18. Dara
18
Dara
Alex leaves for the city just after two p.m., and after finishing preparing his dinner and leaving it in the fridge, I leave his house about an hour later. But I don’t want to go home. My mind is a mass of emotions, between what the heck is going on between me and Alex and the nerves of the performance I have to give on Friday night.
I know he has every confidence in me, and his words were something along the lines of just do what you’ve been doing. But convincing the residents of Riverdale that we’re together is a far cry from performing for the CEO of a healthcare company, and there’s a lot more on the line.
I texted Astrid before I finished, asking if she was free for me to stop over, which is where I’m now heading.
“He’s certainly keeping you busy,” Astrid says when I follow her through her tiny cottage. “It feels like ages since I saw you last.”
“It’s been a week, Astrid,” I say, lifting my eyebrows at her exaggeration.
“Fine. But a week for us is still a long time. And I hear your brother’s home,” she says, looking at me intently.
I drop onto the sofa. “Alex and I went to see him last night, given that news travels at the speed of light round here.”
“It’s a small town, darling,” she replies, lowering herself far more gracefully onto the sofa across from me than I did.
“I know. And if I’d known Mark was coming home, I might have been able to do something about it.”
Astrid gives me a look. “Doubtful, honey.”
“I know. When he called Alex, we had no choice.”
She frowned. “He called Alex first and not you?”
I shrug. “He probably thought I’d be at the diner. He knows I don’t answer my phone when I’m working.
“Right. So, how did that go?”
“Last night?” I heave a sigh. “Awful. I had to lie to his face, which was bad enough, but I get the distinct feeling he didn’t believe us.”
“Oh, I wonder why that might be?” Astrid sings sarcastically.
She’s already set a jug of homemade lemonade on the table between us, and pouring myself a glass, I take a long draw.
“Honestly, Astrid,” I say, putting my glass back down, “I’m starting to wonder if I have bitten off more than I can chew.”
“And you’re only realizing that now?” My friend grins.
I give her a piercing gaze. “If I recall, it was you who talked me into this mess.”
“Oh, no. I’m not taking the blame for this. You have a mind of your own, or so you keep telling me.”
Of course, she was right. While I had asked her advice at the start of all this, I had made the final decision. So far, a decision that’s caused me more stress than I thought it would. And yet, like I said to Alex when we were in the kitchen earlier,
“…when I think of all those children that you’re helping, I have to ask, what’s too much?”
Here I am moaning about stress when those poor orphans are running about completely helpless with no parents, no food, and no home. My stresses look ridiculous in comparison.
“So, how is our esteemed surgeon?” Astrid asks.
“He’s fine,” I answer a little too flippantly.
Astrid looks at me for a long moment and then smiles. “You like him.”
“He’s all right.” I shrug, trying to avoid what she’s getting at.
“No. I mean, you like him.”
I shake my head fervently. “I do not,” I lie. “This is a business relationship and nothing more.”
“I don’t believe you. I’ve known you nearly all my life, Dara, and while you might be able to lie to everyone else, you can’t lie to me. What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I counter. “It’s just…”
The thing is, I don’t know what it is. Astrid can see through me like I’m a pane of glass. She always could. And so I don’t even know why I’m denying that I do actually like Alex.
“The idea scares me,” I eventually confess.
“That you like him?” Astrid asks, looking confused. “But why? He’s a man, you’re a woman. What’s scary about that? Does he like you back?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I think.”
Astrid now looks even more astonished. “So? What’s stopping you both?”
But I don’t have an answer to that question. Yes, the man has baggage, but who doesn’t these days? I’ve never been married, so my baggage probably isn’t as big or as heavy as his. I could fit my stuff in a rucksack, where his might take up an airport trolley, but still.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Dara. You’ve always been so sure of yourself in just about everything.”
I look at Astrid, knowing she’s right. “Maybe career choices are easier decisions.”
“Poppycock!” she blurts.
My eyes widen and I can’t help but giggle. “Poppycock? Really?”
Astrid bursts into giggles with me. “It was the best thing I could come up with at such short notice.”
Her words make me laugh even harder, and I realize I needed this release of pent-up energy. With Mark’s return and this meeting coming up on Friday, I was feeling overwhelmed.
When we both calm down again, I tell her about Friday and how nervous I am.
“This is a big deal, and I don’t want to mess it up after all Alex has done to make it a possibility.”
Astrid smiles. “You won’t mess it up, Dara. Just be yourself. How could they not just love you for that?”
I smile and shake my head. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe. But I have a funny feeling Doctor Bennett might agree with me.”
“You haven’t even met him yet.”
“I don’t need to. My spies in Riverdale have told me all about him,” she says with a mischievous grin. “Besides, your face lights up when you mention him, which tells me everything I need to know.” I feel my face go red, and Astrid laughs. “See.”
“He’s a good man, is all,” I confess.
“And what woman doesn’t need that?” Astrid counters.
By the time I leave Astrid’s, I’m more confused than when I arrived. I didn’t go to see her to talk about how I felt about Alex. I needed someone to talk to about how nervous I was about Friday. We did discuss it a little more before I left, but not much.
Now, as I drive to the grocery store to pick up a few things for Mark, my mind swirls with her words. Astrid always did have an innocent honesty about her, and while sometimes it can come across as eccentric, even a little na?ve, she also has this wonderful ability to look at things in an uncomplicated way.
And just maybe, she’s right. What is stopping us?
Mrs. Casey sends her warm wishes to Mark when I collect the groceries, and I smile, acknowledging the wonderful grapevine of our town. After promising her I will convey her wishes, I’m back in the car and heading to Mark’s house. I can’t imagine he’ll be much better than he was last night, but maybe he could manage a little soup.
“Hello?” I call out as I walk in through the screen door.
Mark’s not on the couch, so I scan the room, but there’s no sign of him.
“It’s only me,” I call out again because I don’t want to give him a heart attack if he walks into a room where I happen to be standing. I wander into the kitchen and dump the groceries on the counter.
One by one, I take them out of the paper bag. Soup, fruit, snacks, pizza. I’m not sure comfort food is a good idea in his condition, but hey, I’ve bought it now.
“Hey,” he says, walking into the kitchen a minute later.
“I brought soup. Can you have some?”
He screws up his nose. “What kind of soup?”
“Chicken noodle.”
He looks interested and then nods. “Sure. I haven’t eaten for four days. I’m sure a bit of soup isn’t going to kill me.”
“Let’s hope not,” I joke.
He smiles weakly at me, and I see I’m still not in his good books yet.
“How’re Mom and Dad? What’s things like out there?”
“They’re fine. The building’s going well, they’re training up more teachers for the kids, and they’re housing more children every week. It’s obvious we’re going to have to expand our staff. That or try and encourage more volunteers.”
“Don’t they have like a hundred people out there already?”
Mark nods. “More now.”
I’m doing everything I can to stay on any subject other than me and Alex, and at the same time, I’m also keeping myself busy getting his soup into a pot so I don’t have to look him in the eye.
“So, are you just going to pretend like your engagement to my best friend isn’t a big deal, or are we going to talk about it?”
He’s leaning against the kitchen door frame and still looks pretty weak. While I don’t want to talk about my engagement, I’m now more concerned that Mark is going to collapse in a heap.
“Go and sit down. I’ll bring this to you.”
“I don’t want to—”
“Mark, please. Look at you. Stop being stubborn and sit down. When I’ve finished making your soup, we’ll talk. Okay?”
He eyes me suspiciously and finally relents, mainly because I think he’s scared he’s going to collapse at any second. If he does, I’ll be no help. He’s far too big for me to lift. He and his dodgy bottom would remain on the kitchen floor until I could go and find reinforcements.
When I bring the bowl into the living room, he’s sitting up on the sofa. I hadn’t noticed when I came in, but the pillow and blanket are gone. Clearly, he managed to get himself upstairs last night.
“Here,” I say, handing him the bowl and spoon.
I sit across from him in the same chair Alex sat in last night, waiting for him to eat, but instead, he places the soup on the table beside him.
Here we go.
“So?” he says.
“So?” I reply. “What do you want to know that I didn’t tell you last night?”
“It’s not that you didn’t tell me, Dara. It’s just that you weren’t exactly convincing.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not an award-winning actor, so I won’t be winning any Oscars in my lifetime,” I huff.
“So, it was an act?”
“No,” I lie. “But I was nervous. I know what you’re like. I know how protective you are.”
Mark gives me a look. “What have you got to be nervous about?”
“This, Mark,” I cry, gesturing toward him. “This ridiculous interrogation into my love life. I’m nearly thirty years old. I can make my own decisions and have done for a long time. You want something to be wrong, but it’s not. Alex is kind, he’s caring, he has a heart of gold, and he takes care of me.”
So far, I’d told Mark lies, but it suddenly struck me that every single thing I had just said was actually true. And I believed it.
Maybe that’s the reason my brother is now gazing at me like he gets where I’m coming from. This time, there’s no argument, no pushing for more. He just sits there and nods.
“Okay,” he says. “Then I’m happy for you.”
I clench my jaw, mainly so it doesn’t fall open in surprise, and I nod.
“Thank you.”
He’s still not happy, really. No matter what he says. But I suppose whatever he is, it’s the best I can hope for right now.