Chapter 30 #2
Liam seems to think about my answer for a moment. “If your interest lies in geriatrics, you might want to consider specializing in orthopedics. There’s a lot of money to be made in replacing knees and hips.”
“She said she’s interested in general medicine,” Reeve cuts in on my behalf. His voice is unusually combative, although this doesn’t seem to faze his brother, who shrugs off his outburst.
“All I’m saying is the money is good. Med school is expensive; not everyone can do what they want and live off a trust fund.”
An awkward silence follows that only I seem to be aware of. The rest of the Baldwin family continue to serve and eat their breakfasts with an ease that makes me wonder if I’m imagining the tension.
But there’s an unusual clench to Reeve’s jaw that I’ve never seen before. The same goes for the tiny pulsing vein in his right temple. I wonder if I should change the subject, but Cheryl beats me to it.
“So, Jules,” she says, and her voice seems an octave higher than before, “Reeve tells us you’re from West Lake. We absolutely love the area.”
I nod, thankful for the safer conversation topic. “I’ve lived there all my life.”
Bill reaches for a stack of toast. “Don’t they have that great little tapas place right down by the water?”
“No, honey.” Cheryl shakes her head. “You’re thinking of that place in Southampton.”
Bill holds his toast as if he’s about to take a bite but is still thinking. “What’s in West Lake then?”
“My new project,” Reeve pipes in. “The condo development I’ve been working on.”
Bill finally takes a bite of his toast, chewing and swallowing it. “You’re working on the marketing team, right?”
Reeve seems to pull in a deep breath before answering. “No, I’m leading the whole project, remember?”
Bill raises an eyebrow. “They let you do that with a fine arts degree?”
Both of Reeve’s brothers laugh, tucking their chins and exchanging glances. It feels like a bad inside joke. One I don’t want to be a part of.
Reeve remains stone-faced. The only indication that anything is off is the tiny vein going pump pump pump on his temple.
Silence descends over the table again. I become acutely aware of Liam’s knife scraping as he butters his toast and Brodie’s silver spoon stirring his coffee. I look to Cheryl to see if she will come to the rescue again, but Bill breaks the silence.
“Did Brodie tell you he’s already building his book?” It’s unclear if his comment is directed at Reeve or Liam, as they both look up. “Six months in, he’s already bringing in a new client. Billed two hundred and fifty hours last month.”
Bill looks to me like I should know what that means.
“That’s a lot of hours,” I reply, which seems to be the answer Bill was looking for, as he nudges me with his elbow, smiling. “Chip off the old block.”
My eyes flick to Reeve, whose gaze is on the butterless toast in his hand. I wonder if he wishes he, too, were a chip.
I watch him slowly bite his bread and then swallow it with a sip of coffee—this passionate guy who sends cheese baskets and has a secret pottery room—and can’t help but think I’m really glad he isn’t.
The rest of the breakfast passes with less contentious conversation: the odds of early spring, the likelihood the Leafs will make the playoffs, and the email about the food and beverage minimum hike at Reeve’s parents’ golf club.
Although Reeve doesn’t say anything, somehow I feel his tension—like a sixth sense—wound deep and tight.
His silence continues as we help clean up the dishes and walk to the front hall to retrieve our coats.
In fact, the only words that come out of his mouth are a gruff “Thanks for breakfast” when his mom hugs him goodbye, followed by a stiff wave at his brothers as we exit the front door and climb into the car.
I don’t know how to navigate this side of Reeve. What I want to do is pull him tight to me. Kiss him. Remind him that he’s intelligent and funny—the kind of person who leaves people better than when he found them. But I place my hand on his thigh instead.
Reeve’s eyes focus on the road as we pull out of the driveway and onto the street.
When we hit Yonge Street and he still hasn’t said anything, I assume I’ve done the wrong thing.
But when I try to retract my hand, he stops me, gripping my fingers in his, returning it to his leg, and pressing my hand to his thigh.
“Sorry,” he finally says as we turn onto Bloor Street. “It usually takes me until Davisville to calm down. I guess it took a little longer today.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, somewhat understanding where his head is at but realizing there are still a lot of blanks left to fill.
He lets out a long breath. “I’m fine. That’s actually a pretty normal Sunday at the Baldwin household. I was mentally prepared for it, though I had hoped since you were there, they might have laid off a little. Talked me up a bit.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“My dad just has this very specific idea of what my life should look like,” Reeve continues.
“We didn’t talk for three months when I decided to pursue an arts management diploma instead of an MBA.
I had inherited some money from my grandma, which allowed me to do it.
When he finally started talking to me, it was to tell me that I was squandering my future. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing his leg.
He shakes his head. “I really thought things would get better when I took the job at Mansfield. Howard loves me, and he and my dad are tight, but you saw how he was. I’m not Liam, and I’m not Brodie.”
I turn my palm so our fingers can lace together. “I know it’s not the same, but I happen to be a big fan of Reeve.”
This time, his smile is genuine. When we stop at a light, he turns his head to meet my lips for a quick kiss.
“It makes for an exponentially better experience to have you sitting there beside me. And I know I’ve done a pretty shitty job of selling you on the idea of spending time with my family, but my parents are having an anniversary party at the Granite Club in a couple weeks.
It’s a Saturday night. Do you think you’d want to come with me? ”
“Of course,” I answer before fully thinking things through. “I will need to check my schedule. We’re down a staff member, so I’m picking up a few more shifts than normal, but I will let you know. I’d like to try and get down here more.”
He reaches his arm behind my shoulders, the pad of his thumb kneading gently at the tight muscles at the base of my neck. “I have a meeting in Port Logan on the Friday after next. I was thinking I could come after and stay the night?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “That would be great.” But my heart sinks a little at the timing. “Two whole weeks, huh?”
His thumb stops kneading and, instead, rubs gently back and forth. “Yeah, I know. But I have meetings in the city until then. You don’t have any time off?”
I mentally calculate my schedule. “Wednesday this week and then Monday and Tuesday next week, but I’ll be coming off a weekend of night shifts. So not ideal.”
Reeve blows out a long breath. “No, it’s not.” He slows the car to a stop as the light in front of us turns red. His hand curls around my neck, bringing my face to his, and he kisses me longer and deeper than I expect.
“That was nice,” I say as he pulls away. He reaches up and wipes a drop of moisture from my lip with the pad of his thumb. “Two weeks,” he repeats. “I needed another good one to hold me over.”
I glance at the clock, calculating how much time we have left and what I need to hold me over. Reeve seems to follow the same train of thought.
“What time do you need to head out?”
I take my phone from my pocket and navigate to my weather app. “It looks like there is snow coming in tonight. It’s probably best if I’m on the road by four. Four-thirty at the latest.”
Reeve glances at the clock again. “I don’t love the idea of you driving home in the dark.”
“I’ll be fine,” I argue. “Celine is a beast in the snow. She’s used to it.”
“I know. I just worry about you, Jules. I…” Reeve reaches out, his fingers cupping my chin, and the way his eyes find mine, I swear he is about to say something. But instead, he releases a breath and presses another quick kiss to my lips.
“You like me a lot?” I attempt to finish his thought.
The slow spread of his smile tells me I’ve completed it perfectly.
“Yeah.”
My hand covers his, and I lean across the console, my heart beating wildly at the implication that maybe I didn’t complete it so perfectly after all. “I like you too—a lot,” I whisper, kissing him on the temple. “In case it isn’t painfully obvious.”
His hand reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead and lingering. “It’s only a few more months until September. St. George Campus is a lot closer than West Lake.”
It is. If I were to get into med school, we could be in the same city. We could be within walking distance.
The admissions part of med school is now out of my hands. It is at the mercy of the committee. It will be, or it won’t.
But there’s a part two that needs to happen, and that decision is very much up to me.
I’m suddenly remembering yet another Kitty-ism, that same advice they give you when you board a plane. Help yourself first so you can then be in a position to help others.
I can’t be a doctor unless I go to school, and I can’t pay for school unless I sell the dance hall.
“Hey.” My eyes find Reeve’s, the decision already made in my head. “Do you think you’d have more meetings in West Lake… let’s say, if a prospective seller was ready to put their property on the market?”
Reeve eyes me as if he’s not sure he’s interpreting correctly. “Are you saying you want to sell?”
This is me putting on my oxygen mask.
“I’m ready. Let’s set it up.”