A Brush with Love
Mazey Eddings
For all my anxious angels and worry warriors. Don’t let the monsters get you down.
And for Hamda, the woman I admire beyond measure and the best friend I could have ever imagined. We did it!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader, While this story is a romance that will （hopefully） make you laugh and smile, please note that there are sensitive topics, including loss of a loved one and the complexities of living with a general anxiety disorder. There are also moments with potentially triggering content, including an on-page panic attack, discussions of grief, sexism, and ableist language.
These last two are vehemently condemned by the narrative, the characters, and myself.
I hope I have handled these topics with the utmost respect. Please take care of yourself while reading.
Love,
Mazey
CHAPTER 1
HARPER
“Shiiiiiiiiit.”
Harper’s curse was lost to the wind as she whipped her foot out of an icy puddle and gave it an aggressive shake. Nothing screamed “perfect start to a Monday” like drenched scrub pants and freezing rain pelting down from every angle.
A dull, December gray hovered over Philadelphia, making coffee the city’s last source of warmth and happiness. Chugging down the final drops of her own lukewarm cup, Harper wondered why she left bed before April.
With the empty thermos tucked back into her bag and soaking bangs poking her in the eyes, she ducked her face to the wind and trudged the final, miserable blocks to Callowhill University’s School of Dental Medicine.
She swiped her ID badge against the security reader and rushed into the school’s warm lobby, her face instantly starting to thaw. Mild chaos already swamped the check-in desks, while soaked patients waited in stiff pleather chairs for their names to be called, looking the standard degree of annoyed and apprehensive that was an occupational hazard for dentists.
Harper absorbed the early morning energy as she ripped off her gloves with her teeth and shoved them into her coat pockets. She went to work on her wet mess of bobbed black hair—scrunching and finger-combing in vain against the knots already starting to form.
A group of residents strode through the swinging doors of the Oral Surgery and Trauma Clinic next to where she stood. Her fingers stalled halfway through a rat’s nest of tangles to observe them like a wild-life documentary. Right on cue, anxiety made its regularly scheduled morning appearance and beat a tiny hammer against her chest.
That would be her someday soon.
Hopefully.
While most dental students focused on drilling and filling their way to retirement, Harper dreamed of facial reconstructions and corrective jaw surgeries, each day orbiting around the singular purpose of becoming an oral surgeon.
But with residency match day a little more than a month away, Harper was stuck in a unique version of a worry-ridden hell. Having spent the past four years working her ass off for flawless grades, incredible hand skills, and publishable research, there was nothing more she could do than idly wait while random program directors and admissions departments determined her future. All her dedication and drive reduced to test scores, her GPA, and a trite personal statement.
The stress had her averaging a solid three hours of sleep a night, the rest of the time spent staring at her ceiling while what-ifs and worst cases swirled through her brain and down her throat, settling sickeningly in her stomach as worry cuddled close to her chest.
Before her mind spiraled into a total panic, a tap on the shoulder broke her trance. She turned and was assaulted by the blinding smile of her best friend, Thu.
“Caught ya lusting again,” Thu said with a wink.
Harper rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Less than a month ago I had to stage an intervention to get you to stop cyberstalking UCLA’s provost for admission news.”
Having matched into UC’s orthodontics residency in late November, two months earlier than surgery, Thu hadn’t missed an opportunity to torment Harper on her unknown future.
“You were like a feral animal when I made a grab for your phone,” Harper added. She still had rug burns from Thu tackling her to get it back.
“What’s some mild manhandling between friends,” Thu said with a wink. She pulled back her hood, raven hair tumbling down in immaculate fishtail braids and makeup so perfectly applied that somewhere a YouTube beauty vlogger shed a single tear at its glory.
Harper scowled.
“Wow. Isn’t it a little early on a Monday to be the physical embodiment of perfection? I mean, you actually have the nerve to show up to school looking like it’s not pouring rain and seasonal depression isn’t in full swing?”