Backslide

Chapter 11 Noah Today

In that moment I know. I am officially fucked.

Maybe before I could have pretended that I was just being kind. That the doctor in me—the son of a single mom and brother to an older sister—felt I had to take care of this woman, who I knew would need help. Because she is stubborn. And impossible. And defiant in the face of sound advice.

Maybe before I could have at least pretended that it was just chemical attraction driving me.

Animal magnetism. Just sex. The way her strap keeps slipping off her shoulder.

The way her sheer dress teases and sticks to her thighs.

The way she licks the iced tea off her pink lips.

Her gray eyes, high cheekbones, freckled shoulders.

The fact that I basically saw her naked earlier today. Pressed my hands against her hips.

And it’s that—sure it is.

Of course I want her.

But when I hand her the Cheerios and her face changes, I know it’s more than that. And I know that I’m screwed.

And I know I was screwed before that moment too. Because I bought her those Cheerios in the first place.

Now somehow I need to convince her not to hate me anymore and to like me instead.

I know something else too in that instant though, as she hands me that little mound of cereal to share. I know what was bugging me, what seemed off, when I examined her shoulder on our deck.

She’s not wearing a ring.

“Tell me about your fiancé,” I say now.

And maybe that’s unfair. Because maybe it’s her own business. Or maybe I’m being an idiot because she’s just not wearing her ring because it’s being sized or whatever. Or maybe she doesn’t believe in that ring stuff, thinks it’s all patriarchal bullshit. Which is entirely possible.

But as I watch her pause, I think I’m onto something.

She scrunches up her nose. “I’d rather not.”

“How come?”

“Because you’re you.”

“Fair enough.” I pause. “Do you wish he was here?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

I hold my breath. Bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting either way.

“No,” she says without hesitation. “Not at all.”

Relief courses through me. We just sit and listen to the music for a minute, let the breeze blow past us. It feels like it could be any era, any time.

“You know, I do think it helped,” she says, eventually.

“The Cheerios?”

“Maybe,” she laughs. “But no, I meant the gummy. I think it maybe helped with my shoulder pain.”

“That’s good. You should try those CBD gummies Cara got you.”

“Maybe.” She nods. “Or some actual narcotics.”

“That would probably work better.” We both chuckle.

“I can’t believe you’re a doctor,” she says, unfiltered in a way she hasn’t been, I guess thanks to the pot. “I mean, I can believe it. I actually totally can.”

And it feels like the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. “Thanks.”

“What made you do it? Like, how did you get from when I last saw you… to surgeon?”

I consider how to answer that giant question, loaded as it feels with minefields. I decide to keep my response literal. “Well, after I hurt my knee, I had to have surgery, as you know. During my recovery, I was really depressed and things were… well, I wasn’t in a good headspace.”

I watch her bite her lip, no doubt considering her own role in that reality. She nods in recognition.

“Anyway, it wasn’t great. But then I got really lucky with my physical therapist. He was a young guy, really got me.

And it was the first time I started to let some hope creep in again.

By the end of working with him, I’d decided to become a physical therapist. And Henny had started dating the guy. ”

“No way,” Nell laughs—and I love the sound. “Did it work out?”

“Yup. He’s my brother-in-law now.”

“Amazing.”

I nod. “Amazing.”

“So…?”

“So, I applied to do my undergraduate and physical therapy degrees at Pitt—they have a strong program. But, once I was there, I started wondering about becoming a surgeon instead. I did a premed track, went to medical school at Johns Hopkins…”

“So you mentioned.”

“I like to mention it as often as possible.”

“Naturally.”

I feel the corner of my mouth quirk up.

“I did my residency in Cleveland…” I watch recognition come over her face, like that helped fit some puzzle pieces together for her. “And now… here I am.”

“Incredible,” she says, and she’s beaming like she means it. “I would never have guessed, but, somehow, it really makes sense, honestly.”

“I mean, I guess I was looking for a way to work in sports without playing,” I say, examining my hands. “But also… I don’t know. I think I wanted to prove that I could do it.”

I don’t say that I wanted to show the world, show her, that I was more than what they saw. But that’s the truth.

The light is starting to dim, the hour growing later. The sun is no longer at full mast, scorching the earth from above.

Nell looks down at her hands too, her ringless fingers.

“You said ‘layout,’ ” she says, which, out of context, I don’t understand.

“I did?”

“When you were talking about possible carpal tunnel. You said if I was working on ‘design and layout’ too much—like you know what I do for a living. That I’m an art director.”

“Of course I do, Eleanor,” I say, turning toward her. “You think I haven’t wondered and googled you? Asked Cara and Ben about what you’re doing? You’re really talented. Always have been.”

She seems pleased. “Thank you.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I really do,” she nods. “Most of the time. Lately, I’ve been feeling kind of stagnant though. Like I’m over magazines and commercials. Like maybe I’d like to try transitioning to TV and movies, even though that’s a slightly different skill set.”

“That sounds really cool,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll make it happen if you want to. You can do anything.”

And I mean it. She can.

She blinks and looks down, like she doesn’t know what to say.

A squirrel hustles by on its way to a nut. Nell takes a sip of iced tea.

“How’s your mom?” she asks, back on safe ground.

“She’s good. Sweet. Same old.”

“She was always the best cook.”

“Also still true. I miss her food.”

“And how’s Henny?” she asks with a wistful smile. “Besides being married.”

“Henny is… Henny,” I say. And we both laugh. Because I know we’re picturing the same thing. Impatient eye rolls and groans and ughs but so much warmth. My sister, Henrietta, doth protest too much. She may seem scary, but she is ultimately a teddy bear. Just one that shouldn’t be crossed.

Back in the day, Henny loved Nell as much as she hated my other friends—maybe more. I know she felt a loss when we broke up, too. “We talk every week,” I add. “Or, more specifically, she lectures me about my dumb choices every week.”

“That sounds right.”

There’s a comfortable silence between us as we both sit with that. After a beat, I glance over at Nell beside me and I can tell she’s about to say something real from the crease that pops between her eyebrows.

I wait, patiently.

She swallows hard, stares at the ground. “The last time my shoulder flared up like this… it was when my dad…”

I nod. Close my eyes against the pain that rises. My heart broke for her then too. When Ben called and told me. I can remember that moment exactly—I was standing in my office, taking the first sips of my morning coffee.

“I tried to reach you…” I say.

“I know.”

“I wanted to come pay my respects, but I didn’t want to make things harder for you. It seemed selfish.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “That makes sense.”

“Your dad was the best,” I say. And I mean that, too.

“I thought so.” She shoots me a weak smile, eyes welling. “He really was the best.”

Because he was—gregarious and funny and talented and someone who saw the people around him for who they were and accepted them despite their flaws. He was an architect, and as soon as I saw what Nell was doing with her life, it made so much sense.

She has carried on his legacy in a way.

I didn’t have a lot of male role models growing up. There was my baseball coach, though looking back, I’m not sure I could say he always had my best interest at heart. Plus, he had an unhealthy obsession with Limp Bizkit, which I could never unsee.

So, Nell’s father, Jeff, was the closest I came to having a dad in those days. In the time Nell and I were together, I came to rely on his perspective.

When she and I broke up, I felt like he dropped me too.

“It was so long ago,” Nell says now. “You think you’re okay. That the grief—at least the acute kind—has passed. Then you meet John the driver who gives you fatherly advice and you take a gummy and suddenly you’re crying in a town square, eating Cheerios with your ex-boyfriend.”

I shoot her a small smile. “I’m not sure how universal that scenario is.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do.”

And then she turns to look at me. Like really look at me.

“Of course you do,” she echoes, like she’s just realizing it. Like I am too. That our history was real.

“We were just children,” she says, like it’s puzzling but also a small piece of forgiveness.

“We were just children,” I say back.

And something stirs inside me as I stare into her thundercloud eyes. My own gaze drops to her lips, which fall open like an invitation. In that moment, it feels like we’re alone in the world. And I’ve got tunnel vision.

I want to make her feel better. I want to make me feel better.

I’m not sure who leans in first. I just know that, somehow, our faces are suddenly inches from each other, her eyes heavy, lashes black. Her breath sweet with that iced tea.

And I am about to kiss her, like I want to so bad, like I now realize I’ve wanted to since I first saw her standing at baggage claim struggling with that stupid suitcase, when a voice rings out from just feet away.

“Hey, you two!” Lydia squawks. “Get a room!”

She’s approaching with another woman who I don’t really know, a work friend of Cara’s maybe who she has made a vacation disciple. Damien is coming around the corner too, but I don’t know if he’s caught the scene.

I wish I could freeze the moment, from just seconds ago. But it must be time to head out. And Nell is already up and standing.

“What the fuck with today,” she says to no one in particular.

What the fuck with today.