26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I’m so glad you had a room available,” I said to Ivan. “Thank you for taking me in so late.”
“Of course,” he said. “What brings you here again so soon?”
My smile flickered. “I missed it.”
His words were warm. “Welcome back.”
Waiting inside was another slice of cake. I couldn’t help but laugh. “You spoil me.”
“I’m happy to.” He smiled as he began to close the door for me. “Have a good night.”
This room was a floor lower than the last, but it faced toward Stari Most. I waited as dusk fell and the lights illuminated the bridge before finally leaving the terrace and falling into bed.
A beautiful call to prayer woke me every morning.
The first day, annoyance battled my newfound, work-in-progress Zen approach. I picked up my phone to call or text Emil, to demand we talk. However, considering talking was something Emil had consistently chosen not to do, would forcing it cause more harm than good? My resolve to act contradicted my decision to let life take the reins. But surely there had to be a balance, right? The result was me whipping out my phone throughout the afternoon and writing up long-winded texts, then deleting them with a sigh.
On the second day, I reminded myself that Emil knew I was here, so I repeated Amin’s words in my head as a mantra. So I went out into the city and genuinely enjoyed exploring beyond the boundaries of the old town. I saw new sights, tried new foods, and, when I crashed onto my bed at the end, I wrote about it all in a letter to Gail, my dry-humored fairy godmother, as I’d come to think of her.
Around noon on the third day, I was in the middle of lunch at one of the many cafés along the river when I realized two things.
First, it was my birthday. I ordered an extra portion of baklava to celebrate and to help soothe the second thing.
Which was that, today, I hadn’t once looked for Emil. Until now, I’d secretly been expecting to see him lingering around every corner—by the gate of the apartment, the bridge, any random alley. I’d been conscious of each gaze. But today I’d merely gone about my morning and afternoon, dropped here out of a void, no history, no ties, nothing.
It scared the hell out of me.
We were each living our lives, one without the other. Did that mean this was truly it, that I’d grow tired of simply standing by and leave with my tail between my legs? That had been Amin’s sage advice. Perhaps I was meant to follow it.
I paid and left silently, gazing around at the buildings, soaking it all in, along with the immense sense of complete rightness being here. I couldn’t explain it. I’d only spent a few days total in this place, but it I felt like I fit here, too, like I was home. But I would have to find my own Mostar. He was where he belonged—here. This was his home. We couldn’t share it. It could only be one of ours, and it had to be his. If he hadn’t sought me out yet, then he’d made his decision. And here I was, waiting.
My jaw clenched, and I drew a shallow breath through my nose.
It was time to start saying goodbye .
I did so by walking through every street I could, twisting and turning, whispering silent farewells to the people, the houses, the trees, the river. The scents of freshly ground coffee, blooming petunias hanging from baskets overhead, and toasted earth waved goodbye back.
When I turned the next corner, I found myself in the street between a row of beautiful restaurants on my right and a small square on my left. Even in the daylight, the place was unmistakable, its arbored entrance still cascading with vibrant ivy.
The restaurant Emil had taken me to on our first date.
I licked my lips, my mouth gone dry. The square was empty, but I spotted a water fountain in the shade and shuffled to it. I drank deeply until I couldn’t stop the sob searing in my throat any longer. My back flattened against the wall, and I sank down to the warm stones, pressing my hands to my face as my knees curled up toward my chest.
So this was how grief felt.
A clenched, aching burn deep inside.
The tears you can’t suppress.
Breathing too fast.
I took my pulse, focusing on the task, trying to ground myself. I’d never had a panic attack before, if this even was one. Maybe those feelings weren’t grief after all. Or maybe they were the same thing.
My eyes slid shut as I counted the feather-light thumps at my jugular.
“Mallory?”
I jumped at the sound of my name, then squinted up into the brightness.
“Dr. Tanovi??”
Emil’s stepfather stared down at me, concern creasing his forehead.
My body jerked as I tried to stand, but he rested a hand on my shoulder.
“Stay there,” he said softly as he crouched in front of me. His attention zeroed in on my fingers, which were still pressed to my neck. “How fast?”
“Um, I didn’t finish. ”
He reached out, gently pulling my hand away and letting it rest against my thighs. He replaced it with his own, his fingers a comfort against my skin.
I worked on not passing out as he counted silently.
The seconds dragged until he finally let go. “One-twenty,” he said, “but dropping quickly.” He sank down next to me, his head resting against the rough stone at our backs.
“Thank you,” I breathed out, the lightheadedness beginning to ease.
We were quiet for a time before I began to feel somewhat normal again. I twisted without getting up, drinking a few more swallows of water.
“Can you walk?” he asked when I was done.
“I think so. Why?”
“I’d like to check you out at the clinic, just to be sure.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“That was a polite way of saying you’re coming with me,” he said. I quickly assessed how I might get out of it as he stood, then reached his hand toward me. I frowned, but took it.
I hadn’t realized how close we were to the clinic. We walked through the doors minutes later, and he led me past his surprised receptionist. He did a basic checkup, finally confirming what I already knew. I’d live.
“Thank you,” I said, biting my lip as I hopped down from the examination table.
“Do you have a moment?” he asked.
“Um, sure?”
He didn’t wait, and I followed him into his office.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured as I stood awkwardly inside the doorway. He took the seat behind his desk and gestured toward the two others across from him.
I sat down in the chair nearest the door, not sure where to look, and watched my hands strangle each other in my lap. “Why?”
“Because I love Emil. In every way it matters, he is my son. And I don’t need words to sense he’s going through something.” His head tilted to the side. “That you both are.”
I couldn’t help asking. “How is he?”
“How do you think?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I wouldn’t know.”
Omar shook his head. “He’s heartbroken, draga.”
“But we barely know one another,” I countered, trying to be realistic. “Barely spent any time together.”
“Mallory,” he sighed, “time doesn’t matter. Love can happen in a moment or decades. It doesn’t mind.”
I sucked in a shuddering breath. “What do you know? About what happened, I mean?”
Omar spoke carefully. “He didn’t say much.”
Shocker.
“But from what I can tell,” he continued, “leaving…it was what he needed to do.” His eyes slid expectantly to the door for a second. I took the opportunity to duck my head and wipe away threatening tears. The squeak of a floorboard sounded behind me. I should let him go, but I wasn’t ready.
“Was it a mistake coming back?” The words slipped out. It was what had been twisting inside of me since the moment I looked up at the bridge after I jumped, and he hadn’t been there.
He pondered my question. “If your roles were reversed, what would you think?”
I tried to imagine it—Emil standing in Blackthorn, out of place, uncertain. Yet he was there, for what else but me, so we could be together. A flicker lit inside me, sputtering to become a flame.
“I want him,” I admitted, sounding pitiful. “I want him so badly, but—”
“No.” His voice was sharp for the first time. “Love doesn’t work in buts. It’s a choice. It doesn’t care if you live in the same town, if your families get along, if you listen to the same kind of music, if you fight and get under one another’s skin at times. Each moment, you choose that person above all of it. And do you know what happens?”
I shook my head cautiously.
Omar smiled, leaning forward. “It all works out. Being with someone, it’s imperfect. Some days you’ll get what you want, then it’s the other person’s turn. Sometimes neither of you will, because that’s what it takes to make it through that day. It’s work to be with the one you love, but those things are what make it worth it. No matter what barriers stand in your way, together you tear them down and say—not today.” Omar rapped his fingers against the table with those last words, sitting back again in his chair. “If you fight together to stay together, nothing can keep you apart.”
I knew how deep that truth ran for Emil. “I think he’s already made his choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw him a few days ago, at the bridge. Did you know that?”
Omar frowned. “No.”
“He didn’t come to me. I decided not to force it, so I waited, but he never came.”
He looked past me, his eyes focused somewhere over my head. To my surprise, he seemed to be holding back a smile as he said, “Did he tell you why you scare him?”
“I don’t scare him.”
“Oh yes you do,” he chuckled, meeting my gaze again with a twinkle. The light in them dimmed a little as his fingers fumbled in his lap. He appeared to be making up his mind about a difficult choice, his face set with determined creases. “When Emil was, oh, twenty or so, there was a woman. Red hair, blue eyes, pretty—fiery. From America as well.” He watched me closely. I tried not to squirm. “She spent a while here as part of some international volunteer organization. Once they met, one wasn’t without the other. Emil was captivated by her, even loved her. Maybe,” he added with a half-shrug.
“Anyway,” he continued, “when her group was set to leave here, he was ready to go with her, abandon everything he’d known, his family, all of it. He’s always been a dreamer. I believe, with her, he thought he’d found everything he wanted. The girl, a way out into the world, something worth risking it all for.” He paused with a little shake of his head. “He went so far as to tell us he was going, that he would follow her. It broke his mother. Mia hated the girl, for good reason, as it turned out.”
“What did she do?” I whispered.
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “She left with nothing but a note. He didn’t show it to me. To my knowledge, he never heard from her again.” He was silent for a beat. “I don’t believe she had any real intentions with him, other than a good time.” He sighed. “It broke his belief in people, in love, I think. Too young.”
“I’m not her,” I said, my voice fierce. “I didn’t come here looking for anything. Not from anyone else, at any rate.”
“But you found it,” he said, studying my reaction. “Trust—it’s a precious thing. And it’s difficult to have faith in again if you’ve been stung by it before.” He raised an eyebrow at me pointedly, and fear squeezed my insides. He couldn’t know my story. At the very least, I trusted Emil wouldn’t have told anyone my secrets. But perhaps Omar perceived as much about people as he professed, and he could see glimpses through the cracks in their armor, mine included.
I sniffed quietly, dropping my gaze to my lap. “I get it.”
“I thought you might.”
I managed a sad smile, wiping my hand roughly across my face.
Omar grabbed a box of tissues and passed it to me.
“Thanks,” I snuffled, taking one as I stood.
He rose as well, stepping around the table to stop beside me. “All I want for him is happiness. He tends to stand in his own way when it comes to that. I wish I could get him to see he can have it, but he’s…stubborn. ”
I let out a wet laugh. “I’ve noticed.” I tossed the tissue into the wastebasket near his feet, then grabbed my purse from the floor.
“Will you be all right?” he asked.
I took a steady breath. The tightness had eased, the panic gone.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Thanks for your help. For all of it.” The corner of my mouth hitched up in an attempt at a smile.
“You deserve happiness, too,” he said, not letting me go so easily. “I don’t know if you share in Emil’s stubbornness in seeing that, but you do.”
This time, I really did smile. “Thank you.” I bit my lip, feeling silly as I asked, “Can I hug you?”
“Of course,” he said, but when I barely pressed against him, he snorted. “I’m not as old and fragile as I look. Give me a real one.” I obliged, needing to give as badly as I needed it back, sinking into his embrace.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Call me Omar.”
“Okay,” I murmured shyly before releasing him with reluctance. “Goodbye Omar.”
He paused, thoughtful. “I’ll see you later,” he countered. I quirked my head in question, but he only offered a quick wink.