Chapter 30
Jules
“Well, good morning!”
The deep voice that sounds from the doorway is not the one I expected to hear, but it makes me jump anyway. Gus is on the stretcher, cleaned with antibacterial soap and dressed in his little gown, his feet capped with stretchy blue covers, his hair with a cap.
He turns and smiles at Orie, who’s pumping hand sanitizer into his hand and grabbing the tablet from Gus’s bed.
“Where’s Russell?” Gus asks, and for once, I’m glad for the fact that he’ll ask the questions I’m too nervous to voice.
“Well,” Orie says, clearing his throat and hitting a few buttons on the tablet. “That’s a great question. I know he’s coming, but I’m surprised he’s not here yet.”
In some ways, the surgery has been a blessing.
It’s been a great way to keep my mind off everything happening with Russell, and the fact that we haven’t spoken in almost a week.
He’s texted me to make sure I got home safely, but after the intensity of our conversation, it’s not like I was going to respond to that.
Last night, I had to keep track of when Gus could eat, when he had to switch to just liquids.
Bathed him in the special soap and tried to help him work through his nervousness for the next morning.
In some ways, it felt like something special—the night before Christmas, or a road trip—but I also think he could pick up on my anxiety.
I would have given anything to climb into bed with someone else last night. Someone who could hold me, help me feel better. For a second, I’d almost caved into texting Russell.
But I didn’t.
Then I woke up at four this morning, and had to make sure Gus didn’t have water after a certain time. Washed him again in the antimicrobial soap, wrestled his sleepy limbs into his clothes to wear to the hospital.
Now, I re-focus on Orie, who’s taken a break in talking to Gus, making sure he understands the surgery and what they’re going to do.
“Is Russell, like—” I speak, trying to keep my hands from balling into fists on my thighs. “—scrubbing in or something?”
Orie’s eyes widen and his brow furrows, the iPad slowly lowering in his hand as he turns toward me, “Uh, no, he didn’t—”
“I’m not performing the surgery.”
We both look up to see Russell—not in his scrubs or doctor’s coat, but a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt—standing in the doorway to the hospital room.
His hair looks disheveled, and there are bags under his eyes, and somehow, he still looks impossibly handsome. I want to cross the room, take his face in mine, shake him until he just agrees to do the stupid DNA test.
Wouldn’t it be better to know?
After a moment, my initial reaction passes, and I digest what he said.
“You’re not?” I ask, and Russell shakes his head, running a hand over his beard. “It wouldn’t be ethical. I’m too close to the case. But Orie is every bit the surgeon I am. Your son is in good hands.”
Your son.
“Some might even say I’m better,” Orie says, flashing a grin at Russell, then me, and shrugging, and I get the sense that he’s trying to ease some of the tension in the room.
It’s not working.
“Okay,” I say, because what else can I say? Besides, it strikes me as a good idea—it’s probably risky to operate on someone you care about.
And that thought just makes me crazy again, makes me want to pound on his chest and ask him why, if he cares about Gus enough to bow out as his surgeon, he wouldn’t just do the DNA test, too.
Each time I glance between Russell and my son, it only feels clearer and clearer that there’s a connection there. Same nose, same chin—and those gray eyes.
Now, all the times I wrote off the likeness as being a coincidence feels like a gross act of willful ignorance. Gus even told me that when Russell took him through the market, there were lots of strangers who commented on them looking alike.
Nurses come in and out, taking Gus’s vitals and prepping him for the surgery. Russell stands close to his bed and talks to him in a low voice, saying something I can’t quite make out. Gus laughs and relaxes into his pillow, so whatever it is, I’m grateful.
Then, finally, they come to wheel him into the surgery. I stand at the side of his bed, hand on the rail, until I can’t walk with him any longer.
“I love you, baby,” I say, twisting my hands together, knowing I shouldn’t lean down to give him a kiss. Not when he had to wash with special soap.
“Go ahead,” the tech says, jerking her head in his direction. “They’ll scrub him up again anyway.”
I kiss him on the forehead, and Gus kisses me on the cheek, and I marvel at the bravery of this kid, how he’s laying back, talking to the technician, and waving to me over the top of the cot.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter, when he turns the corner, and tears start to drip down my cheeks.
It’s a routine surgery. Simple. Russell is vouching for Orie. But I can’t help the fact that I still wish it was Russell in there. I can’t help the deep, steady sense of trust I have with him, when it comes to Gus.
“It’s going to be fine,” Russell says, crossing his arms and standing next to me.
More than anything, I want to fold into him like I did outside the taping for Today, Tomorrow, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not with everything that happened—him leaving me in his condo, him refusing to do the test. It’s like a physical wall between the two of us.
I can’t cross it, and he’s not willing to.
Together, we move to the waiting room, where I turn up the ringer on my phone to get texts about Gus’s progress. Others nervously wait around us, spread out in their own little clusters, tapping their fingers on their knees and flipping through magazines, maybe not even seeing.
An hour passes. I get a notification that the surgery has started.
Every five minutes, I take in a breath and think I’m going to turn to Russell, say something. Ask him to reconsider. Thank him for being here. Anything.
Maybe I should even apologize for swearing in front of his niece and nephew.
But I can’t get the words out.
Another hour passes without another notification, and I start to get antsy. Russell stands, disappears, and returns with two coffees, one of which he hands to me.
“Decaf,” he says, and it breaks the dam in me.
“Russell—”
But before I can say anything, he says, his voice low so only I can hear it, “Calvin found out about our…arrangement.”
It takes me a moment to catch up, but then I get it—his cousin, who wants to close the clinic. Whose girlfriend basically called me fat.
“Shit,” I whisper, momentarily forgetting about the DNA test. Russell looks worse for the wear—this must be why. He’s worried about the clinic.
I ignore the way that makes my chest twinge. I guess there was a small part of me that thought his bedraggled state might have been from what happened between us.
“Shit is right,” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee.
Slowly, he lowers it to his lap and shifts in his seat, some of that cologne drifting over to me and making me ache to touch him.
Still without looking at me, he says, “Evony was there, that day in the park. She heard me say our relationship was fake. Clearly, she was still pissed about what happened at the ball, and maybe she’s also jealous of you.
Of us. So, she jumped at the first chance to fuck things up for me.
With the inheritance. I bet Cal also told her about the clinic. ”
I hate to admit it, but even with everything going on, there’s something soothing about the sound of Russell’s voice, even with what he’s telling me. My hands have relaxed.
“Well, that’s just hearsay, right? It’s not like she has a video.”
Russell turns to me, “Jules. It’s not like I expect you to…carry on. After…”
So that’s it? An emotion that I can only describe as sorrow splashes around in my chest, hitting the bottom of my throat and making my eyes tear up again.
I’m furious with him for giving up this easily. On everything. Me, Gus, his inheritance, the clinic.
And so, I tell him. “You didn’t strike me as a coward, Russell.”
His hand tightens around his cup, “There’s a lot you don’t understand, Jules.”
“I understand that you said you were going to invest in me. You asked me to move in with you, Russell.”
Setting my coffee down, no longer interested in it, I twist in my seat and bring a leg up, fully facing him.
God, his side-profile is just as handsome as the rest of him. Strong, sculpted jaw, covered with that salt-and-pepper beard, his nose.
Now that I’ve seen it as Gus’s nose, I can’t unsee it. And I can’t stop thinking that this is what Gus will look like, when he’s Russell’s age. Finally, the other part of his biological puzzle.
We were always enough, the two of us, but this is something more. Something perfect.
And Russell is just going to let it go.
“I did,” he swallows, nodding, not meeting my eye. “And I meant what I said. I’ll pay your rent, his tuition, whatever—”
I hiss out, a little too loudly, “I don’t want your money, Russell. I want you. And you’re going to refuse to do the test because, what—you never really wanted us back?”
It tumbles out of me, hot and virulent, and I wait for him to deny it. I know—I know it isn’t true. And Russell will deny it. Should deny it.
He will.
I know him, I know that he would never let that statement sit there, so wrong, so unfounded. He wants us. He’s made it clear, hasn’t he?
But Russell shocks me by rising from his seat slowly, intentionally, almost like a yoga instructor demonstrating the importance of self-control. Still not looking at me, he says, “I think I’ll go for a walk. Let me know if you hear anything about him.”
And with that, Russell turns and walks out of the waiting room. I sit, stunned, the aftershocks of what just happened still roaring through me.
I really am a stupid, clueless girl.
This whole time, I derided myself into thinking this thing between us was never more than fantasy. Than an elaborate ruse for money.
Just like my parents predicted a long time ago, I’m essentially selling my body.
And that’s all Russell has ever wanted from me.