Chapter 16 #3
Only if you want it to be.
Me
Smooth, Wyndham. Smooth.
I deliberate. Do I want to spend even more time with this man? Really, what’s the harm? We can’t get up to any shenanigans if he has to be on call in an hour.
Me
Okay, sure. Where to?
Grant
How about that coffee shop down the street from the hospital? The Java House.
Me
Ooh, the one with the bookstore attached? I’ll be there.
I start for the coffee shop before I can change my mind. I’m not doing anything today, anyway, and I like this spirited little fling we’ve got going on. It lights me up inside.
Drops of rain pepper my windshield on my way downtown.
It’s one of those days where it’s just enough to be annoying, where you’re not even sure you need an umbrella.
I’m wearing a cute yellow rain jacket I picked up last week on a shopping trip.
When I get there, Grant’s talking with an older Black man who sits next to him, another physician by the looks of his scrubs and general air of authority.
I hesitate, but Grant waves me over when he catches sight of me.
“Kendall,” he says, and the smile he offers makes it seem like he’s genuinely happy to see me. “I just ran into one of my professors. This is Dr. Walker. He teaches pharmacology.”
The man in question sticks out his hand. His handshake is firm.
“Pleased to meet you,” he says. “Grant tells me you’ve had an interview already.”
Grant smiles at me proudly. It’s disorienting, this kind of attention.
I hang my jacket on the back of the chair and sit.
It’s one of those modern-looking coffee shops with exposed ductwork, Edison bulbs, sleek wood tables, and brick interior.
Through the adjoining doorway, a small bookstore boasts a combination of used and new books.
It’s not very crowded in here at the moment.
“I haven’t heard anything yet,” I say.
“Well Grant seems to have confidence in you,” Dr. Lykins says. “He’s been raving about how wonderful you are as a clinician.”
“Has he?” I prop my chin on my fist.
“You’ve impressed him, and that’s hard to do, I think.” He smiles at me, then looks back at Grant. He seems to be weighing our relationship to each other. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, clapping a hand on Grant’s back. “And good luck to you, Kendall.”
I raise an eyebrow at Grant when the professor walks away. “You’ve been discussing me?”
“Come on. You know what I think about your potential.”
I study him. He’s not looking fresh, not after a shift at the hospital, but it doesn’t matter. The soft light highlights his angular jaw. His white teeth flash with his shy grin. He’s a little more relaxed, a little less serious than usual, and I’m drinking it in.
“Let’s go get our drinks. I’ve only got about thirty minutes left,” he says.
To my chagrin, a pang of disappointment rolls through me at that. What is my deal?
We order our coffee in to-go cups since Grant can’t sit for long. He thanks the barista with more warmth and humility than he had for even a moment in high school. I marvel at his change again—one would never have thought him capable of this degree of humanity when we were teenagers.
He nods toward the open door at the side of the shop. “You want to grab your jacket and go look around the store?”
“Of course.”
A contemporary vibe continues through the bookstore, though a darker, moodier paint color adorns the walls and an assortment of plants and greenery perch on the warm maple shelving. Bean bag chairs and little mid-century sofas cluster around the space.
“I could live in here,” I tell him.
“Honestly, same.”
We browse the shelves together, each of us picking up and putting down books, until he selects a medical thriller and I land on a tome about the Salem witch trials.
“This is going to piss me off,” Grant says once we’re at the front of the store, near the entrance. He gestures to the book he purchased. “I bet the clinical stuff is all wrong.”
I laugh. We’re standing next to the door now, brushing up against each other, while a few people file in and out. It’s raining a little harder now. It’s like we don’t want to leave the other’s company, even though I’d like to blame it on the weather.
“So, how come you picked that one?” I cock my head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a thriller type.”
He shrugs. The door opens again and lets in a bit of misty air, but we stay planted.
“I like most fiction,” he says. “Mysteries and thrillers, though, have this kind of cosmic justice I love. I like when the villain gets his comeuppance.”
“Hmm.” I shift closer to him. We’re alone in this corner now, and no one is paying us any attention.
I’m near enough I can see the flecks of green in his blue eyes.
“There is so much I could say about that. Stuff a psychiatrist would have a field day with.” My eyes meet his again.
“Justice is really important to you now, huh?”
He swallows. “It is, actually.”
Once again, I’m becoming aware of how many layers this man contains. It’s disconcerting.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says softly. He doesn’t take his gaze off me. The people milling about the shop, the swirling scent of coffee, and the soft patter of the rain outside the window fade away. I’m locked in his stare.
“I think I know what you want,” I say, lowering my volume even more. “You’re pretty hard up by now, I would imagine.”
He brings his lips next to my ear, brushing his soft mouth against my skin. “Trust me, I want that very, very badly. More than you know.” He straightens. “I also like your company, though. I mean it.”
My heart thumps. Yikes. We’re veering much too close to real emotion for my liking, and I can’t reciprocate. I just can’t.
I glance at my watch. “You have to go,” I tell him.
He startles. “Shit. Yeah, you’re right.” He steps away from me, but his lingering look pins me. “I’ll see you this week.”
I salute him. God, I’m such a dork. “For sure,” I say. Then I turn to go without looking back.
We aren’t around each other much for the next few days, despite being at work together. I get a box in the mail when I get home one day. I didn’t order anything, so I’m not sure what it could be.
I tear into the packaging. There’s a little velvet bag with a gold bracelet in it. I pull it out and study it, and my heart shifts in my chest. It’s exactly like the one I said I liked, the one my patient was wearing. I know they’re pricey—I’ve looked at them online before.
I drop it on the counter like it might singe my skin. Then, thinking better of it, I pick it up and slide it on. It looks gorgeous on my wrist. Damn him.
Me
Thank you for the bracelet
Me
You’re still not forgiven.
Grant
You’re welcome. And I know.
Grant
I really like giving you whatever you want.
Should his spending move the needle for me?
I’d like to say no, but I would be lying.
I’m sure that’s shallow, but growing up the way I did made luxury items seem like a dream I would never have access to.
Besides that, it’s not like Grant’s a billionaire, and even if his grandfather left him some money it wouldn’t be enough for him to have unlimited funds.
The things he’s done—the thousands of dollars—wouldn’t be meaningless for him.
Me
What are you doing this evening?
Grant
I’m home now, and I’m going to crash soon. I’m running on a criminal sleep deficit here.
Me
Gotcha. I’ll leave you to it then
Grant
No, that’s okay. I like talking to you. What have you been doing?
Me
Hanging with my friend Maria
Grant
I suppose it’s karma that you have this vibrant social life and I’m a sad, lonely resident. I even have a roommate and I still feel like I’m alone too much.
Me
I had friends in high school, too, remember? We were all just beneath your notice.
Grant
touché
Me
It’s true, though. There were other nerdy kids. Lots of other poor kids. I have more in common with most people from our hometown than you do.
I stretch my arm out and study my bracelet as I wait for his reply. It glints when it catches the light. I’m at my kitchen counter now, savoring the brush of the ceiling fan’s current on my warm skin.
Grant
You were better than me. That’s why.
Me
So it wouldn’t have mattered that I was from the wrong side of the tracks if I hadn’t beat you on everything?
Grant
Wrong side of the tracks? Is this West Side Story?
Me
I bet your mother would use that exact language to describe me.
Grant
Nah, she wouldn’t use those words. She fancies herself a genteel lady.
I laugh as I head toward the shower and turn it on.
I peel off my clothes, then lean my hip against the counter as the bathroom starts to steam a little.
That has to be part of his family’s problem—his mother thinks she’s some kind of Southern society woman, and that’s just not what our hometown is all about.
We have too many pictures on our walls and junk in our yards.
Our strength is in our ability to survive.
I once witnessed someone from home using a saw attached to a broom handle to cut off tree limbs, which is ridiculous but also kind of innovative.
It’s a proud place, where Grant and I are from, one that has lots of problems and has tried to solve them with the wrong solutions. But it’s also a little embarrassing.
You can be king there if you have money, sure, but it’s a kingdom no one else wants.
Grant and I live in a big city now, complete with all the trappings of city life, and it’s so different from my home a few hours away that it might as well be Narnia.
Me
No offense, but that’s hysterical. That was the other thing I always found funny. We’re from Blacksburg. It’s not like any of us are aristocracy.
Grant
Well, self-awareness isn’t my family’s strong suit.
Grant
What are you up to now that you’re home?
Me
Can I send you something a little risqué?
Grant
fuck yeah
A grin stretches across my face. I snap a picture of myself, capturing the tops of my breasts and some of my ass in the mirror. I hit send.
Grant
#&@$!
Grant
You don’t play fair.
Me
That’s funny. I just learned the word for that. The string of characters in place of a curse word, that is. It’s called a grawlix.
Grant
Is this nerdy sexting?
Me
Sure. You got one for me?
Grant
Something something studying anatomy together
Grant
it needs work
Me
Aww, did you try to make a joke?
Grant
I am capable.
Grant
When can I see you again?
Me
Tomorrow, at work
Grant
You know what I mean.
Me
Tomorrow, at work
Grant
Fine. Go shower, you minx.
I lay the phone face down on the counter, smiling like an idiot.
Do I like Grant now? Is that what’s happening?
Because this feels monumental, and definitely like something I should talk to a therapist about.
I thought I was giving him hell, and now I’m mooning over him like a teenager with a crush. Does it take so little to impress me?
The shower’s hot enough peel a layer of skin off, but I relish it. I need to deal with these unruly feelings.