Chapter 17 #3
My heart, which is still relocated north of my esophagus, begins to beat even harder and faster. I’m not sure if I want to let out a loud, celebratory scream or retract my knees into the fetal position until I calm down.
However, before I can decide, Danielle arrives with our pasta. Reeve scoots his chair back to his side of the table, and the only thing I manage is to sit and watch as she places our plates down with a “Buon appetito.”
I pick up my fork, but I’m shaking too hard to actually eat. Instead, I set it down, pick up my phone, and reread the email.
It’s still there. It’s still real.
“Does it tell you when your interview is?” Reeve asks.
I scan to the end of the page. “The end of March.”
“In Toronto, I assume?”
I nod, clicking through the various links. “Yes, at the St. George Campus.”
Reeve holds up his wineglass, his pasta still untouched. “Congratulations, Jules. I remember how badly you wanted this, and I’m glad it’s happening.”
I set the phone on the table to pick up my wineglass and clink it with his.
The shock has worn off just enough for some reality to seep in.
“It’s not happening yet. I still need to make it through the interview and figure out if I can actually pay for four years of atrociously expensive school, not to mention food and housing. ”
Reeve takes a drink. “My brother went through it a few years ago. There are lots of loan programs, and most banks are eager to get the business of a future doctor.”
I sip the wine still suspended in midair from our cheers.
“Yes, I looked into them before—back when I was about to apply two years ago—but…” I consider how much I want to tell him.
How the next part may change things between us.
But if this part is going to make him run, it’s better he runs now.
“My mom had some trouble with her credit score, which became my trouble when she started using my SIN to try and get herself out of it.” I pause to gauge his reaction, but his face is blank and unreadable.
“I am now what banks call a subprime borrower, so I’m going to have to figure something else out.
Maybe buy lotto tickets, hope for a miracle, or figure out how to sell pictures of my feet. ”
My lame attempt to lighten the mood doesn’t seem to work. If anything, a concerned ridge forms between Reeve’s eyebrows.
“Is that why you didn’t apply?” he asks. “Two years ago, I mean.”
I nod. “It’s how I discovered my mom’s spending in the first place.
But I have it under control now.” I feel the need to explain that, unlike my mother, I do have my life together.
“I’ve been on a payment plan. I need another year or two of steady payments to repair the rest of the damage…
.” I leave my thoughts unfinished and instead study Reeve in an attempt to dissect what he’s thinking.
His wineglass is paused halfway to his lips. I swear he’s about to say something, but instead, he sets the glass down and reaches for his phone. He scrolls for a moment and then places it back in his suit pocket.
When he looks at me again, I know something is off. There’s a feeling in my chest that is sending off glaring red alarm bells in the back of my mind. So when he reaches for his wine and stops a second time, I burst.
“Okay, what are you thinking?”
Reeve picks up my phone and sets it on the table between us. “I saw something in your email when I was looking for your application update.”
My stomach drops so hard, I swear I hear it thunk.
“I wasn’t trying to snoop,” Reeve continues, “and I wasn’t going to bring it up tonight because we’re celebrating, but now I wonder if it might be relevant.”
I’m mentally combing through my emails, wondering what could be in there. Another creditor notice? Or maybe some X-rated porno foot spam. Oh, god! What if he thought I was serious about the foot pics?
“Can I ask why you have an email from Niles James about 1243 St. Mary Street?”
“Oh, that.” Relief rushes through me. “Niles James is a lawyer. He works for one of my former residents—she died a few months ago and left me that property in her will. There were some legal things that needed to be worked out before everything was final. But I found out this morning it all went through.”
“ You inherited that property?” Reeve’s fork clanks against his plate. “Jules, that’s amazing.”
I shake my head. “No, actually, it’s not. The place is a mess. It’s completely abandoned, and I just found out that I will have to start paying property taxes on it next year, which is a lot of money—money, as you now know, I can’t really afford.”
Reeve shakes his head as if clearing it. “Jules, I have been looking for you.”
His words don’t quite register.
“What?”
He draws back in his seat, then immediately leans forward again.
“That property has been on my radar for months. It was why I was up in West Lake the night of Kitty’s funeral.
I had been talking to her about selling it, but then she passed away before we could reach an agreement, and then the executor—Niles James—wouldn’t tell me who inherited it until it went through probate.
I can’t believe it’s been you all along. ”
Suddenly, the events of the last few months look very different in my head. “Wait, that’s why you were up here?”
Reeve takes a long sip of his wine. “Yes. West Lake was on our short list for possible locations for the new build, and when the St.Mary property stalled, we started looking elsewhere, but now that it’s potentially back on the market—” He pauses. “Wait, are you planning to sell it?”
I don’t know.
I don’t know anything right now.
“No? Maybe? You want to buy it? To what, build condos?”
“Yes.” Reeve nods, and I’m grateful for the short, uncomplicated answer.
Sell the property to a developer. To Reeve.
My heart starts beating hard. I can’t help but think it’s saying bad, bad, bad. I have feelings about developers. They are not good ones.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I tell him honestly. “Condos in West Lake…”
Reeve does nothing but take my hand.
Developments are evil leeches on the local economy. I know this. But I also know I have no way to pay these property taxes if I don’t sell it to someone.
“Hey.” Reeve gently squeezes my hand. “I know I’ve put you in a weird position, and I really should talk to my boss before we talk about this too much more, but I think you should know that your property is worth a lot of money.”
My heart double beats. “It is?”
Reeve nods. “You should get a good lawyer, Jules, and a real estate agent. They’ll be able to advise you without any conflict of interest.”
The price tags of both send a wave of acid up my throat. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”
Reeve pushes a glass of water toward me. I drink three big gulps, but it doesn’t help.
“If you sell, you will. You’ll be able to afford a lot more.”
A thought occurs. “Like a four-year medical degree?”
Reeve smiles; it’s the first one that doesn’t feel forced since the turn in conversation. “You could definitely afford that.”
“Oh, god.” I reach for the water again, change my mind, and take a big swig of wine.
Reeve waits for me to swallow. “Take some time and think. You don’t need to decide anything right now. It will take a few weeks to get my team together anyway. I can even show you a model of the development if you think it will help. It’s going to be a really beautiful space.”
I must nod because Reeve lets go of my hand.
My brain recites that long list of reasons on why condos in West Lake are a terrible idea.
But my heart travels back to that night on the dock and the girl who pictured herself at medical school, her entire future bright in front of her.
She’s been lost to me these last two years as I’ve lived on autopilot, showing herself for only a few brief, disorienting moments to press send on my application.
I knew that night that going to medical school would require a Hail Mary—a miracle.
I just never imagined the dance hall would be it.
Reeve reaches for his wineglass. “I think we should get back to celebrating. Getting a med school interview is a big deal.” He raises it up. “Here’s to you, getting your dream.”
My dream.
I manage to lift up my own glass and clink. And drink. And eventually, pick up my fork and eat an entire plate of Nona’s famous gnocchi.
I stay in a half-catatonic, half-euphoric state throughout dinner and the boozy tiramisu Danielle brings out for dessert. By the time we climb back into Reeve’s car, the unsettled feeling in my stomach has shifted to being just plain stuffed.
It starts to snow as we drive back to West Lake. Teeny-tiny white flakes that blow across the windshield without sticking to it. I check my weather app, ensuring it’s just a little blip and not a storm, realizing how dark the roads get at night. As if I haven’t lived here all my life.
“You really need to go back tonight?”
Reeve lets out a long sigh. “Yeah. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to come up with some believable excuse to tell my boss, but it’s a big meeting, and I really can’t.
” He reaches to turn the heat down slightly, quieting the car.
“But I’ve also been thinking, when you come down for your interview, you could stay with me for a few days?
I can take a day or two off if it’s midweek, or you can spend the weekend. What do you think?”
My head reels with everything else that would bring. Reeve’s place. A glimpse into Reeve’s life. Reeve’s bed.
“Yeah. Great. That sounds like fun.” I pause, and I can feel him staring at me. “Sorry, I just…need to process everything a little more. Maybe sleep on it for a night or two or five, but then I’ll text you, and we can plan.”
He pulls the car up in front of my place, again opening my door before I have a chance to. We linger on the steps of my front stoop, the lights of the pizzeria reflecting in his eyes.
“Do you want to come up?” The question comes out of my mouth before I fully think through the consequences.
He throws his head back with a groan. “You don’t know how badly I want to say yes.” He steps in closer. “But if I come up now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave, so I think it’s better if I say good night here.”
He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine.
“I’m sorry you came all this way,” I tell him. “I know it’s a lot.”
His hand reaches up to cup my chin as he plants a soft goodbye kiss on my lips.
“That’s the thing, Jules. It’s not nearly enough.”