53. Queenie
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
QUEENIE
RECOMMENDED LISTENING ‘RETURN TO ME’ BY MATTHEW RYAN
As I park Lizzie under the portico, a light rain starts. I enjoy the water on my face, catching a raindrop on my tongue. Somehow, feeling cleansed by it. Washed anew of the tragic events of earlier this year.
And, at the same time, I am reminded, viscerally, of my first night and the thunderstorm with Noah. How he’d touched me and made me come apart, heart, body and soul, in the open. Fox and Ares could have walked in on us. And I would not really care, as much as I did being with Noah.
Now I know it was love.
Love gave me that focus. Love gave me that courage. That recklessness.
And the weirdest part? It wasn’t just loving Noah. It was loving myself too.
I stand there for a long moment and see myself in my mind’s eye. Perched delicately on the bike’s handle. Laid out like a sacrifice for him. A feast. He looks ready to devour me.
I love who I am when I am with Noah.
Free and a little bit reckless. Human. Perfectly, delicately, undeniably human.
And I spent a lot of time, a lot of time, denying that. In the end, I punished him for it. Because being human was not in my skillset, my vocabulary. I was the elder daughter, the straight A overachiever, the would-be doctor. None of those things prepared me for being fallible, making mistakes, fucking up.
I let out a huge, shaky breath. And walk up the steps to the house that has, somehow, become home in the few months I’ve been here. If I became an adult in the dorms of Albany Hall, then the cottage is where I learned to survive and thrive as an adult, in all my glorious dysfunction.
Now, I’m beginning to understand, it’s more important to survive adulthood with my heart intact than it is to become one. Balancing my checkbook did not automatically grant me adult wisdom. Living with other adults like me, new and a little less shiny but incredibly determined, did.
I do not know how to thank the boys for it.
I twist the key I’d somehow carried with me during my hasty flight. It catches the light coming from the massive windows, as I step in.
“Hey.”
Noah’s husky voice catches me off-guard. I grip the key tight as I jerk my head up. I swallow against the heat filling my throat for seeing him after 4 days.
He looks the same. Healthy. Lean. A definitive sports animal. PGSOFS personified.
Nothing like the broken, lost man I’d turned him into, in my haste to…I shake my head.
“I’m sorry,” I say rustily. The key digs into my palm. “I should have called, checked in to see if you were…if it was okay for me to come.”
“It’s no problem. This is still your place.” He shoves his hands in his grey track pants. They slide past the hip and give me a glimpse of his Adonis Dimples. I want to look at them so badly.
I focus on his face. His beloved face. “It’s not. It’s yours,” I say softly. “And you were kind enough to let me live here, no strings attached. I never understood, not really, what a big deal it was. Until I left.”
His eyes go starless. “Queenie?—”
“I am not…” I shake my head. “I’m not here to do anything except apologize to you, Noah.”
“You don’t have to—” He takes a step forward from the kitchen.
I move toward him. A magnet drawn to its inevitable polarity. Is that why I’d picked him from hundreds of people at the party? Because I was meant to find him? Only him?
I’m a scientist, logically that is an empirical improbability. But I begin to wonder if it isn’t fate.
“I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you the other night. It is never okay to lash out in anger and hurt and I did both. You didn’t deserve it.” I look blindly at him. “In fact, you opened your home, your heart, your life to me. And I selfishly, thoughtlessly made you pay for it. I’m sorry for that, Noah.”
He closes his eyes. His deep breath moves through every one of his defined abs.
I still keep my eyes level on his face. Watching it for the minutest expression change. I know him a little too.
“I’m sorry I was such a pain the first few days I was here, when you wanted to help me,” I go on, stoically. “And I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you first told me what happened between us at the drive-in. I’m sorry, I never gave you a chance.”
He shakes his head. Drops of water fall on his shoulders. “Why are you telling me this now?”
I shrug. “Mischa yelled at me for like an hour straight once I finished crying. And made me see how badly I’ve treated you. For no…” I take a trembling breath. “No fault.”
“You cried?” Noah takes a step forward again.
I take two. “It’s not important. It was actually cathartic. I needed to…let go,” I whisper.
My eyes are huge on my face. Round.
We’re almost halfway to each other. And I wish…I wish with all my heart I could run to him. I could ask him to forgive me, beg him to take me back. It would negate all the work I’ve done so far. Negate all the words I so thoughtlessly threw at him.
All the heartbreaking things he told me. Who will love me if I don’t make them? If I don’t do things for them to remind them, I am here?
“And you’re okay now?”
I nod. Then I shake my head. Give him a shaky smile. “I’m getting there. How are…” I lick my lips. “How are you?”
“I’m okay too. I…” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I talked to Dad. Like, really talked to him.”
“That’s nice. Wonderful, Noah.” I smile at him, genuinely happy. “I hope he was thrilled to hear from you.”
“He was.” He lets out a husky chuckle, a little surprised. “I didn’t think he’d be. I’ve been a right little shit to him and my stepmum.”
“You’re not,” I defend him instantly. At his piercing look, I falter. “I’m glad you made up with your father. I…” I hesitate and then plunge ahead, “I talked to my folks too. Told them everything.”
“That’s great,” he is immediately supportive. “You shouldn’t have to carry that burden alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” I murmur. “You were with me.”
“I…” Noah squares his shoulders. “Why are you here, then?”
“I…” I love you. I am in love with you. I want to tell him. Shout it across the length of this room. I love you. I drop my gaze. Like the newly discovered human I am. “I forgot something and came to pick it up.”
“Oh.”
“So, I’ll just…” I indicate the stairs.
“Yeah. Sure, you can do that.” He gives me a tiny smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Fox and Ares are out so it’s just me.”
“Oh.” That makes it infinitely harder for me. Knowing I could run into his arms, snatch this small moment, if he’d let me. And maybe I’d know some peace.
“Alright then—” He moves back.
“Wait,” I blurt.
He freezes.
I don’t have anything to make him wait for. But – “Do you want some pie? I could go to the diner, get some for you three?”
He smiles. Sadly. “We know about the pies, Queenie. We know you buy the pies yourself, from your paycheck. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I wanted to be part of the group. Contribute.” Unbidden, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I angrily wipe it away. I will not use tears to sway him. It’s undignified and unfair.
“Don’t you know, Queenie? You always were. Because we wanted you with us.” He turns away from me and then stops. “Sorry, the bedroom’s a bit of a mess. I haven’t had time to clean it up since…I haven’t been back there.”
So, he’s not slept in the bed without me? My heart twists. It should not. But I am not a good person, I’m human, so it does. I am happy he can’t find peace without me either.
“That’s okay. I’ll clean it up.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’ll do it anyway.”
Noah nods once, over the back of his shoulder. And then disappears into the kitchen.
I walk up slowly, thoughtfully. And I think again of the words he’d said to me.
Who will love me if I don’t make them? If I don’t do things for them to remind them, I am here?
Maybe, telling was overrated when it came to love. Maybe, sometimes, for some special people, you just have to show them.
I run up the stairs because I knew, exactly, how to show Noah how much I love him. And I don’t feel so hopeless, such a lost cause anymore.
I take the win.
“…Yes, Amma,” I roll my eyes at Mischa as we exit Lizzie Bonnet on the sidewalk opposite Ma’s Pantry, the next evening. “I understand. Please don’t worry about me. I promise I’m safe.”
“You understand nothing, Devika. Wait till you become a mother and I’ll tell you not to worry about your baby,” my mother, Dr. Lata Madhavan, MD (Obstetrics) FRCS and latest DWB member, sniffs disdainfully.
“Fathers worry too,” my father, Dr. Anand Madhavan, puts in across the call.
I smile. But I let them fuss some more over me. Insult me only very slightly and insist on a million orders and requests. I hear everything meekly and with rapt attention. Because I deserve it.
I wasn’t honest with my parents, my rocks, and now they don’t know how to trust me. But, to their credit and my everlasting love, they still love me. And not just love me, they wholeheartedly support me. Even when I told them about switching my specialty from medicine to neuroscience, they were fully amenable.
Either way, the Madhavans are a unit again. United and supportive. One.
I hook my arm through Mischa’s and enter the diner. She grins at me. “You look happy. Like cat-who-swallowed-the-canary-level happy.”
“You know.” I squeeze her hand. “It’s only now that I’m happy I realized I was miserable all these months. I should have told Amma and Appa everything a long time ago.”
My heart pricks in an exquisite pain. Because that’s not strictly true. I was insanely, incandescently, perfectly happy when I was with Noah Dumaine, the most perfect of men. Well, not perfect but perfect for me , nonetheless.
I embrace the pain. If the pain is the cost of loving him then I’ll take it.
As I always do, I think the words I didn’t tell him during our last awkward encounter. What I’m not going to ever be able to tell him in all good conscience: I’m sorry, Noah. I love you. You’re the love of my life and I’ll never tell you that.
“Preaching to the choir, Q,” Mischa remarks drolly, intruding on my thoughts.
“When did you become so wise, Meesh? Aren’t you six months younger than me?” I tease her.
She smiles and there’s a tinge of remembered grief in it. “I am a crone in a young woman’s body. An old soul.”
“That you are.”
The diner’s almost empty. There are hardly any customers. It’s almost closing time. Eleven pm. The regulars are quietly playing chess in one of the back booths.
Jace and Simon are having a pie that I paid for. They are growing boys who are ravenous. I always felt bad about not giving them enough food. So, I started buying them dessert. Same with Fox and Ares and my Noah.
I guess my love language is indulging in a healthy dessert.
An angsty hip hop anthem blares from the jukebox. Something about keeping on rising. Kind of appropriate for how I’m feeling.
I wear my Ma’s Pantry apron with a feeling of pride and nostalgia. This place, these people, gave me something I never thought possible. A safe space to lick my wounds. To heal from them. To become the woman, I hoped to be. Strong, stalwart, and dependable.
I’m not perfect by any measure but I’m damn well going to try.
I take over cleanup for the last time and start the wipe down of all the stations.
Mischa’s cleaning the coffee machines and washing the glasses behind the bar.
The door tinkles, signifying a customer. And I look up eagerly. My face freezes because I’m confronted by a vision from the future.
It’s a silver-haired man with the most perfect nose and a tapered chin. He has jet-black eyes and the shoulders of a swimmer. He wears an expensive greatcoat over his lemon-colored linen shirt, casual jeans, and Timberlands.
He’s…distinguished and exudes quiet power. It’s unsettling.
“Hi, there,” I tell Calvin Dumaine, Noah’s father. “The diner’s about to close for the night. But I’ll be happy to get you a water or a piece of pie if you’d like.” My voice is mercifully even, even though my heart thuds fast.
“You are…you must be Queenie.”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m the girl from the video.”
“My son speaks very highly of you.” Calvin comes in, hands in the pockets of his coat. “I was told…he told me, he is always hanging out here. So, I thought I’d take a shot at meeting him…” He waves a hand at the place. “Here.”
“Yes, of course. Please. Sit. I’ll…I’ll just be a moment.”
Calvin takes a seat in one of the booths. I gesture to Mischa to take care of him.
I whip out my phone and call Noah. My hand shakes a bit, but I steady it. It goes to voicemail, which I expect.
But I deliver the speech I’ve rehearsed in my less sane moments. “Hi, Noah. It’s me…Queenie. Devika.” I clear my throat and continue, “I hope you’re well. I know you are. I saw you yesterday. I am just…I’m trying to get my shit together so I can start becoming the someone you might need someday. If there’s even the remotest possibility of it.”
I laugh nervously. “Anyway, it’s not why I called. Although, it kind of is, because I am too ashamed to tell you all this face-to-face. Look at me being a coward all over again. And I’m making jokes about it too,” I laugh again. Like a lunatic.
Calvin looks enquiringly at me.
“So, anyway, the real reason I called? It’s to tell you your dad’s here.” I smile widely, uncertainly. Hope it translates through the airwaves. “In Barrons Bay. At Ma’s. He’s having strawberry pie and enjoying it, just like you. I think he’s nervous about seeing you, so he hasn’t come to the cottage yet.”
I wind down. “I…I hope you’ll come see him. You don’t have to see me. I’ll be leaving soon. Tonight’s my last shift at Ma’s Pantry. Take care, Noah.” And the words slip out before I can stop them. “I love you. So much.”
The machine beeps, signaling the end of the message. And I end the call before I lose my nerve and delete the whole thing.
I press a fist to my stomach. It’s trembling again. Why did I tell him that?
I love you is not a thing to say over the phone to your fake boyfriend who broke up with you for real because you went ballistic on him. It’s going to freak him out and I’ll lose him forever.
Not that I deserve him.
He truly is too good for me, with my Hellcat ways.
But I don’t regret saying it. I spent so much time hiding my truth, refusing to face it I am now determined to be honest, even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.
Besides, it is love…my love for him. It’s a gift. Given to him without conditions and strings. He doesn’t even need to accept it.
Maybe I should leave him another voicemail outlining all these facts.
Stop spiraling, Queenie.
I walk over to Calvin’s table. “It’s all good?”
“Yeah. I thought you said…” Calvin plays with the fork. “Noah’s going to be here.”
“If he doesn’t come in fifteen minutes, I’ll drive you over to his house myself,” I promise him. “The house he bought.”
Calvin pauses with his fork on the table. “You…His house…?”
“There are daisies in the gardens. Like your late wife loved,” I tell him softly.
His eyes, so like Noah’s, but with crow’s feet at the edges indicating a life lived, sheen brightly. “That’s lovely.”
“Your son’s lovely. The loveliest.”
Calvin nods. “He is.”
“Okay.”
I don’t know what else to say to him. So, I go back to wipe down. Five minutes later, the door tinkles again.
I look up, slow and deliberate.
“Well, Miss Madhavan,” Professor Washington says coolly, shaking his head from the rain pouring down. “What do you want?”