Chapter 1 #3
But because I was unable to completely detach myself from the strength of memories and guilt, historical emotions involving Nico, I kept my gaze fastened on Rose as I explained the study visits, risks, and benefits.
“Results thus far are promising; increase in mucociliary clearance, improved digestive and pancreatic function. But the study isn’t yet fully enrolled. No definite conclusions can be made about long-term benefits.”
Rose was staring at me as though I had three heads.
I reminded myself to slow down and use everyday terms, and to treat them like any other family. This was safe territory for me: current research trends, the study, risk analyses.
What unnerved me was the realization that I still had unsafe territory where Nico was concerned.
Since leaving high school, I was used to venturing beyond the pale with abandon.
I was not used to feeling like I needed to watch my words, determine where I looked, and control the inflection of my voice.
It chaffed. Each time I made a mental note to avoid his gaze my irritability increased. I didn’t like this feeling. I didn’t like the unresolved issues between us. What was unsaid choked me, and honestly, it pissed me off.
I started over. “This study is straightforward, but also extremely intense: twenty-eight days of infusions administered every eight hours. This means that Angelica will have to return here to the clinical research unit every eight hours for twenty-eight days to receive medication via IV, in her vein, for half an hour. There are some documented adverse reactions. But, on the plus side, the study is not placebo-controlled; this means that all patients will be receiving treatment.”
Rose nodded her understanding and held Angelica tighter.
“You should take some time to read the forms and discuss them together.” I studied Rose for a moment as she held her granddaughter to her chest. According to Angelica’s chart, the little girl was four.
She was very small for a four-year-old. She was also very shy, and looked away every time I attempted to draw her out with a smile.
Rose sighed. It was a heavy, distracted, helpless sigh. “I just don’t know….” She turned to Nico. “What do you think?”
Nico held his mother’s gaze for a moment, then glanced at his hands, studying them as though they might answer the question for him. He lifted his eyes to mine, and targeted me with a pointed stare, sending another stabbing pain through my heart. If he saw me wince, he didn’t make any outward sign.
He lifted his chin a notch, “What do you think we should do?”
“Read the study materials, and take some time to think about it.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” Nico’s eyes moved between mine. I was startled by the trust and vulnerability I witnessed in his gaze. “Will you be her doctor?”
“I…uh….” My head shook before I knew it was shaking.
“No. The research nurses administer the infusions and conduct the study visits. And this is my last week in research rotation. It is a mandatory six-week rotation for all residents, and this is my last week. But the principal investigator of the study—Dr. Botstein—is a world-renowned pediatric pulmonologist. He is an excellent doctor. He will be assigned to Angelica.”
Nico glared at me through his thick, black lashes. His left leg started bouncing. “Couldn’t we request you?”
My involuntary headshake increased in speed. “No. Listen, you don’t want me—really. You want Dr. Botstein.”
“No, Elizabeth.” He said my name slowly, stubbornly. His eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments, then he leaned back against the cushions of the pitiful beige sofa. “I want you.”
I set my expression to rigid, holding Nico’s challenging glower, determined to win this staring contest.
I spoke first. “You’re not thinking about this clearly.”
“Whereas, you’ve won awards for clear thinking….”
“No.” I gritted my teeth. “No one is perfect.”
“Even you?” his tone was bitter, and his indisputably handsome face was marred by an ugly sneer.
“Especially me.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
My face flushed at the double-entendre and his eyes ignited with satisfaction. Some of the sneering ugliness was replaced with smug male arrogance. Even as I internally eye-rolled, I hoped that Rose wouldn’t pick up on his complisult (compliment + insult)
I understood that he had every right to be angry with me. I was still angry with myself. But the timing of this conversation—his timing—was exceedingly not cool. This situation was not about him, us, or what happened eleven years ago between two grieving teenagers.
He was engaging in machismo ass-hattery, and I would have none of it.
I forced casual steadiness into my voice and redoubled my resolve to resist participating in his bait-fest. “You knew me a long time ago.”
“I’ve known you all my life. We pulled pranks on my brothers, we had a Monopoly game that went on for three years, we built a tree house in your backyard, our dads took us to our first Cubs game together.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“We used to have sleepovers….”
I flinched.
“I know you better than anyone.” His words were a suggestive whisper, and patently false.
“Not for the last eleven years.”
“Well….” He stretched his arms across the back of the sofa, his voice deceptively calm. “There’s no time like the present. Let’s get reacquainted. We can start with you treating Angelica.”
“I’m not the doctor you want.”
“You are the doctor I want.” He grew adamant, louder, like someone who was used to getting his way by raising his voice.
“I’m not the doctor Angelica needs.” I pressed my palm to my chest and held it there because my heart was once again hurting.
“You don’t get to make that decision.” His adamant became obstinate.
“In this case you should listen to me, Nico. I know what I’m….”
“I don’t have to do anything. We’ve already established that you’re not perfect.” His obstinate became pigheaded. Usually I didn’t mind a good old yelling match, but I had no desire to scare the little girl in the room.
“N–Nico.” His name felt strange on my tongue because my voice was quiet, but I wanted to yell at him. I stuttered as my frustration peaked. “E–everyone makes mistakes.”
It was his turn to flinch, and I thought I saw something resembling pain paint a shadow over his features. His voice increased in volume until it was a booming shout. “Well, one person’s mistake is another person’s—”
“Niccolò!” Rose’s sharp warning was whispered, but it was enough to keep him from finishing the thought.
He clamped his mouth shut and shot to his feet, pulled both of his hands through his hair, then drummed on his leg with restless fingers. His eyes flickered to mine then to the door.
“I need a cigarette,” he mumbled.
He was gone before I registered that he was even moving, and the door shut behind him.
The room felt quieter and calmer without him in it. The beige didn’t seem so dull. The fluorescent lights didn’t seem so dim.
He’d always been a larger-than-life presence.
Growing up in our small town, it seemed everyone was drawn to him—everyone but me.
When we played together as kids, he unsettled me; he made me self-conscious.
He was too…magnetic. Even then, I didn’t trust myself around Nico because I had difficulty saying no to him.
I couldn’t compete with his restless energy, and I didn’t like being overwhelmed by it.
We’d just spent twenty minutes together, and already I was exhausted.
I rubbed the space between my eyes with my index and middle fingers. Frayed nerves began to mend, and I released a cleansing breath.
I didn’t realize I’d been staring at the door until Rose interrupted my musings.
“It’s so good to see you.”
I blinked at her. “Ah, thank you, Rose.”
“Are you Rapunzel?” A small voice sprang from Angelica’s hidden face. Only her eyes and mop of brown hair were visible from behind the blue blanket.
My hand automatically lifted to my long, thick braid; my smile was automatic and immediate. “No, Angelica. But that was a very nice thing to say.”
“Are you coming home anytime soon?” Rose cleared her throat, bringing my attention back to her. “Your father must miss you.”
I nodded. “Well, yes and no. I’ll be in town next weekend for the reunion, but my dad will be out of town. He and Jeanette are going on a cruise.”
“Reunion?”
“Uh….” I cringed inwardly and outwardly and tried to stall by tucking loose strands of golden hair behind my ears. “You know, the high school reunion. It’s been ten years.”
Rose opened her mouth in understanding but no sound came out. She closed it, then opened it, then closed it. Finally, when she opened it again, she said, “Nico didn’t say anything.”
I shrugged. “He’s probably not going.”
“Why wouldn’t he go? He should go.”
I cringed again. There were some very good reasons why Nico shouldn’t go, the most glaring of which was that he didn’t actually graduate high school.
The other obvious reason was why would he?
He was a famous—albeit crude—and successful standup comedian, with his own television show.
Why would he want to go to a high school reunion in Iowa?
I glanced at the door again.
Seeing Nico had been difficult—a great deal more difficult than I’d anticipated.
Yes, he was different from before—older, bigger, famous—yet he was still fundamentally the same person he’d always been.
He was the same boy who branded me with the horrid nickname Skinny Finney when I was ten.
He was the same boy who broke every heart in high school.
He was the same boy who held my hand at Garrett’s funeral.
He was the same boy who climbed into my window night after night the summer after Garrett’s death.
And I still didn’t understand him.
“He’s not usually like that—with other people. He’s not usually so…so abrupt.”
Again, she caught me staring at the door. “What’s he usually like?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Well, you know,” She swallowed visibly. She was stroking Angelica’s hair. “He’s always trying to make people laugh. But he can be intense with…some people.”
My mouth twisted to the side and I offered good-naturedly, “Maybe I just have that effect on people.”
She glanced at me and lifted a single eyebrow. “Conosco i miei polli.”11
I gave her a small smile. Rose had a habit of responding to me in Italian at random intervals. I waited for her to translate, but when she did, I had the impression that the Italian did not match the English.
“I know my chickens, Lizzy. You don’t have that effect on people—just Nico.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t take it personally.” I nodded my head toward Angelica. “I’m sure this is stressful for him.”
“It is….” Rose began then stopped, her eyes moving over my face. “It is hard on him. But you still might want to take it personally. You know…” then the fox smile returned, “…just in case.”
1 Translation: I know my chickens.