17. Isaac
Chapter 17
Isaac
Third Year of Residency
6 Years Ago, October
I can’t seem to get my heart back into my chest. It’s floating somewhere in the outer layers of the atmosphere.
Watching her today? It was just beautiful and fragile and wonderful. It may have been the fluorescent lighting in the ballroom, but she glowed.
And now she’s sitting across from me in this booth, and I’m watching her squeeze an orange into her beer like nothing has changed between us.
Everything has changed.
“Do you really think I did okay today?” One simple sip from her beer, and I can’t help my eyes from following the slope of her throat as she swallows.
I’m forced to swallow the rock in my throat in response.
“You were brilliant.”
“Meh, I just got lucky that I didn’t stumble over my words too hard.” She laughs, and the heart that I thought I had regained control of takes flight again.
“The guys on the panel were infatuated with you. They literally couldn’t take their eyes off of you.”
Neither could I.
“Okay smartass, I’m not talking about how beautiful I am, I’m talking about my research .”
“Oh yeah, that was fine too.” I snort into my glass when I see the way she’s looking at me. The pretend angry face has never worked the way she’s always wanted it to. Balancing more plates than I’m balancing emotions right now, our waiter places the superabundance of appetizers on the table between us.
“Can I get you two anything else?” He can’t be more than sixteen. Can he even serve us alcohol?
“Ranch.” Jo already has a mozzarella stick half hanging out of her mouth when she responds. “We need ranch.” She chews, looking thoughtfully around the table of assorted fried foods. “And hot sauce!”
The waiter nods as he turns to leave, “No problem, ma’am.”
“And beer!” she shouts the words at the back of our waiter, who is now halfway across the restaurant.
“I really hope he heard me.” She laughs again, shoving a fried mushroom in her mouth.
“Pretty sure the aliens on Mars heard you that time. No more beers for me though.” I finish the last of my first Blue Moon while she pouts. A gentle splatter of rain pings against the windows lining the outside wall of the building. The forecast didn’t call for rain.
“Why aren’t you having any more to drink?” She’s studying my expression carefully, but I dodge and weave eye contact.
“Someone needs to make sure you get back to the hotel safely.” The man-boy waiter returns, balancing a tray of drinks and replacing Jo’s empty glass with a perfectly poured brew. Her brow furrows as he sets two more smaller, nearly overflowing shot glasses on the table.
“We didn’t order shots.” She’s confused, looking between me and the waiter.
“No,” he says, gesturing to two gentlemen sitting at the opposite end of the bar, “they did. Something about congratulations for a presentation?”
I scoff, trying to get a good look at the guys. I don’t recognize them from the hotel, but they’re dressed like researchers. Suits at the bar on a Friday? Douchebags.
At least I had the fucking decency to put jeans on.
“Well that was so nice of them, wasn’t it?” I nod, distracted by the rain, now coming down in sheets outside.
“Were they calling for rain tonight?” She shrugs noncommittally, picking up one of the shot glasses and sniffing the liquid. Her fake gag. It’s tequila.
Help.
Without a single ounce of hesitation, she downs the shot.
“Ugh, we don’t have anything important in the morning, do we?” She’s shaking her head in disgust while she reaches for my water glass to rid herself of the aftertaste. She used to be able to take tequila with no chaser and no reaction. Guess we really are getting older.
“Well, let me pull up the schedule.” My email inbox populates with so many more emails than is realistic to receive on a weekend, but I find the schedule pinned to the top of my list. “Looks like there’s a presentation about urinalysis at eight a.m.”
There’s a moment of pure silence before we both burst into fits of laughter. “How riveting!” Tears prickle the corners of Jo’s eyes as she giggles. The background music from the digital jukebox on the wall comes to an abrupt halt, emphasizing the sounds of conversations around us. I glance up to investigate and notice an older gentleman, upwards of seventy, choosing a new song.
“Twenty bucks he chooses Johnny Cash.” I raise my eyebrows at Jo, prompting her to take my bet. She scoots herself closer to the edge of the booth in an attempt to get a good look at our musically inclined, but seemingly technologically challenged, friend.
“Nah, he’s an Elvis guy.” She nods, satisfied with her choice, and sticks her right hand out for me to shake. Hesitation rockets through me, but I take her hand anyway.
Electricity.
I can’t quite escape her grasp before “Can’t Help Falling in Love ” begins playing through the bar room sound system. God dammit, she’s good.
Lightning illuminates the sky outside the windows, and Jo startles in time with the subsequent boom of thunder. The drop light above our table flickers inauspiciously, and Jo takes it as her sign to shoot her second serving of tequila. “I already feel hungover tomorrow.”
“Oh my God, you’re literally geriatric! Older than that man at the jukebox!” I tease, taking a swig from my water. Her expression falls just enough for me to notice. “I’m only kidding, you know.”
She smiles, but the joy has left the building. “I know, I know. I just miss this, you know?”
Nodding slowly, I let the sense of vulnerability wash over me. We can have this weekend. Me and Jo. Like old times. Like I always imagined my life would end up.
Then I’ll go back to real life.
“What do you say we head back to the hotel and order dessert from room service. I’ll even let you pick what we watch.” I’ll put up with trashy reality TV to see her happy.
One weekend.
Then back to real life.
“I can pick whatever I want?” She grins from ear to ear, tearing a piece of breading from a cold mozzarella stick and popping it into her mouth. “You’re making a deal with the devil here, boy!” I can’t even watch while she licks her fingers clean of crumbs. “But too late. Let’s go!”
As if he sensed our eagerness to leave, man-boy-waiter-child arrives at our table with the check. I pull a large bill out of my wallet and extend my gratitude for his impeccable timing with a rather large tip. He nods appreciatively and says, “Thanks dude. Y'all stay safe out there.” Thunder rocks the building once more, but a glance out the window tells me the rain has slowed to a steady pace.
“Alright, let’s get you out of here before the storm picks up again.” I pull her up out of the booth and we head for the door, making a quick break for her car through the parking lot.
I make it to the car first, running around to the passenger side to open the door for Jo. It’s only then that I notice that she’s lagged behind, jumping in puddles created by divots in the asphalt. “Dr. Carello, I swear to God, get your ass over here!” Her laugh carries through the air even over the sound of the rain hitting the metal roof of her car. “Your mother would say you’re going to catch a cold,” I yell.
She takes off running and jumps into one last giant puddle before turning her stride toward me. I pull the door handle just in time for her to fling herself into the passenger seat.
“I’m getting my seat all wet, and you know what? I don’t even care!” I push the door closed gently and round the car to the driver side, hopping in and cranking the ignition. “Cheesecake is the vibe.” More laughter erupts from her small frame as she pulls her seatbelt across her chest. “Let’s go, Driving Miss Daisy. I need dessert!” The imaginary whip she cracks makes me snort, and I turn up the heat to warm the chill in our bones.
The rain has let up significantly, and I smile watching Jo skip through radio stations. “Which one is the classic rock station?” She glances over at me as I pull out of the parking lot and onto the backroad.
“Oh shit, I don’t even remember.” I squint as if it will help jog my memory. It’s been too long.
Somewhere between golden oldies and rap, she gives up, turning the radio off completely. I can feel her eyes boring into the side of my face, but I fight the urge to look over.Her perfume is new, a welcome change from the typical vanilla scent that followed us around school. It’s floral and perfect, and I want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and breathe it in until it becomes a part of my being.
“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you made different choices?” Her voice is softer now. It sounds like she’s miles away from me. “Like do you think we ended up where we were supposed to end up?”
No.
We were supposed to end up together.
“I’m sure life always works out the way it’s supposed to, eh?” She’s drunk and having an existential crisis. No need to stoke the flames, and no need to lose myself in something that can’t happen.
I wait for her response, but she’s quiet now. Lost in thought.
“Hey, you,” I prod for a response, glancing over at her once more. The streetlights reflect her glossy eyes. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m being dumb. Literally ignore me.” She lets out a forced laugh. “Give a girl tequila and there's a 100% chance that she’ll cry in the car on the way home for no good reason!”
I chuckle, directing my attention back to the road. The light turns green, and I press the gas pedal. “No more tequila for you.”
Headlights to my left catch my attention almost immediately. She’s laughing again, completely oblivious. If I die hearing her laugh, I’ll be okay. I’ll take that most perfect sound with me to the afterlife.
They say you see your life flash before your eyes, but now I can confidently say that it isn’t my life that I see.
It’s our life.
The ring is on her finger. She’s in the backyard chasing the dog out of the vegetable garden that she begged me for years to build; the bump of her pregnant is belly barely visible under the yellow sundress she wears when she wants to feel pretty.
“I’m so sorry, Jo.” Her eyes are wide when I finally swing my head to look at her. Time slows, and I see every blink, hear every breath, watch every wrinkle appear on her face as realization hits. The green of her eyes is visible even in the dim light of the cabin. It’s the oncoming headlights that illuminate her face when she opens her mouth to speak.
Maybe, with her last words, she would tell me that she loves me too.
But it’s too late.