Chapter 32
32
Millie
Joey is still the only person who knows about my appointment with Dr. Thomas. My mom would have dropped everything to come with me, but sometimes she acts a bit too much like a stereotypical Jewish mother. The woman can be downright suffocating. If she catches wind that I have a headache or sniffle, she’s at my doorstep with a noodle kugel. I don’t even like noodle kugel.
I have another ultrasound in order to determine whether the cyst has gotten bigger since my hospital stay in Hawaii. Waiting on the results is excruciating, like standing at the edge of a cliff, teetering between hope and despair.
Dr. Thomas drops into his stool and rolls closer. “Good news, Ms. Greer. The cyst has not grown, so you won’t need surgery anytime soon.”
My shoulders deflate with relief. “Does that mean I don’t have endometriosis?”
“ Well .” He stretches out the vowel. And just like that, the balloon of fear is inflated again. “Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. ”
A frustrated scream gets stuck in my throat. “What do you mean, maybe ?” Aren’t you a fucking doctor?
He explains that a laparoscopic procedure would determine whether I have endometriosis, but that the cyst isn’t big enough to warrant the procedure.
“Make that make sense.”
Bless him, this man is patient. “It’s okay to feel frustrated. I wish I could give you a more concrete answer. For now, if your symptoms get better while you’re on birth control, then it’s possible this is endometriosis.”
My heart aches with longing for my mom. I should have called her.
“What about having kids?” I ask, biting at my thumbnail. “My aunt wasn’t able to have any more after my cousin was born.”
With a sigh, the doctor adjusts his glasses. “There’s always a possibility, but we’ll cross that bridge if and when we need to.”
Annoyance flares, like sparks in my veins. I’m so sick of ambiguous answers.
I leave his office with a refill of my birth control and a zillion more questions.
After a quick trip to the pharmacy, I pop into a café, and while I’m waiting for my coffee, a familiar voice calls from a table behind me. “Millie?”
Turning, I search for the source, and when I find her, my stomach twists painfully. Sam is quite literally the last person I expected to run into. But that’s New York, I suppose. Millions of people, and yet we’re always bound to run into someone we know. Her hair has grown to just above her shoulders, with streaks of strawberry in it now. When she gives me a once-over, I’m instantly reminded of my weight gain. While my body dysmorphia will always be a back-seat driver, I haven’t let her control the radio in a while. Not since Ezra’s been worshipping me. But Sam hasn’t seen me since last November, and her face is etched with genuine shock.
“You look?—”
“Yup, different. I know.”
The barista calls my name, so I turn to pick up my to-go cup from the counter. When I spin again, Sam is still inspecting me.
“You look really pretty.”
With my heart in my throat, I study her face, looking for a lie, but I come up empty. “Oh. Thanks.”
“How are you?”
The café is busy, and when the barista calls another name, I’m forced to step closer. “I’m fine. You?” That may not be the total truth, but I’m not getting into anything deeper than surface level with this woman.
“I’ve been meaning to call you.”
The knot in my stomach tightens. “Oh?”
“Do you have a minute?” She motions at the open chair.
For a heartbeat, I waffle in indecision. She doesn’t deserve my time, but curiosity gets the best of me, and I take a seat across from her, deciding I’ll give her until I finish this coffee to say her piece.
She scans my body again, and I inwardly cringe at the scrutiny.
“You look tan. Have you been traveling?”
“Hawaii.”
“Oh, wow. I’ve always wanted to go there. How was it?”
“It was great, but there were lots of fucking chickens and roosters.” I can’t help but chuckle at the memory of the shock I felt when I saw so many. They’re nearly as rampant as pigeons here in the city.
“Did you go with anyone?”
My heart stutters. Do I tell her?
Fuck it. Why not ?
Eyes locked with hers, I lean forward. “Actually, yes. Ezra.”
She chokes on her iced latte. Setting it down quickly, she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Really? Are you two together now?”
I nod.
“I did not see that coming,” she mumbles.
“Why’s that?” My question is laced with a bit of snark. Okay, a lot of snark.
Sam runs her fingers through her hair, the move revealing a new tattoo on the inside of her toned bicep. It’s a bird, similar in style to the three I have on the back of my tricep. “I’m just surprised. He was always talking about wanting a wife and kids, and you were always…”
“Always what?”
“Always… not .”
Blood rushes in my ears as I fight to keep my tone even. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“C’mon, Mills.”
I shudder at the sound of my nickname on her lips.
“I’m surprised you’re with a guy.” She shrugs. “It’s not bad. It’s just, when you and I were together, you told me probably a dozen times that you’d never marry a man.”
“Who said anything about getting married?” Legally, at least.
Her eyes metaphorically stab mine. “ Millie . This is Ezra we’re talking about. That man oozes marriage material. He probably has paternity leave paperwork on standby.”
Normally I’d laugh at that joke, but it hits a little too painfully. She’s not wrong.
I clear my throat. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”
With a deep inhale, she fiddles with her plastic cup. “I wanted to apologize.”
Elbows on the table, I study her, picking up on the way her eyes dart to my cleavage. My breasts have been upgraded a bit since she last saw me, and I don’t feel the least bit bad about flaunting what she’ll never get to have.
“For what?”
“For the way things went down between the three of us. I was really confused, but that’s no excuse. I should never have been dishonest with you.”
“Thank you for the apology.” I take a sip of my drink, and when the taste registers, I’m tempted to spit it back out. This is not my order. How people can consume black coffee is beyond me.
“Are you in a show? I haven’t seen you at FrenchSHEs.”
I shake my head and swallow back the pain that hits every time I think about the theater. “I’m taking some time off.”
“Is everything okay?”
No, Samantha , everything is not okay. I may or may not have a disease that could prevent me from having kids, and the guy I was fake married to, who I’m currently fucking, is the legal guardian of a fifteen-year-old and wants nothing more than to be married with babies.
“Yup. Everything’s good.” While I once would have spilled my guts to the girl in front of me, she no longer has that privilege. “It was nice running into you”— it was not —“but I’ve got to run.”
I rise, and she follows. Her arms flinch at her sides, like maybe she’s considering reaching out for a hug. Before she can, I toss the liquid dirt— and her —into the trash, then dart out of the café.
I pop into Bubbe’s Nosh Pit for a quart of chicken noodle soup on the way home. With a wink, Mark throws in extra black- and-white cookies and tells me to share with Ezra. It was only a matter of time before he found out about us.
If there is an us.
I need to think long and hard about what I’m doing with my life. Who am I if I’m not performing? I’m finding the idea of saying goodbye to the theater difficult. But if I’m always on the road, could our relationship survive? Does he really want a partner who’s never home? He wants a wife and 2.5 kids and a picket fence. And a dog. Or maybe he’s a cat person?
As I head toward my building, my phone rings, dousing the fears pummeling me from all sides. I dig in my purse and blindly answer the phone. “Sorry I forgot to call you back, Jo. I?—”
“Millie?”
I frown in response to the unexpected masculine voice. “Ezra, hi. What’s up?”
“It’s about Kane,” he says, his tone dripping with concern.
“What’s wrong?”
“He didn’t come home from summer school.”
“Have you checked the location of his phone?”
“Shit. I didn’t think about setting that up. And I teach middle school. Dammit.” Poor guy, he’s beating himself up.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I work to maintain a soothing tone. “Just stay home. I’m sure he’ll show up. I’m walking into my building now. Do you want me to come over?”
“No, it’s okay. Maybe?” He groans. “Fuck, I don’t know what to do. How long do I wait before I call the police?”
“I think it’s at least a few hours.” As I turn down my hall, I come to an abrupt stop. “Ezra?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s here.”
“What?”
“Kane’s here. At my apartment. I’ll call you back.” I hang up and squat beside Kane, who’s sitting on the floor with his knees tucked into his chest.
“What’s wrong?”
He pulls his hands away from his face, revealing blotchy skin, but he keeps his head lowered.
I rest a hand on his arm and give it a gentle squeeze. “Did something happen at school today?”
He nods, sucking in air on a sob, and slumps against me.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” I wrap an arm around him and rest my chin on his head. “Wait. How do you know where I live?”
“Ezra put everyone’s contact info in my phone just in case.” He sniffles before he continues. “I thought New York would be better. More inclusive. It was just Pride Month.”
My body tenses. Dammit. I see exactly where this is going.
“Oh, love, what happened?”
He shakes his head like the words are too painful to say aloud, but when he finally looks up at me, I gasp. One eye is nearly swollen shut, and his cheekbone is already dark purple and angry crimson. He lets me examine it, yet he flinches at my delicate touch.
“C’mon.” I stand.
He follows obediently. I swear he’s grown since I met him; he’s nearly as tall as his brother.
“Let’s get some ice on that.”
At the small table off my kitchen, I hand him an ice pack and a can of sparkling water.
“Do you want to tell me what happened? It’s okay if you’re not ready.”
He takes a sip, sets the can down, and spins it on the tabletop. “I thought he was into me. Maybe I misread the signals. I thought he was trying to hold my hand, so I…” A hiccup escapes him, his chest heaving. “I grabbed it back.” He wipes his nose on his shirt. “Th en he called me… he called me a f-fag, just like Rob did. Then he punched me.”
Angling in close, I collect his hands in mine. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. That was not okay. Did you tell a teacher?”
“No. We were halfway home. So I came here.”
“How long did you sit outside my door?”
He shrugs, his head lowered again. “Two hours, maybe.”
“Ezra’s freaking out, you know.”
He sighs, peering up at me through his lashes. “I just—I wasn’t ready to tell him. He’s done so much for me, and I didn’t want him to think moving me here was a mistake.”
“Do you?” I search his hazel eyes. “Think it’s a mistake?”
“No,” he says, though his shoulders sink. “My mom’s death was the mistake. Why did she have to die?”
My heart plummets into my stomach. No, it falls right out of my body with a splat. Damn. This kid has been through so much in such a short amount of time. I don’t know loss like he does. I’m the girl who makes people laugh when they drink too much tequila and accidentally like their partner’s ex’s Instagram post from five years ago. I’m the girl who hypes up others and plans surprise parties for their successes.
When my brother’s wife died, I was barely an adult. No one expected me to say the “right thing.” My parents filled that role. But now? Kane’s watching me, his eyes mournful, like I’m the closest thing he has to a parent, and I’m frozen with dread. Dread that I’ll say the wrong thing and royally fuck it up.
Then, like a love tap on my shoulder from a higher power, a memory of the rabbi from my Uncle Noah’s funeral many years ago surfaces.
Maybe the story won’t resonate with a fifteen-year-old boy, but then again, maybe it will. “Someone once told me that, instead of asking ‘why did this terrible thing happen?’ we should be asking, ‘what do I do now that it has happened?’”
He lowers the ice to the table and throws his arms around me. I hold him while his body releases wave after wave of gut-wrenching sobs, unable to hold back my own tears. My shoulder goes numb, but I don’t dare disrupt him. After a good fifteen minutes, the door flies open, startling us both.
“What the fuck happened?” Ezra booms.
I stand to meet him, but he bypasses me and hovers over Kane, chest heaving and face slicked with sweat. “I was worried sick. What the fuck were you thinking? I?—”
Kane looks up at him, giving him a clear view of his red, swollen face, and Ezra drops to his knees, his expression turning to fright. “What happened?” he asks, his tone much softer this time.
Rather than answer, Kane looks at me, his eyes silently pleading for me to tell the story. So I place a hand on Ezra’s shoulder and rub soothing circles and relay the details to him. With each one, I swear smoke steams from every crevice of his body.
When I’m finished, he hauls himself up. “I will fucking kill him.”
My heart lurches in response to the pure fury radiating from him. “ Ezra .”
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” Kane says.
“It’s my job to protect you.”
“Listen.” I grasp Ezra’s arm. “I want to rip that kid a new one, too, but that’s not going to solve anything.”
His chest is puffed like a gorilla gearing up to fight for dominance in his troop. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
“We?”
“Yeah, Kane and me. What should we do?”
Oh, that we. Without my permission, disappointment needles its way into my heart .
“Kane?” I step forward. “Would you like to be helped, hugged, or heard?”
Ezra deflates, still crouched on the floor. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he buries his face in my abdomen.
“Millie already listened to me,” Kane answers.
“Would you rather have a dog or a cat?”
“Cat,” Kane answers at the same time Ezra says, “Dog.”
“Uh-oh,” I laugh, going in for another taco.
Ezra put in an order and picked them up, and while Kane and I waited, I forced him to eat my soup. That hasn’t stopped him from polishing off two of his own tacos, though.
“We’re not getting a fucking cat.”
“I’ll help you get the fucking cat,” I whisper loud enough for Ezra to hear.
“You’re in trouble, you know that?” He winks.
If a minor was not present, I’d have a good comeback for that.
“Would you rather be able to fly or breathe underwater?” Kane asks.
“That’s a good one,” I say. “I think I’d rather fly.”
“Me too,” Ezra agrees, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “My turn. Would you rather be a millionaire or find true love?”
“Millionaire,” Kane replies instantly.
With a roll of my eyes, I ruffle his floppy hair. It’s overdue for a cut. Or maybe he’s growing it out like his brother’s.
I think for a long moment, acutely aware of Ezra’s intimidating gaze. “True love,” I decide, then quickly steamroll to the next question. “Would you rather everyone you know read your thoughts all the time or for everyone you know to see your emotional support screenshots?”
“Your what?” Ezra sits back, crossing his arms. “That’s not a thing.”
“Of course it is. They’re the screenshots you take of things that make you happy or things you don’t want to forget—which is ironic because you’ll probably forget you screenshotted them in the first place.”
He throws his head back and guffaws. “Let me see your emotional support screenshots.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not? What do you have hidden?”
With a shimmy of my shoulders, I shoot him a wink. “Oh, I have a separate hidden folder.”
“Gross. I’m sitting right here.” Kane groans, slumping low in his chair.
By the time we’ve demolished the last of the tacos, Kane looks like he’s about to fall asleep at the table.
“You ready to go home?” Ezra asks, standing and collecting trash from the table.
“Yeah,” he answers, stumbling to his feet. “Millie?”
“Hmm?”
“You coming?” he asks.
I collect our glasses and tuck them against my chest with one arm. “Coming where?”
“Coming home with us?”
I freeze in place, my heart stuttering and my mind going blank. “No, I, uh, I have to record something,” I finally stammer. Without my permission, my eyes flick to Ezra.
By the frown he’s wearing, it’s obvious he knows I’m fibbing.
He goes for the assist, nonetheless. “Why don’t you come over later, then? We’ll pop popcorn and the three of us can watch a movie.”
Lips pressed into a line, I nod. “Sure. I’ll bring candy.”
Kane gives me a long hug, his lanky frame arcing awkwardly over me. I revel in the affection. I love that he’s so open, both physically and emotionally. As he releases me, I silently praise his mother for raising such a fine young man.
Ezra envelops me in a hug next and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you,” he whispers. “You’re amazing.”
Once the door closes behind them, I lock up and slump against it, pressing a hand to my heart.
He asked if I was coming home with them. Shit. I told him I’d be the cool, fun aunt, but there was absolutely nothing fun about today. Today was hard. And Kane is growing attached to me quickly. I want to be there for him, but I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.
Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?