Stargazing with You

18. Medical School

Chapter 18

Medical School

Fourth Year

W hen I stepped out of San Francisco International Airport for the second time in my life, the sense of déjà vu was nearly overwhelming. So overwhelming, in fact, that when I saw Javi leaning against his car in wait for me, I checked carefully behind him to make sure there were no blondes leaning on the hood. The unnerving feeling was quickly driven away the second I reached him, though.

I left my suitcase rolling after me as his hand curled around my waist, drawing my body into his as he kissed me. In just these few weeks of separation, I had somehow forgotten how soft his lips were, how good they felt against mine. He had kissed me only twice before the night we finally spent together, and it didn’t feel like nearly enough. It didn’t feel like it would ever be enough.

He smiled against my lips before pulling away. My lower lip jutted out in an involuntary pout at his absence.

“Hey,” he said. “You made it.”

He drew back and pulled a bouquet of peonies from behind his back. I touched the soft petals of the full, pink buds in delight. At the same time, I wracked my brain, trying to think of a scenario in all these years when I might have told him my favorite flower.

I took the bouquet, shaking my head at him. “How did you know?”

“I have watched far too many guys bring you roses and lilies and daisies over the years not to know what you like. I know you better than anyone, Diana.” He winked, smiling in that self-satisfied, charmingly smug way.

I rolled my eyes, almost annoyed that he could remember such minute details all these years later.

He took my bags from me and loaded them into the car, opening the door for me after. He drove us to his apartment, our hands clasped between us on the center console the whole way.

When we made it to his apartment a short while later, I realized suddenly that I had somehow managed never to see it in the two years that he lived here. He had long outgrown the apartment given to him by his investor as a broke college student. This apartment was one that he had found for himself, that he owned.

When I finally stepped foot inside his home, it was both shocking and everything I would have expected of Javi. The first thing that was so surprising was the sheer breadth of the space. I probably could have fit my entire apartment into his kitchen. The size was even more exaggerated by the floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the mountains in the distance and the endless expanse of cloudless blue sky.

It was open concept, the space encompassing the kitchen, dining area, and living room. His furniture was neutral tones of white and gray. It was immaculately clean, like it belonged on a magazine cover, which I would not have expected of Javi. His dorm in college had always been more like organized chaos. He had a huge flat screen TV in his living room, surrounded by bookshelves crammed with books and knick-knacks. The walls were decorated with framed patents and travel souvenirs.

“ Javi ,” I gushed.

He grinned. “You like it?”

“I love it,” I replied, wandering forward into the space. I ran my hands over his white and gray quartz counter tops, stopping to admire his collection of golden whiskeys and tequilas in decorative bottles.

He fetched me a vase and filled it with water for me. I arranged the bouquet of peonies in it, as he leaned against the counter beside me.

“Go over the full agenda for the week with me again,” he said. When I was done arranging the flowers, he pulled me by the hips to settle me between his legs.

“Four interviews,” I explained. We had gone over it a few times on the phone these last few weeks as we had solidified the details. “The interviews should each take a full day, with tours and several individual interview sessions. My interviews at Stanford and UCSF are this week, Wednesday and Friday. Then we’ll head to Sacramento at the beginning of next week for my interviews there and in Stockton on Monday and Wednesday.”

He nodded, clearly hearing no surprises. “I’ve pretty much cleared my schedule for you. Call me your chauffeur for the next two weeks.”

I smiled, leaning into him. “And of course this week we’ll be celebrating a very special day.”

“Oh really?” he asked in mock confusion. “What day might that be?”

“November 11th,” I said, my hands running down his chest. “The day my favorite person in the world was born.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, knowingly. “My nephew Theo is also one of my favorite people in the world. ”

I laughed, smacking him in the chest. “Not who I meant.”

“Oh, of course,” he amended with a smile. “I forgot Theo and I share a birthday.”

“I don’t think we’ve spent your birthday together since college,” I mused.

“We haven’t,” he agreed, kissing me sweetly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“It's a little bit lame,” I admitted. “I have a surprise planned, but you’re going to have to drive us there, which ruins a lot of the surprise. It’s really difficult to surprise someone for their birthday when you can’t drive.”

“You didn’t have to— wait . What do you mean you can’t drive?” he asked incredulously.

I shot him a withering look. “Technically, I have a driver’s license, but I consider it mostly a theoretical one.”

He laughed dubiously. “And what exactly is a theoretical driver’s license?”

“I mean, I took driver’s ed before we moved to the city, and my parent’s made me go to Brooklyn to take the driving test when I turned sixteen, but that is where the story ends. I have not driven a day since then,” I explained.

He looked at me dumbstruck. “You really can’t drive?”

“I thought you knew me better than anyone. How did you not know this already?” I teased.

“You are twenty-five-years-old, ” he pointed out.

I glared at him playfully.

“And I have lived in the public transportation capital of this country for the last ten years. You drive us around every time we go to Texas,” I countered.

He shrugged. “I thought it was because I knew my way around and you didn’t. Not because you straight up didn’t know how?—”

“I know how. Theoretically . Like I said. ”

“You are very likely going to be living somewhere next year where driving is a requirement. Have you seen this place? You can’t get anywhere without going on a highway,” he insisted, unnecessarily. I knew this was true, of course. This particular source of stress was a topic I had chosen to mentally avoid.

“I know that. I was planning to figure it out after the Match,” I said lamely.

“Oh, you are so driving while you’re here,” he replied with a wry grin.

My eyes went wide. “No, Javi?—”

“It’s decided.”

“I can’t ,” I protested.

“You can ,” he refuted. “You have to . Consider it a birthday present to me.”

I groaned. “Fine, I’m taking your real birthday present back.”

He laughed but grabbed his keys off the bar without comment. My eyes went wide.

“Right now?” I squeaked.

“Right now,” he replied firmly.

“I just got here!” I whined.

“If we start now, you can practice for the next two weeks!” he argued, taking my hand in his as he made for the door.

I groaned again. “I don’t see why you want to watch me wreck your Tesla for your birthday.”

“I won’t let you hurt Nikola,” he assured me, holding the door open to his apartment.

I rolled my eyes at him. “ Of course you named your car Nikola. How unoriginal.”

He cackled.

Ten minutes later, he found a suitably empty parking lot, put the car in park, and forced me to switch seats with him.

He patiently showed me how to adjust the seat and how to maneuver the gear shift—subtle mechanisms and buttons hidden behind the steering wheel and displayed on the massive digital control panel.

“It’s honestly unfair of me to teach you how to drive on a Tesla,” he explained, not sounding the least bit sorry about it. “These aren’t the typical controls.”

“I wouldn’t call any of this fair,” I retorted, pouting in the driver’s seat.

He smirked. “I should go rent a stick and force you to learn on that instead. Have some real fun for my birthday.”

“I didn’t know you had a sadism kink,” I replied dryly.

He sputtered out a surprised laugh. I glanced in his direction to see, with some satisfaction, that he was blushing.

“This is torture,” I complained again.

“You’ll survive.”

“That is yet to be determined,” I countered. “We haven’t even put it into drive yet.”

“Sounds like a great place to start.”

I breathed in and out once, twice, then gripped the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. I followed his instructions on how to put it into drive. I was pressing down so hard on the break with my foot that I was starting to feel a pins-and-needles sensation in my toes like they were falling asleep. I took another deep breath in, but I felt Javi’s warm hand rest on the top of my leg and curl slowly toward my inner thigh, and the breath abruptly caught in my throat.

“Hey,” he said calmly, his thumb brushing my knee. “ Relax . ”

I let my breath out in a whoosh. “Having your hand between my legs is not helping me focus right now.”

He smirked but took his hand away. “Drive. Give me two laps, and I’ll put more than my hand between your legs.”

A warm, tingling feeling spread from my center out into my fingers and toes, and I felt my grip on the steering wheel relax ever so slightly and my toes unclench. Very carefully, I released the break, waiting for something to happen. When the car stayed exactly where it was, I looked at him expectantly. He looked like he was carefully fighting a laugh.

“It’s electric,” he explained patiently. “It won’t idle. You have to actually push the pedal.”

I sighed in exasperation but moved my foot slowly over to the accelerator pedal and pressed with the weight of one toe. Javi gently directed me as we made a wide loop around the empty parking lot, going painstakingly slow.

“Great job,” he said once the loop was done. “Now try it again faster than ten miles per hour.”

I glared at him, but did as I was told, increasing the pressure on the pedal until the speedometer showed a whopping twenty-five miles per hour. When I finished the second lap, I parked the car resolutely, took my hands from the steering wheel, and scowled at him.

“There,” I insisted. “Two laps.”

He put his hands behind his head and leaned back into the seat, settling in. “Great. There’s a good Chinese restaurant two minutes from here, why don’t you take us to get some dinner.”

“ Javi ,” I objected. “You promised?—”

“You need to practice,” he scolded. “And don’t worry—I’ll keep my promises. ”

He shot me a lecherous grin, but the implication did little to distract me. I frowned at him.

When I made no move to put my hands back on the steering wheel, he whipped out his phone and started scrolling through it. “I can wait here all day. This car is going nowhere unless you make it.”

I let out a very beleaguered sigh and put the car back into drive. Javi put his phone down in the cupholder with a satisfied grin and began to direct me toward the restaurant. They were small roads, the speed limit no greater than forty-five miles per hour, but that was thirty-five miles per hour greater than I was comfortable driving.

But I did it, slowly but surely, inching my way down the roads going well under the speed limit, people honking at me as they went around. By the time he finally directed me to turn into the parking lot for the restaurant, I felt like I had been holding my breath for five minutes straight, and it was making me a little light-headed. I parked well away from any other cars and looked at Javi with a miserable expression.

He laughed. “Alright! Enough torture for one night. Stop looking at me with those big, blue puppy-dog eyes. Let’s go get some food. I'll drive us home.”

I grinned in triumph, following him into the restaurant.

A little while later, we were sprawled on his couch as we watched TV. Javi ran one hand over my calf where my legs were draped over his lap. I was pleased by how easy and natural this felt, this little glimpse of domestic life.

I was lost in my thoughts, imagining how good it would be to once again spend all my free time with Javi after all these years apart, when he suddenly moved off the couch. He sank down to his knees on the floor in front of me, pulling my legs with him so that I was forced to turn to face him .

I looked at him wide-eyed, expectant, unsure exactly what he was doing until he gently spread my knees apart. He hooked his hands around my calves and pulled me to the edge of the couch.

“I made promises,” he ducked to kiss the inside of my thigh, just above my knee, “that I intend to keep.”

The brush of his lips against my sensitive skin sent a thrill through me. A giddy laugh escaped me at the feeling, and I realized I sounded nervous. Why did he always make me feel like I was experiencing these things for the first time? Was it because every experience with him felt brand new, like nothing I had ever felt before?

“I won’t hold you to that,” I whispered, my voice a bit shaky. He kissed an inch farther up my leg, his hands running slowly up my thighs. A heavy pressure was already building between my legs at his touch.

“You kept your end of the bargain and then some,” he said. His hands dipped beneath the hem of my dress.

“Seriously, Javi, it’s your birthday week.”

“It is,” he agreed, his lips moving another few inches up my thigh. His fingers hooked into my underwear.

“We should do what you want to do,” I argued.

“I am doing what I want to do,” he murmured against my thigh. He pulled my panties down and slipped them off before lifting my thighs onto his shoulders. Cold air hit my exposed center, and I shuddered with the sensation.

“I’ve been waiting my entire adult life for the opportunity to taste you whenever I want,” he insisted. He kissed the crease of my thigh, his tongue brushing against my skin, as if to emphasize his point.

“ Jesus ,” I breathed.

He shot me a truly devilish smirk from between my legs.

“It’s Javier, actually,” he corrected, and my shocked laughter at his joke turned quickly into a moan as he suddenly buried himself in me.

His nose separated my labia, his tongue dipping inside me before stroking me upward. My back arched involuntarily, and I gripped the back of the couch to steady myself. He circled my clit, and the sounds that escaped me were not human. They were soft but entirely feral whimpers. I buried my fingers in his hair.

When he sank one finger inside me, I pulled his hair involuntarily by the roots. He slipped a second finger inside, and no part of me belonged to my conscious mind anymore. I rocked my hips against him instinctually as he sucked on me. He moved his fingers slowly out and back in, and my walls clenched around him, grateful for the friction he provided.

Some tiny voice in the back of my mind begged myself to hold on—to wait for him, to have him inside me. But that tiny voice was engulfed by the roar of this animal that he seemed to wake inside me. I arched completely off the couch with my climax, gripping onto his hair with both hands. My thighs clenched around his head, but it somehow didn’t stop him from working me through to the very end, the motions of his tongue sending little aftershocks through me. I finally felt my body going lax, all my muscles turning to pools of warm liquid, but he never let me fall back onto the couch. He ducked beneath one of my legs, immediately scooping me up into his chest in a fireman hold.

He kissed me as he walked us to his bedroom, his tongue moving against mine, reminding me instantly of what magic it had just performed on me. I felt my body coiling again immediately in anticipation. He kicked open his bedroom door and broke our kiss to lay me down gently on his silky gray comforter. We discarded our clothes quickly before I pulled him down onto the bed with me.

Our hands explored each other’s bodies, relearning all the lines and contours that we had forgotten over the last few weeks of separation—not forgotten, I should say. I could no sooner forget what his body felt like as I could forget my own. It was burned into my mind. Getting to touch him again felt like reconnecting with the other half of myself that I had been missing. And when he was finally inside me, I felt whole again.

That week felt how I imagined one must feel on their honeymoon—a constant, desperate longing for each other that let up for only short periods of time. Though we did have certain real-world distractions to think about—Javi's job, my upcoming interviews—we spent every other second together either lazily tangled in each other’s embrace or in the frenzied process of learning each other’s bodies.

We had spent all these years knowing each other’s minds so perfectly, becoming nearly telepathic in our understanding and awareness of each other. This was the physical equivalent. While we had cultivated our mental and emotional connection over years, our bodies seemed determined to get to that same level with our physical connection in a matter of weeks.

When the weekend ended and Javi had to go to his office, I spent my days milling about his apartment—reading books off his shelves, watching his TV, absentmindedly preparing for my interviews, trying in vain to distract my brain from the constant wanting of him. But it was futile.

The second he walked in the door each evening, I was ready for him. Before he even closed the front door, I was on him, kissing him and trying to tear his clothes off. And his body answered my need immediately and with equal intensity.

We ordered takeout for dinner most nights, as we could not be bothered to go grocery shopping or leave his apartment long enough to sit in public for a meal. Javi, however, adamantly refused to use a delivery service, instead making me drive to pick up our food each time, “for practice.” After he was done torturing me with driving lessons, we ate from takeout containers, standing at his kitchen counter, usually in some interesting combination of undress—me, wearing his button-down work shirt and nothing else; him, in boxers or a pair of sweats.

But eventually, my interviews broke us somewhat out of our blissful reverie.

I had my interview with Stanford first, and I walked out after feeling like I was in a daze, hardly able to remember what I had said or done for the last eight hours.

“How’d it go?” Javi asked as I approached his car. When I reached him, he kissed me, then immediately held open the driver’s side door for me. I grimaced at the waiting steering wheel.

“Please, no. I’m exhausted,” I begged.

He grinned. “It’s five minutes.”

I sighed but was too tired to argue.

“So?” he asked when we were on the road. “Tell me about it.”

“In case you were wondering what the equivalent of a marathon is for an introvert, it’s trying to smile and make people like you for eight hours straight,” I grumbled.

He laughed. He surely could not relate—this man could smile and talk for a week straight if you let him. “But did you like the program? Could you see yourself there?”

I scoffed. Stanford was the dream —an amazing program, only five minutes away from the person I loved. I couldn’t delude myself into thinking I had a chance. The heartbreak might just kill me if I didn’t match there, so it was better not to allow my heart to even consider it as a realistic possibility.

“It’s not a matter of whether one likes Stanford,” I explained . “ It’s whether Stanford likes you. This is a decidedly one-sided love affair. I’m way out of my league.”

“I know the feeling,” he replied, and I immediately laughed at the absurdity of the statement. When I didn’t hear his laughter join mine, I glanced furtively over at him in the passenger seat, only willing to look away from the road for the briefest second. But when I did meet his eyes, he was staring at me with such serious and fervent affection that I realized he wasn’t joking. My throat grew thick, my chest growing tight, in a pleasant way.

“You’re ridiculous,” I chastised him quietly.

“But you love me?” he asked.

“But I love you,” I agreed, emphatically. I reached across the center console and squeezed his hand.

I realized a few minutes later, with some delight, that it was the first time I had ever felt comfortable driving with anything less than a firm, ten-and-two grip on the steering wheel. From Javi’s self-satisfied grin when we parked, he must have realized it too.

My interview at UCSF that Friday did not give me nearly the same giddy feeling that my interview at Stanford had. The interviews went fine, but the program director seemed intense, the conversation with the faculty and residents didn’t seem to flow the way it had at some of my other interviews. It was geographically the second most ideal location, but in my heart, I knew that I wouldn’t be as happy there. As I walked out to Javi’s car afterward, I was distracted by the thought of having to choose—did I rank the program with myself or my relationship in mind? The thought left me with an uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

When Javi got out of the car, though, I knew that thought would have to wait. I pushed it consciously out of my mind and slapped a huge smile on my face.

“Hey, birthday boy,” I said, pulling him in for a kiss. “You ready for our date?”

“Born ready,” he joked. For the first time, I very willingly took the driver’s seat, putting our destination into the GPS on my phone. I had researched ahead of time for the best places to see the stars in the area.

When we arrived at the destination a little while later and Javi saw the full spread set at the very top of the hill complete with candles and wine and a loaded picnic basket, he looked at me with surprise and delight.

“How did you manage this while you were in an interview all day?” he asked.

I shrugged, pleased by his reaction. “Found a service online.”

It was not a cheap service, by any means. It was an expense that I couldn’t really afford, but my recent $3000 prize for my research had at least made it a little more bearable. And it was worth it, for Javi. We settled in, pouring wine and helping ourselves to a charcuterie board from the basket.

I looked out at the brilliant orange and pink sky of sunset and raised my glass to his.

“To the two luckiest people in the whole world,” I said wistfully.

He clinked his glass against mine. “This is a pretty amazing birthday.”

“Oh, just you wait for the main course.”

While the appetizer had been somewhat sophisticated, I knew that deep down, Javi was a simple guy. And he looked absolutely delighted at the In’N’Out cheeseburgers and French fries.

He took a bite of the greasy burger and hummed appreciatively. “The very best part of living in California is In’N’Out. Best burgers in the world.”

“I won’t argue with you, because it’s your birthday,” I replied, “but you know my devotion to Shake Shack runs deep.”

He laughed. “That’s fair.”

We ate and talked, eventually sprawling out on the blanket to look up at the stars above. I curled into Javi’s side, laying my head on his chest as he pointed constellations out to me.

I made sure we left our starlit picnic in time to be back at his apartment before eleven o’clock. I pulled a small cake from the fridge that I had ordered the day before and put a single gold candle in the center. Javi didn’t question me when I didn’t immediately light it, instead looking at my watch patiently until it struck 11:10. His family had started this tradition, after all—I had only upheld it whenever I could, with every birthday I spent with him. I lit the candle when there were thirty seconds to go, quietly singing the birthday song to him.

“November 11 th , at 11:11,” I said. The boy who was born lucky. “Make a wish.”

His eyes reflected the flickering candlelight, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a brilliant smile as he blew out the candle. The second the light was extinguished, he pushed the cake aside and lifted me onto the kitchen counter.

“Oh look,” he said playfully. “I got my wish.”

He smothered my laughter with a kiss. When he pulled away, I leaned over, scooping a handful of frosting off the cake, which I promptly smeared into his face. He laughed, immediately pulling me back in for a very messy, very sugary kiss.

He pulled a dollop off my nose with his index finger. I grabbed his hand and leaned forward to lick it off—very slowly and very purposefully, holding his stare the entire time. A little moan escaped him at the sight. I flicked my tongue against the pad of his finger.

He promptly pulled me off the counter. He grabbed the cake box and my hand and led me to his bedroom.

A little while later, when we were tangled in each other in his bed, tired and a little out of breath, he said, “I have newfound respect for birthday frosting. It might be my new favorite food.”

I laughed. “Oh! I nearly forgot your birthday present.”

I went to my suitcase and pulled out the wrapped present, handing it to him before settling back into bed beside him.

When he had unwrapped the thin piece of clear acrylic, I flipped a switch on the underside of the stand, and an array of golden stars appeared on the surface. The golden light illuminated his face as he looked at it with appreciation.

“That’s so cool,” he said.

I explained, “It’s the exact stars that were over New York City the night we first went to the roof of Butler. Or at least, it’s how they would have looked, if we had been able to see them this well.”

His eyes went wide with delight. He reverently placed it on his nightstand before turning back to me, pulling me in for a kiss.

We extended his birthday celebrations through the weekend. We met his coworkers the following day for dinner and drinks, where he introduced me to them as his girlfriend . Of course, we knew what we meant to each other, but I realized in the moment that this was the first time he had ever officially called me that.

The title made me feel giddy, but also sent a wave of fear and caution through me. Was now the right time to tell people that we were together? We hadn’t even told Javi’s family yet. Should we wait until after Match Day? Why get everyone we loved invested in a relationship that had such a precarious future? But I forced myself to staunch these fears so we could enjoy our time together.

The following week, we left Palo Alto to head to Sacramento for my remaining interviews. We spent the three days in Sacramento at a hotel while I interviewed for the programs there and in Stockton. By the time Javi picked me up from the fourth and final interview, I felt drained—mentally and emotionally exhausted. And I still had several interviews left: University of Arizona, Baylor, Duke, and Wash U.

We spent our last day together before my impending departure lounging lazily around his apartment. There was a distinct undercurrent to our actions all day long that put us both in a quiet, sad mood, realizing our two weeks of bliss were ending—our last meal together, the last sunset we’d watch together, the last time we’d lounge on the couch together until our eyes started to grow sleepy. Though it felt almost like a waste of precious time together, we didn’t have sex—just fell asleep holding each other.

Javi brought me to the airport the next morning, where I’d be flying to Phoenix for the next interview. I looked ahead at the doors to the airport and felt suddenly paralyzed. Not a single muscle fiber in my legs seemed inspired to obey my commands. I took several shallow breaths.

Javi left my suitcase on the curb and walked to me suddenly. He took my face in both his hands, staring intently into my eyes.

“Hey,” he said, his voice falling into that soothing tone it always assumed the instant he realized my panic was taking over. “Take a deep breath. Good . In and out .”

I inhaled and exhaled on his command.

“What’s going through your mind?” he asked.

I shook my head, angry at myself for letting my anxiety get the best of me, after years of having it under better control.

“These two weeks have been so perfect,” I explained.

He smiled and pecked me on the lips. “They have been.”

“But what if this is it? What if this is all we get?” I asked, my voice quivering.

His brows knit together in concern. “Why would you say that?”

“The Match. We don’t know where I’ll end up?—”

“Only control what we can control right?” he reminded me. “Right now, we can’t control the Match. All we can do is let ourselves be happy. I don’t know about you, Di, but I’ve never been so happy.”

His obvious joy was enough to, at least temporarily, staunch some of my panic.

“Neither have I,” I agreed. I finally was able to move toward my suitcase and grasp the handle. He followed me to the door, pulling me to him for a long goodbye kiss.

“See you in a few weeks for Thanksgiving,” he said. We’d both be going to Texas. Shortly after that, we’d spend Christmas in New York. And Javi had promised he would come out for my birthday in January. It wasn’t the end, I had to remind myself.

I smiled up at him, but felt it stop short of reaching my eyes. An agitating, demanding part of my brain still quietly warned: Don’t get used to this.