15. Cyaire #2
I smile back, turning my head toward him in a lazy roll, enjoying the warmth of the sun against my face. “You’ve got your brother’s face,” I observe, taking in the familiar bone structure, the way his smile tilts slightly higher on the left side.
“My mother says I got the better personality.” His smile widens mischievously, and I can see Jamie in that expression, the same hint of playful arrogance that somehow manages to be endearing rather than off-putting.
“I’ll reserve judgment,” I reply with a huff of amusement.
His laugh comes easily, rich and unguarded, as he crosses his ankles and sighs contentedly.
We both turn our attention toward the water, watching another boat drift lazily across the Sound, its white sail catching the breeze like something out of a postcard.
The moment stretches comfortably between us before he gestures toward the backyard with an easy sweep of his hand, encompassing the organized chaos of his extended family.
“Welcome to the chaos that is the Maxwell family.”
I can’t help it, my smile grows bigger, threatening to split my face in half. If I smile any wider, my cheeks might actually cramp. “No.” I shake my head, still grinning. “This is great.”
“It is?” Jacques asks dubiously, eyeing me like I might be suffering from heat stroke.
“My family’s nothing like this.” The words come easily, without the usual tightness in my chest that discussing my family typically brings. There’s something about this afternoon, this place, that makes honesty feel safer than it usually does.
He glances over, genuine curiosity replacing the teasing glint in his eyes.
“No?”
I shake my head again, watching as someone across the yard attempts an elaborate dive that results in more splash than grace.
“It’s quieter, definitely more structured.
Every family gathering I’ve ever been to feels more like an orchestrated soirée than.
. .” I motion toward the backyard where somebody has just cannonballed into the pool to a chorus of cheering and good-natured heckling.
“. . . whatever this wonderfully organized chaos is.”
Jacques laughs, the sound mixing with the ambient noise of his family’s celebration. “Yeah. That sounds about right. We’re loud, we’re messy, but we all genuinely enjoy each other’s company.”
I watch Jamie from across the yard as he throws his head back in laughter at something his father says, his whole body relaxed in a way I rarely see when we’re in public together.
There’s no performance here, no careful management of image or expectation.
Just a man comfortable in his own skin, surrounded by people who love him exactly as he is.
“Enough about me.” I nod toward Jacques, shifting the conversation away from territory that still feels tender. “Your brother tells me you’re heading into your last year at the university before medical school.”
His entire face lights up like I’ve just handed him the keys to his dream car. “That’s the plan.”
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
“I hope so,” he says, blowing out a breath that’s equal parts anticipation and nervous energy.
The expression on his face takes me back years.
I remember that feeling, that mixture of excitement and terror that comes with standing on the threshold of everything you’ve worked toward.
Despite everything that happened with my mother, despite the pressure and the expectations, I knew my achievements were worth celebrating at the time.
The pride was real, even if the dream wasn’t entirely my own.
I smile, meaning it completely. “I’m sure they are.”
Jacques hesitates for a moment, his attention drifting toward the water where another sailboat glides quietly across the Sound, its wake barely disturbing the surface.
The afternoon light catches the water just right, turning it into something that looks almost ethereal.
When he finally speaks, there’s a weight to his voice that wasn’t there before.
“Can I ask you something?”
I glance over at him and smile, recognizing the shift in tone. “You just did.”
He laughs softly, shaking his head at the old joke. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” The words come out gentler than I intended, because I can see he’s working up to something important.
He grows thoughtful, his easy smile fading into something more sincere, more searching. The silence stretches between us, comfortable but charged with anticipation.
“How could you do it?”
I raise an eyebrow in question, even though I have a sinking feeling I know exactly where this conversation is headed.
“Walk away.”
He gestures vaguely between us, his hands moving as he searches for the right words, the right way to frame a question that’s clearly been weighing on him.
“You spent years working toward medicine. Everything I read said you could’ve gone to practically any medical school in the country and eventually pursued whatever specialty you wanted.
You were on track to become an incredible doctor.
” He shrugs, the gesture almost apologetic.
“I guess it’s just. . .it’s always been something I’ve wondered about ever since I read about it online.
I’m heading into my last year before medical school, and I honestly can’t imagine walking away after putting that much of myself into it. ”
For a moment, I don’t answer. The question hangs between us, heavier than the humid afternoon air.
I watch a pair of children race past us, one chasing the other with a neon green water gun while Cameron throws both hands into the air in exaggerated surrender after getting caught in the crossfire.
The laughter that follows carries across the yard, mixing with the music and the steady rhythm of conversation that forms the soundtrack to this afternoon.
It’s such a simple moment of joy, uncomplicated by expectation or judgment.
“I used to think I couldn’t either,” I admit quietly, the words surprising me with their honesty.
I don’t talk about that decision very often, the choice that changed the entire trajectory of my life.
The occasional interview, maybe, when a journalist is feeling particularly ambitious, but even then it’s carefully managed, sanitized for public consumption.
Here, though, sitting beside Jamie’s younger brother in the warm Seattle sunshine, it feels like something worth sharing. Something real.
“My parents decided I was going to be a doctor long before I ever understood what that meant.” I lean back in the lounger, letting my eyes drift toward Jamie across the yard.
He’s moved closer to the house now, laughing with Tazja about something while gesturing wildly with his hands, his youngest cousin still clinging happily to his side like a determined barnacle.
The sight makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Medicine wasn’t really presented as one option among many.
It was the plan. The expectation. The future that had been mapped out before I was old enough to have opinions about my own life. ”
I smile to myself, though there’s very little humor behind the expression.
“I was good at it. Really good. I worked harder than most of my peers, I genuinely enjoyed the science behind it all, and I earned every interview, every acceptance, every opportunity that came my way.” The memory feels distant now, like something that happened to someone else.
“But somewhere along the way, I realized I was working toward someone else’s dream instead of my own. ”
The admission sits heavy between us. Jacques is quiet for a long moment after I finish, his brow furrowed in concentration, then slowly shakes his head.
“I don’t think I could’ve done it.”
I look over at him, studying the earnest expression on his young face, and nod in understanding.
“I can understand walking away from something you don’t love,” he continues, his voice thoughtful. “What I can’t imagine is not being allowed to choose in the first place.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, because he’s hit on something that took me years to fully understand about my own experience.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve spent my whole life working toward medicine because it’s what I want,” he says, and there’s such certainty in his voice that I feel a pang of something that might be envy.
“If somebody else had made that decision for me. . .” He lets the thought trail off, shaking his head again. “I honestly don’t know who I’d be.”
Neither do I. The thought is sobering, even now.
“My parents already had one artist in the family,” I say with a shrug, trying to keep my tone light despite the weight of old resentments.
He glances over, eyebrows raised in question.
“My brother Julian is a classically trained pianist.”
Recognition flashes across his face like lightning, and then he laughs, the sound bright and genuinely delighted.
“Okay, true fanboy moment. I absolutely love Julian Reed’s work.”
I roll my eyes and laugh, shaking my head at his enthusiasm. It never gets old, seeing people react to my brother’s talent with such genuine appreciation.
“Back then he wasn’t the international superstar everyone knows now.
He was just. . .my older brother who loved the piano more than anything else in the world.
” I smile to myself, remembering Julian at fourteen, spending hours at our mother’s baby grand until she’d practically have to drag him away for dinner.
“That was already pushing the limits of what my parents wanted for their children.”
Jacques listens without interrupting, nodding along.
“I think once Julian chose music, my parents doubled down on me.” I pick idly at the label on my water bottle, the condensation making it peel away in satisfying strips. “Medicine was respectable. Stable. Prestigious. Everything they thought a second son should aspire to be.”
I laugh quietly, though there’s very little humor behind the sound.
“I wasn’t even allowed to join the theater club in high school.”