Chapter Twenty-Seven Jeremy
We sit side by side. I’m glad she’s on my left, so I can use the fork in my right hand while laying my left hand on Vanya’s knee. The contact assures me she’s here.
We eat in silence for a few bites. The ordinary act seems extraordinary, somehow. Probably because, until now, our past moments alone were coincidental to other actions and expectations. But at the moment, we are nowhere near a massage table or fitness equipment. The view of the street indicates no chance of being snowed in. I didn’t have to compel her to invite me in to fix her basement furnace.
I am achingly aware that every time I’ve had Vanya to myself, it was never entirely her choice. That changes tonight.
We both chose to have this dinner together. Even cooked it together.
If nothing else happens except a pasta dish and my hand on her knee, this is still progress. It’s a simple dinner that took zero skill and imagination, yet the way she’s enjoying it and praising my improvisational efforts make my chest tight.
I want to cook for her every single time she’s hungry. And I want to touch her any time I feel like it. That’s a fair trade, if you ask me.
That makes me sound pathetic. I don’t care. My feelings for Vanya are so strong and yet so new, they push all the other preoccupations aside. Who needs things like pride or self-preservation when you have Vanya Kapur smiling up at you with those brown doe eyes and full, glistening lips.
“Why hockey? You’re athletic and could have taken on any sport. Maybe one that isn’t so taxing on your body.” She tilts her head up at me, exposing the pulse point at her neck.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked the question, though not with exactly her words. I have an automatic answer: Hockey is the best sport in the world! But that won’t do. Vanya doesn’t want an automatic answer.
“I came into the sport unexpectedly. A classmate’s birthday party was at a skating rink. We were, maybe ten? That’s late in the scheme of things.”
She holds my hand. Our linked fingers comfort me, compel me to share.
“The best skaters are on blades before they learn to sprint,” I explain.
“I grew up in Toronto, so I know what you mean.”
“Do you skate?”
She nods quickly before stating, “Not well, but I manage. Don’t change the subject, Jeremy Lopez. What happened after that birthday party? How did you go from Bambi on ice to a star goaltender?”
“Did you just call me Bambi?”
“You know what I mean! Shaky and cute,” she chirps.
I snort because there’s no denying I was the weakest skater that day. “Believe it or not, I felt lighter. The gliding and standing on blades was more natural than walking across the street.”
“There might be something to that, anatomically. The stance shifts your weight.” Her brows knit closer as if something unpleasant occurs to her. “Jeremy, were you experiencing pain and discomfort from EDS even at a young age?”
My answer is a tad shaky. “Honestly? I’m not sure. We only know the body we have, right?” How else do I explain that, for as long as I can remember, my body simply moved differently. Speed and agility came easily during the day, yet my nights were addled with pinches and cramps. It’s part of why it takes forever to fall asleep.
“Is that a yes?” Vanya’s hand caresses my forearm. “Were you in pain as a child?”
I shake my head. There has always been soreness and the strange tingling of my joints, aches and discomfort, but real pain set in later. Right around the time I got serious with hockey. Now that it’s a constant passenger in my life, I know pain.
“Anyway, it felt good to glide instead of walk. I begged for skating lessons and joined a team, which is the usual track for most hockey players. Believe it or not, kids want to be star scorers instead of goalies. So, I stood out. Within a year of focusing on goaltending, I had scholarship offers from the best clubs in the area.”
“I’m not surprised you got attention early. You’re brilliant on net.”
“How about you? Why medicine? Why be a physiatrist when dentist is so much easier to say?” I ask jokingly. She chuckles.
“My best friend, Ashley…” Vanya pauses. I confirm that I remember her friend’s visit. “The worst of her EDS manifested during our first year of undergrad. There was always discomfort while she was growing up, but doctors dismissed it as growing pains. When things worsened she was put on a regimen of medication that barely subdued the pain. No one bothered to address the root cause until she was in her twenties. I knew I wanted to go into the sciences, but her experience confirmed my commitment to be a doctor.”
“She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
Vanya brushes away my compliments with a wave of the hand.
“When did you get diagnosed?” she asks.
“Fifteen. More than ten years ago.”
“I’m glad they caught it early,” she says.
“Me too.” I lift our joined hands to kiss her knuckles. She feels smooth and smells amazing. I’m so taken by Vanya, I manage to push down the suspicion I’ve refused to reckon with all these years. Did playing hockey cause or worsen my condition? Maybe. But would I have changed anything? There’s no doubt in my mind that the answer is no.
I’d go through all of it again. Hockey isn’t merely the livelihood that provides me and my mother financial freedom, it’s also the reason I get up in the morning. A successful hockey career is the endgame that motivates all of my other decisions.
Vanya shifts so our knees are touching and she’s facing me. I widen my thighs and pull her chair flush to mine, her legs snug between mine.
Thoughts of hockey fly out the window.
“Before we, you know…” She flushes and presses her lips together. I can’t help it. I lean in and kiss each of her dimples. My mouth grazes across one side of her jaw. My lips settle against the curve of her ear.
“I need to hear you say it, Vanya. Before we what?” I whisper. “Because if you’re thinking something like get ice cream I might die.”
That makes her laugh.
“Before we go to my bedroom, I think we need to talk about what this means.”
“What do you want it to mean? Specifics, please.” My voice is calm though my heartbeat surges to a wild gallop.
She swallows with effort before answering. “My work is important to me, Jeremy. The medical support you receive from the center is crucial to your career. Before we move forward, you have to acknowledge the potential consequences of sleeping together.”
“Acknowledged.” That one word doesn’t come close to everything I’m willing to acknowledge. I’d sign a waiver or consent form or anything she puts in front of me if it means she feels more protected.
“I’m tired of denying our attraction,” Vanya continues. “It’s impossible to ignore you, anyway. So, we can look at this as two adults, you know, getting together?”
“ Getting together is not very specific.” The words are brittle in my mouth, because it is both what I want to hear and not nearly enough.
“Sex. Before we have sex. Unless you’d rather get ice cream.”
I slide my hands under her thighs and carry her to my lap. “No, and you know it.” I push my erection against her hip. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, actually.”
“We need rules.”
“Rules. OK, I’ve got one.”
Her brow raises. “Let’s hear it.”
“I don’t sleep around, Vanya. This is exclusive.” The words float out with no hesitation or thought. It’s like my vocal cords did their job before my brain gave the instruction.
“I, um, I would never think otherwise. But I’m glad we’re clear. Exclusive.” There’s relief in her exhale. “Next?”
“That’s it for me,” I state honestly and with no regard for self-preservation. Agreeing to her conditions is a given, at this point.
She wraps her arms around my neck. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this has to be said.”
“Say it,” I declare. “Just remember it’s your job to kiss and make it better after you hurt me.”
That was meant to be a joke, but she doesn’t laugh. Instead, Vanya presses her lips to my cheek. There’s something sad about the chasteness.
“No one can know,” she whispers. “Ever.”
Her face is close, breath warm against my skin.
No one can know. Ever.
I suspected some version of caution from my doctor, yet those two harsh syllables slice into me. Ever? It’s too definitive for something that’s just starting.
“That’s a bit dramatic. It’s not like I’ll be grabbing you in front of everyone at the clinic or flying us to Vegas for an elopement.”
Her eyes widen at how specific I am. Mentioning an elopement is unhinged, even for me.
“We can never talk about this fling, Jeremy. This isn’t just about the people we work with. I’m compiling data throughout this year. Any personal connection to the subject of study will undermine the findings.”
Findings of what? My galloping heart stops and plummets.
“Me. I’m your subject of study.”
I’m not naive. Of course, all those notes she takes on my treatment are useful in a vague, research way. But being called a subject of study, a mere source of data , is a jab in the gut.
“Yes, of course. That’s why I accepted the fellowship this year.”
Jab meet twist. “You’re only here for a year?”
“Yes. My life is in Boston. But Kyle convinced me to give this a shot and…” she pauses.
“And what, Vanya?” I prompt her even if I can’t imagine an answer that would make me feel better.
“A professional athlete with EDS is rare.”
“You’re talking about me like I’m a nearly extinct species.”
“Jeremy,” she says with a sigh.
A tug-of-war intensifies in my chest, tearing me apart from inside.
On one side is prideful stubbornness that refuses to cheapen what’s happening here. Am I supposed to accept that I’m nothing but a project for Vanya’s career while she makes a pit stop in Columbus? Fuck that. I won’t be reduced to a fling.
My entire adult life, I knew that wasn’t for me. I’ve only ever had sex with two women, both of them girlfriends who cared for me as much as I had cared for them. If Vanya wants a fling, I’m not for her and she’s not for me. I don’t need the humiliation of being a useful study-slash-fuckboy.
But the other side of that struggle couldn’t care less about being used. My attraction to Vanya is more passion than my past relationships combined. For the first time in my life, I understand what it means to obsess about touching another person, to want to be with them no matter the cost.
So what if I’ve never had a casual fling? There’s a first time for everything. I can’t walk away from the possibility of us. Vanya is here till at least October next year, right? My foolish, optimistic heart surges at the opportunity to be with Vanya tonight, tomorrow, and months from now.
She stands up to give me space but does not back away. Warm, supple hips yield to my eager grasp. She leans into me and strokes my hair.
“We can’t make this public because you wouldn’t be able to publish your findings, is that it?”
“Ye-yes. My career won’t survive the fall out. I’ve worked so hard for this, Jeremy. If you want to walk out now, I understand,” she says.
And yet she hasn’t broken our contact. I rest my head on her stomach and let her stroking hands soothe my shoulders.
I should walk out now. There’s less damage if we stop before things go further. It’s one thing to want Dr. Kapur physically, but now it’s my stupid, foolish, optimistic heart at risk. I will not survive the rejection when Vanya inevitably discards me from her life.
“I’m sorry,” she says weakly before kissing the top of my head and dropping her hands from my shoulders. The loss of her touch makes my situation crystal clear: if I walk away now, I’ll regret it forever.
My choice is between the torture of regret because I didn’t risk my heart, or the pain of rejection if she decides to break my heart.
I choose the latter.
To be honest, part of me expects the hurt. Welcomes it. I’m so accustomed to physical pain, the emotional knot isn’t a deal-breaker. It’s a test. Pain is a passenger in my life, but it has never stopped me from going where I want to go.
If she’s willing to have a fling, then that’s better than nothing. And maybe it goes somewhere we don’t expect. Who knows what the future brings? Maybe if I work hard enough to get past the heavy weight of loving a woman who already has an exit plan, she’ll reconsider staying.
And if she doesn’t stay? Well, at least we have tonight, tomorrow, and the months ahead.
She has me for as long as she wants me. And probably beyond that, too.