CHAPTER TEN
JAMES
I cannot stop thinking about Holly and her family.
It's Sunday morning, and I'm on my usual run through the neighborhood near home. The streets are quiet, most people are still sleeping or at church. My breath puffs out in white clouds, my feet finding their familiar rhythm on the pavement.
But my mind isn't on my run. It's on the Winters family with their matching scarves, enthusiastic greetings, and complete lack of personal boundaries.
It should have horrified me. I'm a private person. I like my space, my routine, and my ability to control situations. In the past, most of my relationships never got to the meeting the parents’ stage.
And here we are on a second date, not counting the night we met and spent together, and not only did I meet Holly’s family, but I also got invited to a family meal.
That speaks of commitment and something more than casual.
That should have sent me running in the opposite direction.
Instead, I haven't been able to stop smiling.
The way they all lit up when they saw Holly, like she was the sun and they were planets in her orbit.
That's what a family should be.
Mine fractured after my father died, each of us retreating into our own grief.
We became polite strangers who shared genetics but not lives.
Calls are brief and superficial. We discuss the weather, work, and general health issues.
I know far more than I ever wanted to about Robert’s hernia surgery.
We don't discuss important things, like feelings, fears, or hopes. When I got divorced, Mom said she would take my ex’s name off the Christmas card, and that was it.
She never asked if I was okay or if I needed anything.
We certainly don't hug like Holly’s family or tease each other.
I finish my five miles and head back to my condo. Once there, I shower, shave, and grab a flavored water before trying to catch up on medical journals.
But I can't focus.
I keep coming back to the way Holly's face lit up when she saw her family, even as she groaned about the timing. The affection beneath the embarrassment. The clear, uncomplicated love between them.
Linda looked at Frank as if thirty-five years of marriage hadn't dulled a thing and Frank pulled her close like they were a young couple in love. Frost rolled his eyes at his parents’ sappiness but smiled while doing it.
And Holly fits into that warmth like she was born from it.
Her endless optimism, her genuine joy, her ability to see the good in everything.
That doesn't come from nowhere. It comes from being loved completely and from growing up in an environment where happiness is the default and connection is constant.
I find myself wondering what it would be like to be part of that.
My phone buzzes. A text from Holly.
Holly: Mom is already planning for that dinner. Fair warning, she's a hugger and she'll grill you about your life and family. Still interested?
I find myself smiling at my phone.
Me: Still interested. Should I bring wine? Flowers?
Holly: Both. And prepare to eat enough food for three people. She considers it a personal failure if anyone doesn’t have seconds.
Me: Noted. What are you doing today?
Holly: Church with the family, then shop inventory this afternoon. You?
Me: Just finished my run. Catching up on journals. Thinking about you.
There's a pause.
Holly: Good thoughts, I hope?
Me: Very good thoughts. Dinner tonight? My place.
Another pause, longer this time.
Holly: What time?
Me: Six?
Holly: It's a date.
I set down my phone, feeling that unfamiliar lightness again.
I'm having a date over to my condo tonight and I’m cooking.
And we're having dinner with her parents at some point It’s odd, but I'm planning things that don't involve cardiac patients or research papers, medical conferences or coworkers.
I'm thinking about someone else's happiness as much as my own.
I spend the afternoon at the grocery store, planning a menu. Nothing too fancy. Chicken piccata with angel hair pasta, a Caesar salad, and a chocolate cake from the bakery because while I enjoy cooking, something always seems to go wrong with baking.
The chicken is staying warm in the oven, and the pasta is simmering when the doorbell rings at exactly six. Smiling, I stride to the door. I’m actually surprised Holly is punctual. She’s fun and quirky, but not flighty. This is definitely good because I’m not a fan of lateness.
She's bundled in her white coat, looking like an angel with her bright green eyes and warm golden curls.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hello to you.” I step back and hold the door open to let her in, and she breezes past me into the living room, already shrugging out of her coat before I can offer to take it.
Underneath she’s in snug jeans that show off her strong thighs and ass and a bright red and white striped top.
On someone else it might be too much; on her it’s perfect.
She stops two steps in and goes quiet. I try to look at things through her eyes, taking in the open and mostly empty beige walls, the brown couch and matching chairs, and the thick medical journals perfectly stacked on the coffee table.
“James.” She turns and flashes me a grin as I take her coat. “This is very... you.”
“Dull?”
She laughs. “No, that’s not what I mean.” She glances around, taking in the careful emptiness. “Clutter isn’t your thing and I respect that.”
That gets a laugh out of me, surprised and a little rueful. “That's fair.”
I lead her into the kitchen, where she stops in the doorway, taking in the set table and the candles ready to be lit.
“This is beautiful.”
“I hope you don’t mind that we eat in here instead of the dining room; I thought it would be more intimate.”
“Ohhh... intimate. I like that.” She gives me a wink. “But seriously, this is nice. Thank you.”
Pulling out her chair, I get a whiff of her perfume as she sits, and it smells like warm vanilla. As I inhale, I close my eyes and wonder how I can be both excited she’s here and also feel such peace at her presence. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”
Dinner is easy. The food turns out well, and Holly's enthusiasm makes me feel like a celebrated chef instead of someone who cooks simply because they don’t want to eat takeout all the time.
We talk about everything and nothing. Favorite shows, bits about our college experience, she had more fun than I did as I found college and med school challenging. Which surprises her.
“I’m sorry to say I’m not some genius who graduated at the top of the class. I fell more in the middle, and every year I learn something new.”
Holly grins. “And here I love going back in time, discovering forgotten treasures. Natalie, that’s my cousin, we’ve been toying with the idea of an online store. I’m not sure we’re ready for it because it means hiring another employee.”
I take a sip of wine. “How many do you have now?”
“Counting Natalie, two.”
That surprises me. “That’s not much staff.”
Holly dabs at her mouth with the linen napkin. “It’s not, but the shop also isn’t open every day. We’re open five days a week and closed on Sundays and Mondays.
She smiles brightly. “What about you? You have the weekends off?”
I nod. “Usually, but I do a rotation at the hospital some Saturdays. My practice partners, Dr. Stevens and Dr. álvarez, do as well.”
“And yet you seem so calm.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I be? What do I have to worry about?”
Holly laughs. “I don’t know. I just thought being a doctor would be stressful.”
“It can be, like any other profession. There’s no way I’d want to be an ER doctor, now that’s stressful. For most of my patients it’s about management and upkeep. Absolutely, there are stents that need placed and surgery, but more often than not, that’s known about in advance.”
“That makes sense. My dad does HVAC repair, and he’s always saying about maintenance and people shouldn’t be shocked when their systems break down.” Pink fills her face. “Not that I’m comparing what he does and your work.”
Laughing, I wave away her worry. “It’s fine. Maintenance holds true for a lot of things. Health, HVAC, relationships…” I trail off not sure why I said that, and busy myself refilling our wine glasses.
“Your family seems close,” I say, redirecting the conversation.
Holly blows out a sigh. “They're suffocating sometimes, but yeah, we're close.” She twirls pasta on her fork. “Sorry again about yesterday. They can be overwhelming.”
“Don't apologize. I liked them.”
“Really?” she looks skeptical.
I set down my fork and chose my words carefully.
“My family isn't like yours. We don't do the big displays of affection, or the Sunday dinners, or the casual dropping by. After my dad died, we all just sort of drifted into our own corners. So seeing your family, how open and warm you all are with each other, it was nice. It’s the way things should be.”
Holly reaches across the table and takes my hand. “That makes me sad. That you didn't have that growing up.”
“I had it once. Before my dad passed.” I turn my hand over, lacing our fingers together, and look at the miniature snowmen painted on each of her nails.
It’s not the most cheerful of subjects, yet looking at her artful nails, it’s not sadness that fills me.
Instead, I marvel at the attention to detail that it took for a tech to have done this.
Art and beauty are all around me, and it seems I just haven’t been paying enough attention.
Bringing her hand up, I press my lips on it, inhale more of her warm vanilla scent, and smile. “And now I get to experience a version of it through you. If you'll have me.”
Gasping, Holly squeezes my fingers. “If I'll have you?
James, I'm the one who should be worried you'll run once you realize how much my family is.
They're going to want you at every holiday, every birthday, and every random Sunday brunch.
They're going to ask invasive questions, probably expect free medical advice, hug you without permission, and assume you're part of the family after about three visits.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” I ask while wondering where this new version of me came from.
“It is.”
I smile, hoping this new me sticks around. “I can handle it.”