by Rissa Brahm
“So…” his deep voice hummed new confidence as he sat down across from her.
“So?” She smiled then flicked her eyes down at the table.
“Our old table…weird, right?”
An awkward chuckle and nod filled the next beat.
“Shoot, how rude. Can I get you a latte? No, you’re a grande-mocha girl, right?”
“Right, but, um, not today. Already pretty strung out. Registered for classes.”
“Classes? Wow, Pree. I mean, who is this newly ambitious and put-together woman?”
Patronizing much? She found her fakest FA fake smile because, wow, she’d forgotten, or maybe hadn’t even realized, how condensing to her he was. And always had been. “I guess, you know, my gut was right on, Ev. We both needed to fly our separate ways in order to ‘spread our wings’.”
Evan’s look of shock sent a slight thrill through her—but she was there to tie up loose ends, to help him move on. Nothing more.
She sighed and shook her head. “Listen, Ev, it’s been a…day.” She puffed a laugh, such an understatement. “I have some explaining to do, you know, with how I left things. You deserve—”
“Don’t, Pree. No need. Water under the bridge. Seriously, no hard feelings.” He slid his hand across the small, round table and took her hand. “I want good things for you, Pree. All good things. Always.”
While he stroked and played with her fingers, she felt a tinge of nausea rise up in her gut. Was it repulsion or was it the few cells of baby—or both? Whichever, the thought of fleeing the table, The Bohemian Coffee House, the city of Seattle, all sounded like good things.
“Preeya, did I lose you?”
“Sorry.” She snickered. “What were you saying?”
“No, I was just saying that I grew a pair and landed the position. But it was you who influenced me to do it. You gave me the wake-up call, you know? And the motivation. I realized that to become the man you need, I had to rise.”
“Oh?” She cleared her throat then swallowed. “Hey, uh, I think I will grab a drink, maybe just a water?” She started to stand up. “Can I get you another—”
“Nothing for me, thanks.” He patted his trim waistline. “The camera adds enough, you know? But, hey, let me grab the water for you.”
She nodded because the queasiness had become more real. “Thanks. Room temperature if they have it please.”
He smiled and left her there.
Alone for the moment, she let her mouth relax into a neutral line. This was harder than she thought. But more confirmation of her extremely right call in ending things with Evan Chambers.
She startled when a warm, moist hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed, then a bottle of spring water lowered down in front of her.
She relaxed her jaw. “Thanks, Evan,” she said, shifting in her seat from the awkward vibe. She opened the water and pounded it fast. His eyes widened with every loud gulp.
“Like I said, it’s been a day…or twenty-five.” She smiled and puffed a light laugh without meeting his too-intense, too-close-to-seductive gaze.
“When did you get in?”
“Yesterday, so I am all out of sorts.”
“From where this time?” he asked, leaning a few inches closer, playing with her water bottle cap.
“I was in Berkeley visiting Prana and, well, my dad and his new wife…then before that, Puerto Vallarta.”
“Hope your family’s doing okay, and the new stepmother, huh?”
“Yeah…she’s a nice lady.”
He smiled at her warmly but with a suspicious look in his eyes. Probably—no, most definitely—not expecting such a neutral reaction to anything relating to her father. Evan had known how torrential things were with her dad and her aunt.
“Wow, you really have changed.” His head tilted, then he reached his hand under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. “And, as if it were possible, you’re even more gorgeous than I remember.”
Preeya rolled her eyes and sat back in her stylishly uncomfortable coffeehouse seat—putting space between her and Evan’s not-at-all-subtle advances.
“So…Vallarta? Oh, right! Amy’s wedding. You’d gotten that route special. How was it?”
Indeed, how was it? She didn’t know.
She told him the entire saga except for the Ben specifics, of course, and it turned out to be a good way to bring the interaction between her and her ex back to the necessary level of superficial.
And as she recounted her recent weeks’ adventures to Evan at their little two-top, something happened. She realized that Evan had always been more of a cardboard cutout of a person. And she would have become one, too, if she had stayed. No doubt in her mind. With every nod and wink and polite laugh he guffawed in his perfectly pressed collared button-down, there was no question in her mind. Even with the totally awkward come-ons, she felt good. Her chest inflated while the guilt eased out her toes. Closing this chapter the right way had been important, as much for her as it had been for Evan. If not more.
Then she actually started enjoying herself. Evan was a total character. Comical, even. His self-importance, his chauvinistic air and his cheesy advances started to make her laugh rather than cringe. Weird.
Or not. Magical Vallarta—with Ben and even after he’d left—had transformed her. Made her truly go with the flow. Just thinking about the person she’d found there—the more accepting, open-minded, braver Preeya—swelled her heart. Her nausea even faded for the most part. Yeah, her stomach settled and her tensions eased as she ran through the events of the past weeks in her mind as she chose which real-life movie scenes to share with Evan and which precious ones to omit. And God, were there so many—too many—scenes to omit. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering, soul-filling omissions—especially the fake honeymoon, the Marietas, the falls.
The falls.
Oxygen swept in like a gust of warm sea air off the bay. That’s where it happened. The falls. She and Ben, together, as close as two people could be. Behind the magical cascade of purity and pleasure and perfection. That was when the moment overtook them. She stroked her middle—their baby had been created there and then. At those falls.
*
She had to cut it now, get going. Get to finding Ben. She sat up straighter. Get to the point and go, Pree. “I know you said water under the bridge, but still, Evan, I owe you an official apology.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“No, I need to.” She grabbed her purse from the chair-back and held it on her lap in preparation to go. Because, Ben. He took her over—mind, body, heart, soul. “I was selfish and less than honest. I should have shared my true feelings. And you also deserve the best. Better than I…was. And—”
“Wait, Preeya. As far as I’m concerned, this is the better you. You have changed so much.” He grabbed her hand again. “I can see it. Everything about you is lighter, Pree. You are more complete, anchored. You leaving me, taking time for yourself, it seems to be exactly what you needed. What we needed. And now, maybe this is a clean slate for us? Our second chance?”
CHAPTER 39
Drinks? No. That wasn’t how he wanted to celebrate the close of the medical board saga. He needed to relish the memory of his in-laws’ disappointment in crystal-clear lucidity. Standing outside the hospital’s entrance, he took Stanton’s hand and shook it firmly.
“I think that I’ll just…walk. Breathe in the victory along with the fresh Seattle air, Go through campus. Rain check, though.”
Stanton gave him a doubting and disappointed glare, then perked up. “Wait, your place?”
“Yeah, I didn’t tell you, but I’ve been offered an adjunct position with the university. Lecturing on pediatric critical care, an associate I worked with back in Nepal and again in Mexico is on the board…so, I’m here for a while.”
“Wow, man. Terrific! Glad for you. Really, that’s great. And hey, it’s probably time to plant your feet for a while anyway?”
Ben nodded as a plane thundered overhead.
Hmm. Planting his feet—“Yeah, Stan, it’s time”—while wondering where Preeya was flying to then.
“Well, shit man, you deserve it. It’s been a long, tiresome road, but you made it through.”
Ben grinned, knowing Stan meant the hearings, but he had no illusions that the next chunk of time, this clean start—in civilization, alone—would be hard as hell, a next section of long and tiresome. But, he was ready. Or readier, at least. “Listen, man”—Ben clapped Stanton on the back and pulled him for a hug—“thank you for everything.”
“Thank me for real at our celebratory meal. Now that you’ll be in town, no excuses. I’m goddamn holding you to this one. And if I don’t scare you, then my mean, pregnant wife will.”
Ben laughed. “How’s the mama-to-be doin’?”
“Really well.” Stanton knocked his fist on the top of his head. “We’re getting ready, as should you, godfather.”
“Right, yes…of course. Again, I’m honored…and I am…I’m ready.” Strangely, he was. He might not have his own kid this lifetime, but, he’d play a role in Stan’s kid’s, Stacy’s kids, and future patients if he got back into surgical. Ben smiled and reached his hand out again to shake goodbye, ready to get walking, though talking had gotten easier. A lot easier.
“Hey, with this all happening last minute, you know where you’ll stay? You need to crash with us, borrow a vehicle?”
“No, man, but thanks.” Stanton was a really good friend. “Another DWB associate who’s away for the year has a house within biking distance to campus. An awesome Victorian. Too big for me, really, but it’s vacant, clean, close to everything.”
“When things fall into place, man…”
Ben nodded, hiked his messenger bag up on his shoulder, and grinned. “Yeah.” For the most part. “They do.” He swallowed back the persistent knot that hadn’t left him since Vallarta and sighed.
“Okay, so dinner…call me this week. And hey, maybe, we’ll bring Zoe’s sister?”
Ben nearly flinched at the thought, and at the lack of argument to be found. “Uh, yeah, maybe, Stan.” He cleared his throat. “Might be good.” A distraction to clear his head, his heart.
Stanton beamed. “Great, man.”
Ben shifted his stance and dragged his hand over his head, immediately regretting the hope he’d given his friend. “I said maybe, Stan. Maybe.” He sighed into a fast topic change. “Oh, by the way, I’m getting a new phone, new provider tomorrow…so I’ll be calling you from a new number.”
“It’s about damn time you replaced that ancient thing.” Stan laughed.
It was time. To detach from the association of it…and the device had deteriorated to sporadic static on this last mission. “I’m smart enough now for a smart phone, so my nephew’s told me, though I’m scared shitless that I’ll be taken over in my sleep.” Ben snickered. “Am I old, or am I goddamn old?”
Stanton shook his head and nodded. “Fucking old, man. We’re getting fucking old.” The other man slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll wait for your new number, Ben. And again, congrats.”
Ben threw Stan a wave and headed down the sidewalk for his victory stroll through campus.
*
He filled his lungs then let out a long, liberating breath. He was Dr. Benjamin Trainer again with no stigmas or scars on his record to fight or hide from. He raked his hand over his head…to feel the waves he’d let grow while on the vaccine expedition. It had gotten too difficult to maintain the clean shave—and he’d run out of sunscreen. Plus, he’d been ready for the change.
Change. God, how so much had changed…since Preeya had entered then exited his world. And though it still burned like hell, he knew he had become a better man for having known her. Intimately, deeply known her.
*
Officially settling in the Emerald City was ironic, he knew. But to say fuck you to his past, and to find his future, he thought it poetic. Ben wandered the grounds with Portage Bay to his left, the Olympic Range far out in the distance and sighed. Between the Sound, Rainier, and every amazing island, pine forest, mountain trail and rafting river in between, the landscape was priceless—enough to keep his mind off…things.
No, Ben. To allow him to process those things. His past life with Jamie, his start and end with Preeya. With the medical board saga behind him and the university position ahead, he’d look forward. He’d just “go with it”. Thank you, Preeya.
He hit University Avenue and headed up it. The Ave. People-watching to rival the airport. With the hipsters and street guitarists, the backpackers and bikers, and the students fresh out of thrift-store commercials. He smiled—regular American life, Seattle life. Clean air, conveniences. It was…well, interesting to be home, to say the least.
The word home—it lacked meaning anymore. Just a word, a syllable. One single sound that had once carried the universe with it, with Jamie—and weeks ago, with Preeya, it had been nearly redefined. But now it carried nothing. Not yet, at any rate. But hell, he could do this, make a home here.
He sighed and shook off the nagging low. Not today, damn it. Not now.
With a deep breath in, an aroma of rich and bold hit his senses. Sound and scent—fresh coffee beans poured to their heavenly demise into grinders—tugged Ben’s attention up and away. He found himself standing at the door of an authentic Seattle coffeehouse with vibe and taste and warmth. One he’d been to before, so long ago, though. When he’d been young enough to almost blend-in—becoming part of the hip and mellow crowd had never really been a possibility.
Go in, Ben. Enjoy and relax, for God’s sake.
A real Seattle roast sounded ideal.
A steampunk wonderland hit him like a slow-motion tidal wave as soon as he pulled opened the door. Mismatched sofas and side tables and board games strewn every which way, the smooth strumming of an acoustic guitar and, of course, bold espresso scent filled the space. Cool and warm and gritty, all of it. The whir-shhh-whistle of milk steaming became the only disruption of the vibe, yet it played its vital role—punctuation to the sentence. It all made him feel at ease.
He headed up to the coffee counter, smiling at the sippers and chatters and readers, texters, gamers, writers, and thinkers along the way. He snickered at the black nail polish and lip piercings. God, when had he gotten so old? You’ve always been so old. He nodded at the accuracy of his thought as he approached the very chill barista with her thick nest of dreadlocks. “Hi there. Just need a second.” He grinned glancing at the chalk-art menu.
Behind halved lids, her eyes smiled back. “No rush, man.” She grabbed a rag and wiped the counter while humming along to the guitar’s take on a nineties grunge ballad he’d never been into.
Jamie would have liked this.
Preeya would have loved this.
Clearing his throat and his head, he perused the long and wide menu of options above him. How many drinks could a bean or a tea bag produce, anyway? Board one, board two, board three. How’s just a black Americano? A double-shot espresso straight up? Or did he want to venture out, try something new? He scanned and debated. At the fourth and final board overhead he’d decided. He nodded, looking to the large hopper filled with the alluring mountain of dark beans calling his name. Telling him what he really wanted.
“I think I’ll have”—he pulled his bag off his right shoulder for his wallet—“an Americano, please.” He put down a five spot and smiled.
Without a word, the so-cool barista got to making his drink.
As he waited for the drink and his change, he scanned the bar for napkins and the necessary coffee paraphernalia, when he caught something. From the corner of his eye. And did a double take.
Hand in hand with a man at a small table for two in the cozy and private back corner next to that huge hopper of beans, was…Preeya? Adjusting his glasses and squinting to be sure, lungs caught—yes…Preeya.
On-to-the-next Preeya. His might’ve-been Preeya. Preeya Patel.
*
He’d ducked out—w
ithout his drink—before she saw him. And headed home—a storming mile of fury.
What the hell was she doing in Seattle? She was from Northern Cali. Could be a long layover, time-enough for a coffee date? Desire-enough for a fucking coffee date. Done so quickly with Ben? Obviously, because there she’d been, holding hands with a guy who could’ve been in a men’s clothing catalog. Button-up shirt and upright and leaning into her with a look. Fuck.
Stop, Ben. It was good. That it was easy for her to move on. He didn’t want her to be dwelling, lonely, sad. He fucking cared about her, despite her feelings toward him. And those feelings had obviously been only surface droplets. It was just a casual rendezvous for her and nothing more. Just a few-day fling. A deep, intense weeklong tirade of a fling.
That text. The one he’d caught on her phone, from an Ethan or Evan—I can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe Ben had been a fun and temporary escape from a much more serious something? She’d run back to her past, the next-best option. Fuck me. He wanted to punch a concrete wall and create a hole the size of the one he’d allowed to spear through his heart. A hole bigger than the overhead crater of the hidden beach at his Marietas. God, so much bigger. Just…fuck me.
He blew hot air from his flaring nostrils, just a bull, ready to…to…do not a goddamn thing. Because she wasn’t his. Never had been.
And he’d gone off, back to his old routine, escaping to the jungles, to help faceless people while running from his own demons. Fleeing, hiding.
Not fighting.
Fuck.
With a death grip on his handlebars, he looked up to the clear, strangely cloudless Seattle sky. No, this is right. This is best. A clean, stinging pain, a fast rip of the bandage. Officially. She couldn’t even tempt him. She was taken, off limits.
And he’d move on, too. Jamie had made him promise to live after her, and live fully. So he’d find someone. Or someone would find him.
Stan’s sister-in-law…? His stomach cramped up. From the uphill ride.
