Chapter 19
The Finality
Robyn
“The fucker said what?” Julian’s eyes go wide, and his knuckles whiten around the water cup he’s holding.
We’re squeezed into a corner table at Momo District, a cramped grab-and-go spot a block from the hospital.
Ginger and cardamom hang in the air, but they’re drowned out by the sharp, burned soy-and-cumin drifting from the kitchen.
Someone definitely scorched a pan and skipped the scrubbing.
Trays and metal silverware clatter nonstop, loud enough that Julian and I don’t bother lowering our voices, even with a cluster of people in scrubs eating by the door.
“That it was classy for me to have sex in a bathroom and that it was his cue to move on.” I cut my last dumpling in half with my fork, but I’m not hungry anymore.
Julian drags a torn piece of naan through the last streaks of sauce, methodically cleaning the beige plate.
“Then he wrapped his arm around Tessa.”
He stops mid-motion. “Tessa?”
I shrug, blowing a loose piece of hair away from my lip. “They’re probably together now.”
Julian’s jaw juts out. “Please just let me punch him.”
He’s joking, of course, but if I were still struggling to breathe the way I did when that video popped up on his phone, or if I were still freezing in front of the whole team during rounds …
Julian would punch him. Warmth floods my chest, knowing he would, but it warms even more because it’s understood he doesn’t need to.
“No punching for the neurosurgeon.”
“Not even if I wore a glove?”
“No, Kells, it isn’t worth it.” This is where the joke ends. When I can’t keep my lower lip from trembling for a millisecond. “I essentially pushed him into her arms.”
His eyes widen a touch before his eyebrows relax. “A man worth keeping doesn’t get distracted by someone he doesn’t want.”
I nod, pressing my lips into a smile, but it wobbles a little. This one stings. “Exactly.”
He sets down his cup and reaches across the table and holds my fingers in a quiet, grounding squeeze. He gets it, it’s written in his pale-blue eyes and in the curve of his mouth that’s not quite a smile, just agreement. It’s the truth of it that makes this painful.
As he lets go of my hand, he clears his throat. There’s nothing to do about what Nate did or felt.
“How was Daniel?” Julian wiggles his eyebrows.
“Not mind-blowing, but he isn’t small, and he isn’t clueless.” I break a tiny bit off the napkin and throw it at Julian when he starts chuckling. “It also … wasn’t about him.”
“It was about the job.” Julian sips from his cup and starts cleaning up after himself.
It wasn’t really about the job either, it was mostly about having to think of only myself when deciding what comes next. And a breather from the constant pounding in my chest I’d come to experience every time I thought about how easily everything you believe to be true and safe can hurt you anyway.
“It was about possibilities.”
He tilts his head. “Because you’re moving.” He’s hiding his eyes from mine by looking down and piling everything up on his plate.
“I still don’t have the job, but … yeah.”
“Robyn—” His eyes are back on mine now.
“I need this.” My voice softens, and I don’t tear away from his eyes.
For a second, I lower every defense and let Julian see. Tears pool at my eyes almost instantly and my chin wobbles.
“Did you know I had lunch here with Nate once?” I tell him. “And the place across the street? And I’ve bought ingredients for one cake or another with him at the three grocery stores in my neighborhood?”
A tear rolls down my cheek. “Everywhere I look, I see him, either a moment we shared or a future we won’t have.”
I’d been so terrified of making a mistake that not only cost me my career here but his when it came to attending jobs.
I let that fear swallow me whole, and now there is this gaping hole in my chest from him choosing to kiss his friend back …
but I also feel relief it’s just my own career on the line every day at the hospital.
“I’m going to miss you, and I’ll come back. Team Neuro will happen. But right now? I want to leave.”
He inhales too sharply, and his left eye twitches before he’s able to school his features back into casual.
We’ve been each other’s best friends for longer than anyone else.
I get it, even if he doesn’t realize that I do.
When Julian throws himself back in his chair, he nods.
I raise my defenses back up, wiping at my cheeks, and the tension finally dissipates.
“So, tell me more about Daniel?”
I narrow my eyes at him but am glad we are moving on to other topics, then I finish off my water to stall. “What do you want me to tell you? That he doesn’t have a piercing?”
Julian’s mouth curls, sharp-edged, wickedly entertained. “Tsk, tsk.” He flicks a grain of rice off the table with dramatic precision. “Such a shame.”
We laugh together, the sound too loud for the tight space, but no one even looks up.
“Seriously,” Julian says, pulling out his wallet and dropping a crumpled ten-dollar tip onto the scratched table. “Daniel and Robyn. Is that a thing now?”
I shake my head. “I’m nowhere near ready, and I’m planning to leave.” I gather all our plates, stacking them on the tray.
“Are you going to tell Nate? That you’re leaving.”
I still my movements, and Julian takes the tray and stands; I follow as he dumps our trash, then slides the dishes into the plastic bins, sorting utensils and plates with his natural meticulousness.
Not telling Nate feels like I’m doing something wrong, but telling him feels like I’m admitting it isn’t over between us. It’s a lose-lose situation.
“I’m not hiding it from him, but I also don’t owe him anything.”
“So if he asks …?” Julian pushes open the heavy glass door for me.
We fall into step outside the restaurant. The wind is warm but restless, gusting under low-hung gray clouds that threaten a downpour. I think about it, and telling him is probably the lesser “lose situation”.
“I’ll tell him, but I don’t think he will ask. He’s with Tessa.”
Julian’s nostrils flare—his tell when he’s holding an opinion hostage. “I don’t know, Robyn. I think, soon, things are going to click into place for him, and you’re going to find yourself with a man groveling at your feet.”
“And it won’t matter when I’m in a different state.” I rub my thumb along the strap of my bag, needing to change the subject. “Marisol sucks, by the way. She pointed out how weird we are as friends and then explained to me that it’d make any boyfriend cheat.”
He tilts his head, as if he’s deciding if he should push me on the Nate subject. “Can I punch her?” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets.
“No punching anybody.”
He scoffs. “Fine, but I’m dropping her like a bag of shit.”
“You shouldn’t if you like her, Kells.”
He shakes his head firmly. “You did it with Nate, remember? Set a boundary: me and our friendship were nonnegotiable, he was cool or he was out. Same for me.”
“Look how well that turned out. And especially if I’m leaving …”
“Nah,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his. “The right people for us will get our vibe.”
We drop the conversation there, switching the topic to Julian’s shift today, shadowing one of the neurosurgeons. He’s transitioning into more specialized surgeries around the same time I’ll need to transition to my new job—wherever that ends up being.
The block between Momo District and the hospital is short, a straight shot past a row of uneven planters.
Julian’s stride is loose and swinging, and I have to walk a tad quicker to make up for his long legs, but I’m used to it.
A breeze tries to lift the ends of my hair, carrying the scent of rain that hasn’t fallen yet.
The closer we get, the busier the sidewalk becomes—scrubs in every shade, badge lanyards flashing. Julian nudges my arm with his elbow again, the kind of companionable bump that says he’s here and he’ll support me even if he has his own feelings about it.
The moment we round the corner, he’s standing by the sliding glass doors outside the staff entrance.
He’s got one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his navy chinos and the other wrapped around a coffee from the little corner shop he knows I like.
His reddish-brown hair is windblown. Broad as he is, the narrow ramp leading up to the staff entrance almost shrinks around him.
There’s a traitorous jolt low in my stomach when I take him in—the purple smudges under his eyes, the overgrown beard. I know it’s Nate, but he isn’t the man I’m used to. He’s a wrung-out, exhausted version of himself. It takes effort not to dwell on what the sight of him does to my heartbeat.
He’s looking down, shoulders folding inward, mumbling to himself.
The hand holding the coffee lifts, drops, makes a small circle in the air as if he’s rehearsing or psyching himself up.
I’m guessing he’s determined to make me listen to whatever half-assed excuse he’s got for trying to make me feel guilty about Daniel.
He looks up and goes still. Then his gaze slides to Julian at my side. Nate’s shoulders shift slightly, straighter, and he peruses my body before giving the slightest nod.
As we come closer, Nate extends his free hand in a fist toward Julian. Julian doesn’t even pretend to be cordial, he just looks him up and down, unimpressed.
“You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” Julian says, stepping into the space between Nate and me, Nate’s fist pressing against his midsection until he drops it.
Nate angles his body to the side, seeking my eyes so he can address me directly despite Julian’s body between us. “I just need a couple minutes of her time.” His voice is low, almost hoarse.
“I’m right here.” I step around my friend, even though my chest is tight and unsteady.