Chapter Twenty-Five Julian #2
Could I really give up everything I’ve worked for to take this massive professional detour, landing me back where I never wanted to return?
It doesn’t make sense, but I have enjoyed these last few months in Sparrow Nook.
Making friends, building relationships with patients like Mr. Gutierrez, spending time with Mom and Aunt Edna and the rest of the crazy D’Angelos.
And Nomi. My chest floods with giddy longing.
Would she want me to stay? Or is part of my appeal that I’m only temporary?
That at the end of these six months, I’ll be headed back to Philadelphia, with a river, toll bridge, and state lines between us?
Would I still be as attractive with my salary cut in half and a small cottage instead of a big studio in Rittenhouse Square?
More importantly, would I be the best for her—the best partner, the best husband, and maybe one day, the best father to our children—if all I am is a small, family doctor?
Is that version of me enough?
Our time together feels so natural and right, almost preordained, and I’m convinced she feels it, too. But if she does, why hasn’t she confided in me about her illness yet? Doesn’t she trust me? Doesn’t she realize I’d do anything to help her?
I press a hand against my thumping chest, feeling terrified and overstimulated and absolutely dying to talk to Nomi about it. But with the zoning hearing tomorrow, is now really the time? “This… is a lot to process.”
“It is,” he agrees. “You’ll have to decide what your priorities are.
Do you want to return to your old life at Philly Gen and all the prestige it offers?
I will be happy to write you a glowing recommendation letter if that’s what you choose.
But if you find that choosing long-term partnerships with your patients instead of brief, life-saving interludes fulfills you professionally, and that partnerships with other people here fulfill you emotionally,” Dr. Appa says, his eyes glinting with mischief, “perhaps you’ll consider making my practice your own.
” He raises both hands, palms facing me.
“No rush. Take your time. Talk to Nomi. And more than anything, listen to your heart, Julian. I’m not sure you ever have. ”
With that, Dr. Appa stands and leaves me to spin out wildly into space.
NOMI
“Vibe is very important, Nomi.” Veronica stands in front of my closet while I sit mutely to the side.
The hearing is in two hours, and I feel terrible.
This is what I get for attempting soup today.
Just a bone broth with simple noodles and low sodium, and yet my body is reacting as though I decided to suck down hot lava.
How can so little food cause so much pain?
“You can’t roll into the hearing with your hot 1970s aesthetic.
These people are conservative. We have to be strategic.
” She click-clacks in shiny black Jimmy Choo heels over to the garment bag she brought.
The first option is a pale-yellow sundress with an empire waistline and big homesteader energy. She holds it up, then glances at me.
“How is that one strategic?” I hunch over, cradling my stomach. “I’d look like a toxic purity culture maiden who doesn’t vote because an influencer claims it interferes with ovulation.”
“Exactly. Conservatives love innocent maidens. But we could go for a different spin.” She holds up a pristine Lacoste tennis dress as white as Veronica’s bleached teeth. “Country club drug user. A classic.”
“Pass. Nobody’s gonna buy that I sport.”
“Fine. That leaves only one option.” She throws a wad of flouncy, colorful polyester at me, then a pair of pale-pink skinny-legged dress pants. I hold up what appears to be a giant ruffle masquerading as a top.
“Jersey girl?”
“Specifically, Sunday-night family dinner at Mom-Mom’s Jersey girl. Now get changed. I’ve got to do your eyebrows.”
When we arrive fully dressed and contoured with cheekbones we were not born with, Vinny’s standing out front of City Hall, wearing a black leather blazer, black shirt, and black tie while Julian paces back and forth.
I get the feeling Vinny dressed him, too, or maybe Marco.
He’s wearing high-waisted black pleated pants and a thin leather belt, a slim-cut dark purple button down with a synthetic sheen, and somebody’s gelled his curls.
Excessively.
“You picked Jersey boy, too, huh?” I wobble over to him on the pale-pink patent leather heels Veronica capped my feet in, and he grabs my elbow before I teeter over.
“Specifically, First Date at a Four-Star Italian Restaurant Jersey boy,” Vinny says for him, eyeing me over. He turns to Veronica. “Nice work. She looks like your mother.”
“Upsetting,” Julian leans over and whispers into my ear. “But still hot.”
I manage a weak smile. “You, too.”
His eyes rove over me. I’m as bronzed as the Liberty Bell, but he still sees through it. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Just anxious.” I squeeze his arm and try to ignore the peals of thunder rumbling through my belly as we make our way inside.
“This meeting shall come to order.” Chief Commissioner Jackie Lombardi claps the gavel down with zero flair.
As she leads the introductory hearing procedures, my face heats beneath the uncomfortable mask of foundation, back prickling with sweat against the semi-sheer polyester shirt.
I pat my pocket for the over-the-counter antidiarrheal medication, a.k.a.
Satan’s Bargain in a foil blister pack. These ruin me.
They stop the attack if I take enough of them, but that’s the problem—they stop everything.
I won’t be able to go for a week after taking them, despite the eventual return of the cramps that just crash ineffectually against my shore, the metaphorical tide never coming in.
Pressure builds until the medicine wears off, and the attack picks up right where it left off, even worse than before.
I’ve already taken two today, and I hope that’ll be enough.
Thanks to Vinny and Veronica, I don’t have much to do.
I’ll be called as a witness, Vinny will lead me through a series of planned questions, and then I sit here at the defense counsel’s table and look New Jersey wholesome. Easy. I can do this.
I glance at the half-full chamber behind us, smiling when I see our witnesses sitting in order of their appearance in the front row: Hillary Frankel, Deborah, and even Mr. Gutierrez, sitting in his wheelchair at the end.
He gives me an encouraging little wave. I tried to convince him to stay home and rest since he was released just this morning, but Mr. G is as stubborn as I am.
My eyes pore over the chamber, feeling buoyed by every familiar, loving face that I know, until they hit Mike Tonuto like a car lurching over an unexpected speed bump. He’s busy glad-handing the room, walking right up to the Commission and moving down the line.
“Look who’s here.” I nudge Julian, sitting to my left.
Julian’s eyes narrow. “He’s going down.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the esteemed Sparrow Nook Zoning Commission,” Vinny begins in full strut across the floor, his prominent Jersey accent hammed up to pure Joe Pesci.
The word esteemed sounded more like esteemt, and board with two syllables bohr and ahd.
“I am here tonight to make your lives easier. And isn’t that what we all want?
” Vinny stops and winks at the stenographer.
A spasm racks my body, making me sweat and shiver in tandem.
“You see, my client Nomi Wyeth is in full compliance with Sparrow Nook’s zoning ordinance already, as is, case closed.
She doesn’t require a zoning exception because she isn’t changing the building’s historical use.
” Use sounds like yoose. “My client’s dispensary, which would bring a new and significant source of tax revenue for Sparrow Nook, is in all practical aspects of the word, a pharmacy.
A literal drugstore.” Vinny spins on his stacked shoes’ heels.
“To speak on the intricacies of Sparrow Nook’s zoning ordinances, I’m calling Veronica D’Angelo-Bork as my expert witness. ”
Veronica click-clacks to the stand, giving major Marisa Tomei energy, and I have to give it to them both—the zoning commission sits enraptured. “Ms. D’Angelo-Bork, you are a real estate agent by trade, is that correct?”
“Yes, ten years and counting.”
“And in your professional opinion, Ms. D’Angelo-Bork, does Ms. Wyeth require a zoning exception for her intended use of the historic Strange Drugs Pharmacy building?”
“No, she does not.” Veronica points a sharp nail to the sky. “First, pharmacies sell drugs, and so do dispensaries. Second, the Main Street business zone expressly prioritizes the respectful use of historic buildings in line with their fundamental historic character.”
“And Ms. Wyeth would respectfully sell the drugs?”
“Very respectfully,” Veronica says. “It’s a very classy venture.
I do not associate with unclassy ventures,” she says reproachfully at the zoning commission, as if they might argue back.
“Third, Ms. Wyeth’s dispensary fits perfectly in the zoning plan.
Not only does it comply with all physical requirements, it’s also quaint, historic, and it adds to the town’s tourist appeal.
It will do good business and drive up revenues for surrounding businesses as well. ”
“How, exactly, will a cannabis dispensary help local businesses?” Vinny pontificates dramatically.
Veronica leans over her mic. “I’ve heard that people who partake get the munchies. Sammy’s Steaks, Fredo’s Italian Ice, the new ice cream parlor on the corner can all expect to do excellent business thanks to Ms. Wyeth’s dispensary.”
Across the room, Tonuto’s jaw tightens. Now that I know his backstory with Sammy, it’s clear how much he wants him to fail. How does nobody else see it?