After Afterall

7

I had expected to work the morning of the State Dinner, maybe even into the afternoon, but as soon as Richard saw me in the morning, he sent me right back home. "Your mother will be there soon and the two of you are going to get your hair done." I was shocked because 1) my mother never gets her hair "done" and 2) my mother never takes time off from working for something so trivial. I had planned to just curl my hair in my own bathroom, but that plan was nixed the second my mother showed up at my front door.

The two of us have been spending our entire day getting made up and my mother keeps telling everyone we're going to the White House. Having spent an entire week at the White House, I have to admit it doesn't sound so fancy.

My mother genuinely seems excited. Back when I was young, she was all about cutting, but as time's gone on, her focus has shifted and it's been about medical politics. She does research and writes books, gives lectures and travels the world. She acts as the face of surgery without actually performing as many. I try to ask her why the shift, but she can never give me an answer. I've stopped asking.

I have to admit, it feels nice not having to work in my mother's shadow any longer. She's still the most brilliant mind in surgery, but her name is no longer on the surgical board. I am the only Grey cutting these days.

Once my hair is done, I hope to maybe head home, but the next stop is our makeup. I can't believe my mother is concerned about my face. Once that's done, we pick up our dresses. This was the one part I sort of agreed on. I couldn't just wear any old dress, so I did pick one out specifically for the event. My mother chose a knee-length dark blue dress that suits her very well. I went black with a floor-length gown with a low neckline and sturdy straps. I love the dress and it glides around me perfectly.

By the time I'm dropped off, it's nearly six and I'm being picked up at seven. Alex is sitting on the couch drinking a beer. He looks over at me and does a double-take. He gives me a long whistle. "Damn Grey, you look hot."

I checked myself before I left the salon and the hairdresser blew my hair out and gave me long, loose curls. I had planned the same sort of look, but it never would have worked this well. The makeup artist has gone heavy on the eyeliner and dark eye shadow so my eyes are smoky. My lips are nude and my cheeks are slightly pink.

Alex, on the other hand, looks schlepy on the couch.

"You know the car comes in an hour."

He nods and takes another pull of beer. "Are you afraid I won't be ready? I was born ready, Grey."

"We'll see about that. I'm going to get dressed."

In actuality, I spend almost forty minutes checking on my patients through an app the hospital implemented a few years ago. I had a surgery scheduled for the morning which was covered by another doctor, so I check in on that patient first. To my relief, the surgery went well. I don't really pay attention to the time, but I receive a call a little while later letting me know my car would arrive in fifteen minutes. I jump up and start actually getting ready.

Alex is waiting by the front door when I walk down the stairs. He looks handsome in a black tux. I take the arm he offers me. "You look beautiful," he says.

"So do you," I reply and we share a smile. Alex is as close to me as a brother. He's been my rock through my internship, residency, fellowship, and now attending position. Cristina has also been my rock, but with us there's a competition that Alex and I have never had.

The car that waits outside for us is a freaking Bentley, which makes Alex nearly die on the spot. He drools over the exterior, talking up the driver who I suspect is actually Secret Service, and then once we're inside, he keeps talking about the leather. Boys, I think.