After Jennie's girlfriend,Jisoo, dies in an accident during their junior year, she reaches out to the recipients of the donated organs in hopes of picking up the fragments of her now-unrecognizable life. But whoever received Jisoo's heart has chosen...
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"The Greeks believed the spirit resided in the heart. In traditional Chinese medicine, the heart is believed to store the spirit, shen. The idea of the heart as an inner book, which contains a record of a person's entire life—emotions, ideas, and memories—appears in early Christian theology, but may have ancient roots that go back to Egyptian culture. No other part of the human body has been so widely commemorated in poetry, so commonly used as a symbol for love and the soul."
— Dr. Mimi Guarneri, The Heart Speaks: A Cardiologist Reveals the Secret Language of Healing.
We both tense when the ER doors swish open and as soon as we step through the doorway, it brings me back to reality. Rosé's reality, which, according to all her sister's posts, was lived in and out of hospitals, with endless medications in constant need of adjustment, extended stays, and emergency trips—scares that drove her and her family through these same doors fearing the worst. The thought of it makes me want to take her hand in mine as we walk up to the check-in counter.
Behind it, a round woman in mint-green scrubs sits in front of a computer, clacking away at the keys. We stand there for a moment before she looks up and runs her eyes disinterestedly over my face. They land, for a brief second, on the bloodied napkins I've got wadded at my lip, then she grabs a clipboard from her organizer and slides it across the counter for me before turning back to her computer.
"Have a seat and fill those out," she says without looking back at me. "We'll be with you as soon as we can."
Her voice is monotone, like she's said those words a million times, and it makes me wonder what would have to come through the doorway for her not to sound that way.
But I don't have to wonder for long.
"Thank you," I say, and she looks up again, but this time she catches sight of Rosé and does a double take.
"Rosé, honey! I'm so sorry; I didn't see you there!" She bolts up out of her chair and pushes through the door next to the counter, her hand on Rosé's arm in an instant. "Is everything okay? You need me to page Dr. Wilde?"
"No, no, I'm fine," she says. "I'm great, in fact. It's my friend here who needs to be seen. She's got a pretty good cut on her lip. I think it needs a few stitches."
The nurse puts a hand to her chest, visibly relieved. "Oh good." She looks at me apologetically.
"I'm sorry—I don't mean good that you're hurt, just that Rosé here—"
"Used to be kind of a regular," she cuts in. "I'm sorry; it was rude of me not to make any introductions." She smiles tightly at me and gestures to the nurse. "Jennie, this is Mary. Mary, my friend Jennie."
