you own the place, but it’d be nice to have one day without Lucy Knight in your space. You walk over and stare at the broccoli, hoping she avoids you. There’s what should be patented footsteps behind you, “Dr. Carter.” You close your eyes and huff when you turn around. Lucy buys a ridiculous amount of fresh produce. “You’ll never be able to eat it before it goes bad,” and wow, when did you turn into a nagging mother? She rolls her eyes before gasping and saying, “Mom!”
“That’s not funny,” you say, and ow, she runs your toe over with her cart. You look up, and an older woman looks delighted as Lucy gives her what looks to be a bone-crushing hug. “What are you doing here?” Lucy’s practically shouting, and if your feet weren’t glued to the linoleum for some reason, you would leave. “I forgot to pack a toothbrush with me. I just flew in this morning. Surprise!” Lucy sets the broccoli down a bit aggressively. “Let’s go to dinner!”
She grabs her cart and puts everything back, and you’re still stuck to the floor watching her and her mother rush out with an abnormal amount of energy for a Sunday.
III — You could’ve met her at the restaurant.
It was a stupid idea. It’s against the rules. It will most definitely ruin both of your professional reputations. It’s been the most fun you’ve had in…ever. She hasn’t said an annoying thing in three hours, and even though your bladder is about to burst, you can’t stand to excuse yourself and head to the bathroom. Her hair is up, and you’ve seen it like this many times, along with that shade of lipstick. You tasted that shade a week ago in the exam room, and you haven’t been able to rest for seven days. This morning you told her she should grab dinner with you, and you made it sound casual in your head, but it came out squeaky and desperate. Maybe you are a bit desperate, after all, this will be the proof you both need that you’re being ridiculous. That this isn’t going to work.
She looks exhausted, and you saw her wear that same top on Monday. There’s either a ketchup stain or a blood stain on her left sleeve. But she also looks happy to be here, and she just so happens to be adorable, and you can’t look away for even a second.
“Lucy?”
She breaks eye contact to glance up, and you stare at her jaw until the trance breaks. “Hi, Mom.” You look up and see Lucy’s eyes in a different variation, this one more humorous and wise with age. “You must be Doctor Carter.”
Lucy looks down and plays with the hem of her sweater, biting her lip.
Your heart thuds. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Um, yeah.”
IV — You could’ve met her at their home.
“Oh my god,” you can’t breathe. Lucy crowds in around you and squeezes your arms, and it kind of hurts; she’s stronger than she seems. “She’s liked you from our phone conversations! I mean, not at first, she was freaked out about my boss taking advantage of me, but then I sent her a copy of that picture that your Gram gave me—”
“Oh my god,” she squeezes you tighter. “The one with the ugly sweater?!” She pouts for a split second, “The Rudolph sweater was not ugly, it was the giant zit on your nose.” You stomp at her feet and she shuffles away for about a second before she stomps back. “Stop that!” she somehow shouts softly. “You are about to get so much dirt on me, John Carter. You are not allowed to freak out. You are tall, you are cute, you are smart, and you are coming inside my childhood home and meeting my mother.”
She rings the doorbell and you readjust your tie. An older version of Lucy answers the door with a knowing smile, “Dinner’s been cooling, John, I do hope you know my daughter is much more intimidating than I am.” Lucy swats at your back while you head in. It’s like being pelted by Bambi. “Call me Barbara, dear,” she tells you as you shut the door.
You hold hands under the dinner table, you laugh at her mom’s jokes because they’re actually funny, and you press your cold toes against her warm ones because she has Snoopy pillowcases and pink silk sheets on her childhood bed. She wrinkles her nose when she presses her face against your chest in her sleep, and Lucy Knight isn’t very scary at all. Her grip around your waist is iron clad, though.
V — You could’ve met her at the wedding.
This is crazy.
“This is crazy,” you say, Mark is working on your tie and Elizabeth keeps messing up your hair. Benton snorts, but he’s somehow ironing your pants, since no one else has ‘his precision.’ You can hear Jerry’s booming laugh down the hall while he plays with Tess, since Carol and Doug are here. “All weddings are crazy,” Mark reassures you, “this tie isn’t working.” You blink, “How is it not working?” Mark huffs, “It looks weird. Doesn’t it look weird?” Elizabeth tilts her head, “A bit, I suppose.”
Benton sighs, “It looks fine.” He’s tugging you over to the ironing board. “Your main problem is we’ve all been staring at him pantless for an hour.” Doug wanders in, “Still not dressed huh? Lucy’s—”
“You’re not supposed to talk about Lucy before the ceremony,” Jerry hollers.
“That’s not true,” Carol corrects him.
“I think it’s too tight,” you murmur to Mark. “The tie or the pants?” Benton shoves you in the corner, “Doesn’t matter, you’re out in ten.”
You’re nervously looking around the pews, and there’s Barbara Knight waving at you. You wave back right before the music starts up. You’ll say hi after.
+I — You met her at the lowest point of your life.
There were a few times you had thought of meeting Lucy’s mother. Not as often as you’d trail off at night thinking about Lucy. You never did anything, not after the exam room, not after the hundreds of little outbursts at each other. Not after you’d convinced yourself things were better this way, that Lucy would head off to some other hospital, in some other field. She liked the flow, Psych, and you liked the rush of the E.R. Lucy, when you did think of her, was always this young, bubbly, peppy thing. You’re pretty pissed off that she’s always just going to be that young, bubbly, peppy thing. A refined woman with a natural grace that’s hard to find, she would have made a great grouchy old hag.
There was no future with Lucy Knight, not then and not now. Now, in the present, there was the never-ending cycle of falling asleep thinking of Lucy Knight and staying awake to the memories of Lucy Knight. She hadn’t meant that much to you at the time, and you certainly hadn’t been much to her, but a thorn in her side and a constant criticizer of just about everything she did.
You didn’t know she loved San Francisco. Maybe you did, she always talked a lot, and you didn’t always listen. You tune in and out while she rambles on, and it strikes you now how much she looks like Lucy. Or how much Lucy looked like her, whatever. It’s not like Lucy is going to get older, or look older, so you’ll never really know just how alike her and her mother could have looked. “She had a lot of respect for you, and I know that you must have taught her a lot,” she says.
You clear your throat, “Well, she worked with all the residents, not just me.” She softens, “I know. But you’re the one she used to mention.”
That rips you open worse than the knife.