22. The Bottom Fell Out
CHAPTER 22
the bottom fell out
BELLE
M y sister insisted we meet for dinner in a restaurant. I'd have preferred takeout at my place, which she knew because then I could kick her out after half an hour and get back to work.
I was not in the mood, and she knew that I didn't have the time. I had work. The clinical trials would start soon and there were a hundred million things to do. But Anna was more stubborn than me and better at emotional blackmail, which was why I was sulkily sitting across from her and my brother-in-law at Les Sablons. This was one of their favorite restaurants probably because they had a wine list that stretched longer than the Atlantic Ocean.
We'd already gone through one bottle of Burgundy (I only had a half glass), and Anna was glancing over the second like she was weighing the fate of the world. This was Anna: assessing, analyzing, calm. I, on the other hand, was venting as subtly as a loose steam valve.
"So, he's just in your lab?" Dan, Anna's husband of a decade, asked. They'd met in medical school. She was a pediatric surgeon, and he was a neurosurgeon .
"Yep, like it's perfectly normal." I took a deep breath, stabbing a fork into my plate of salade Lyonnaise with more force than necessary. "Not only that—he's waltzing around the lab like he never left the world of academic brilliance for a beach chair in the sand. I mean, did he always plan to haunt me? He might as well rent an apartment down the hall."
Dan cut into his foie gras with the surgical precision he reserved for either neurosurgery or delicate cuisine and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you shouldn't give him ideas…'cause he seems like the type who would move down the hall from you."
"I think you should give him the time of day. Think about it. This is the same guy who ghosted the medical world to surf and drink tropical cocktails, but he came back for you. It's romantic,” Anna mused. "I think the Gevrey Chambertin, Dan. Nineteen was a good year in Burgundy."
"But Belle is having sole," Dan protested.
"I'm done drinking," I told them. "I have to go back to the lab."
"Belle, we're all workaholics," Anna snapped. "You're worse than that. I don't know how it happened, but you're nuts."
"Look, look, there's a pot calling the kettle black," I retorted in a sing-song manner.
"Come on, babe, you're here for dinner because hospital rules won't let you hang around for more than two shifts at the hospital," her husband reminded her.
"The lab needs to have rules like that," Anna muttered and waved at our server. When he came by, she pointed to the wine she wanted on the list.
"Good choice," he professed effusively and went to find the bottle in the restaurant cellar.
By the time our main courses arrived, I was even more sullen and both Anna and Dan were Team Mick.
"You're supposed to be on my side." I angrily glanced down at my Dover sole. I wasn't even enjoying the subtle brown butter and lemon sauce; Mick's sudden re-entry to my life had made everything else seem like background noise.
"The parents are," Anna said cheerfully. "They don't think you should end up with a man without a career."
"Why would you tell them about Mick?" I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Why? No wonder Mama has been blowing up my phone, and Daddy sent me a cryptic message that just said, Consider Socrates . What does that even mean?"
Dan snorted. "Socrates was all about examining life. Your dad's probably in some existential spiral about Mick's lack of career ambition. Next, he'll be sending you passages from Nietzsche."
Anna laughed, pouring herself a glass of wine. "Oh, he's already there. He told me Mick was like Diogenes, choosing to live free of society's material constraints. Which, by the way, he does not mean as a compliment."
I sighed, burying my face in my hands. "Great. So now Mick's not just an island beach bum; he's my very own Diogenes, living in his barrel on the beach."
Dan chuckled. "Honestly, I think your dad's more bothered by the fact that Mick seems content with doing nothing. It goes against everything he stands for. But he did think Mick got points because the sex was so good."
I glared at Anna. "You're a traitor. I want you to know that. I'm not telling you anything from now on."
"He gave her three orgasms one night," Anna told Dan.
"Whoa! What's he trying to do? Make all other men look bad?" Dan growled. "I can barely get her off once, and sometimes we need a toy."
I banged my head on the table next to my plate three times. "Anna, I will not talk about your sex life with your husband. This is all kinds of wrong. And, Dan, you should not be talking about my sex life with your father-in-law. "
"Prude," Anna accused. "I want to meet Mick. How about you, Dan?"
"Sure. Maybe he'll give me some sex tips."
"Ye gods," I moaned. "Please don't ask him."
"Why not? He's an expert, and you know me—I'm all about learning," Dan said, his tone dripping with mock seriousness.
"And I'll certainly appreciate you learning new things." Anna patted Dan's shoulder supportively.
My family was a hoot and a half.
I was about to respond when, through the flickering candlelight and the low hum of French jazz, I saw him .
Oh my God. And he was with a leggy blonde in a slinky black dress. How dare he waltz into Les Sablons with some runway-ready hussy draped over his arm, laughing at whatever sweet nothings he was whispering in her ear. He just couldn't keep his hands off a woman, could he? So much for I love you, Belle. Prick .
And what the hell was he even doing here? He was supposed to be slurping raw oysters at the Driftwood Shack, not sipping expensive wine, which he'd said was a scam. And where the fuck were his flip-flops? Seriously. Okay, fine, it was Boston and cold, but a suit? A charcoal suit? A tailored suit.
Mick Bottom was a complete fraud. Sophisticated Dr. Augustus was blending right in with Cambridge's elite, like he hadn't once been barefoot on a beach, drinking rum straight from the bottle. Total . Fraud .
Anna turned, following my gaze. Her eyes lit up, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Is that… no ?"
"Who else?" I muttered, rolling my eyes. The fact that he could slide back into this world so easily, looking like he'd never traded in his tailored suits for board shorts, was beyond irritating. I felt a twinge of something I refused to call jealousy .
Dan looked, too, raising an eyebrow. "He doesn't look like a beach bum at all," he noted, a little too cheerfully.
"He got a haircut," I said as if he'd committed ten first-degree crimes.
"And here I thought he wouldn't know his foie gras from a fish taco." Anna fluttered her eyelashes. "He is handsome. You know, Dan, we talked about a threesome someday; I want someone who looks like that."
"And I want someone who looks like his date," Dan remarked.
"He has a date," I said woefully. "How could he say he loves me, and now fuck that ?" And how am I supposed to compete with that?
Just then, Mick caught sight of us, his eyes meeting mine. He dropped a charming smile and gave me a small wave as if to say, " Fancy seeing you here ."
I gave him a curt nod, pretending to be engrossed in my now tasteless Dover fucking sole.
Anna leaned over. "He's checking to see if you're watching."
"He's here with someone else, Anna. As if I care ." I picked up her glass and took a sip of wine, almost choking on the irony. The truth was, I did care—and my annoyance only grew as I watched him from the corner of my eye, talking easily with his date, seemingly untouched by any of the chaos he'd thrown my life into.
Anna raised her glass in a mock toast. "Here's to Mick, then."
"Yeah, may he enjoy his overpriced wine," I ground out.
"And may you figure out what exactly you want with this man," Dan chimed in.
I let out a sigh. "All I want is for him to get back on a plane to Reef Harbor and stay there."
"Liar.” Anna grinned .
"Big fat liar," Dan agreed.
But as I took another sip of Anna's wine, I knew they were right; I was a big, huge, fat liar .
"I hate her," I said enviously.
"You know what Aristotle said?" Dan arched an eyebrow and tilted his chin, striking a pose like a philosopher deep in thought. "To avoid criticism, say nothing, do nothing, and be nothing. And let's be honest—if you didn't feel at least a little envy, she wouldn't be doing anything worth talking about."
I groaned, leaning back in my chair. "Great. So, according to Aristotle, that woman's existence is my problem."
Dan laughed. "Exactly. Philosophically speaking, it's not hate—it's admiration with a touch of existential dread."
Whatever , I thought petulantly.