by Mara White
Seminar on Afghanistan: Obstetrics, Midwifery, and International Aid
In the photo, Salt had her hair pulled back in a tight bun, pearl studs in her ears, and a white turtleneck sweater, a professional look with the hint of a smile playing upon her lips. Her picture screamed purebred, elite, la crème de la crème. Maybe when Salt finally sobered up from his dick, she realized just how different they really were.
“Which girl?” Roland asked, turning around the paper.
Tiago didn’t know the woman with dark curly hair whose picture appeared on the other half of the page.
“Salana Livingston, MD,” he said. He suddenly felt like he did as a child when the teacher called you out in front of the room. When you didn’t know the answer and your stomach sort of bottomed out from both fear and embarrassment.
“Well, you better go. You got tickets?”
“I think you can get in with hospital ID. I couldn’t find any tickets for sale, I already checked.”
“Wear your security uniform. They’ll let you stand if there’s room.” Roland slapped him on the back, probably harder than he’d meant to, as he stood up to go unlock the doors for the morning arrivals. Maybe they felt sorry for Tiago, or maybe they thought he was delusional. Either way they were supportive, and that was all he needed right now.
People were lined up to see Salt and the other woman speak. Some of them were in scrubs, some in suits, some casually dressed and sporting backpacks like they were med students. Tiago was glad he’d taken Roland’s advice and worn his uniform. Watching her from the audience during a lecture wasn’t how he’d pictured their homecoming. But fucking Eric, her parents, and all the rest of them had gotten him so messed up with guilt about ruining not only Salana’s life but her entire career as well that they had him feeling guilty for coming, like he could taint her success just by watching from the sidelines.
But what about his success? He hadn’t worked hard for nothing. His uniform was clean and his job was legit and respectable. With his hours logged volunteering, Tiago was well on his way to becoming someone Salt could be proud of. Even if she didn’t want to be with him, he was glad he could show her he’d done it, pulled himself up out of the quicksand and beat the odds. He planned on being the positive statistic in the slim slice of the pie chart. He’d worked the program so hard between his two hands the paper was fuzzy with wear and sweat. The two ladies in front of him attempted to engage him in small talk.
“This should be an interesting forum. Did you see the last one on obesity and diabetes?”
“Naw, this is my first.” Tiago managed to speak after swallowing; his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down drew their attention to the tattoos that covered his neck. They glanced at his hands, then at each other, probably wondering if he was safe to be talking to.
“I work in midtown. Hard to get up here for talks in the middle of the day,” he said to put them at ease. They nodded and turned back around, satisfied that he wasn’t a gangbanger dressed in a costume. Funny thing was, some days that’s exactly what he felt like. Impostor syndrome was real and Tiago’s was hard to shake. But he knew he’d put in the hours and the sweat to stand where he now stood.
The security officers at the door to the auditorium briefly checked the contents of bags with a flashlight and people’s hospital IDs. Tiago had found out how to buy a ticket and it was in his breast pocket burning a little hole over his heart. Would Salana only seek him out when the going got tough? When she couldn’t handle the pressures of the highbrow world, would she come crawling back his way? Or had she dusted her hands from the real and fledgling beauty that had passed between them? Would he need to commit it to memory now because that’s where it belonged? In the reserves of his heart and not in the forefront?
He made his way to a seat in the middle of the packed house. He noticed a lot of the audience had notebooks or iPads like they were going to take notes. Maybe flowers would have been a nice gesture; he felt empty-handed. He sat and noticed a throng of suits vigorously shaking hands front and center. Recognized Eric’s slicked back hair and smug grin. Fuck.
Eric was with Salt’s parents, who both seemed to beam with pride while nodding and shaking hands with other doctors. His questions about the unanswered letters had a pretty obvious answer. They’d gotten back together. Of course they had; it all made so much sense now. Eric might have even gone to see her in Afghanistan; for all Tiago knew, he oversaw the program. Eric tucked Salt’s mother’s arm right under his. He walked her to her seat just like you’d walk your mother-in-law. Why’d he been so fucking naive? He was a side-piece. His blood boiled and his stomach felt full of the flapping bats again.
But then the murmuring slowed and the lights dimmed so he focused his attention on the podium with the soft spotlight and remembered the first day he’d met Salana: her fierceness, her focus, her conviction to do what others dismissed as dangerous.
He spent the next two hours enraptured by her presentation. Whereas he thought he’d be distracted by their relationship troubles or just seeing her again, he was instead transported through a harrowing and noble journey, which was told with such detail and accompanied by incredible photographs he nearly felt like he’d been there himself.
Oh my God, she’s such a badass.
Fireworks of pride detonated in his chest. As if he could fall head-over-heels in love with the person he was already madly in love with. Salana did this to him—reduced him to rubble, turned him into a pile of exuberant admiration and unconditional love.
“Holy shit, Salt,” he whispered to himself more than once. When she told the story of the pregnant woman they’d lost and the shock and helplessness she’d experienced, Tiago was moved to near tears. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand as Salana’s voice cracked and she struggled to keep her composure. All he could think about was the gentle care they’d received when Salt was pregnant and they needed medical help. He teared up with grief and his eyes watered with relief, but mostly he cried with the honor of knowing her. The woman up there on stage had more gumption than any of those who had told her ‘no.’ And Tiago knew that no matter where they went from here, if they were together or not, he’d never shut down her dreams, because she was the only person in the world who’d ever cared enough to listen to his and believe that he could actually make them come true. He was a better person because of the trust and faith she’d placed in him. She was a remarkable woman. A fact that the depths of his heart always knew.
There were grants for a book and possible funding for another visit, resounding applause from the audience and a standing ovation. The young punk in him who felt overwhelmingly out of place wanted to high-tail it to the exit. The man in him wanted to stand up and shout, pound his chest, watch Salana leap off the stage and run into his waiting embrace. He honestly had no idea what would happen. Eric had seen him and given him the death-glare stank-eye get-the-fuck-outta-here look already. He was encroaching on Eric’s territory, and the man did have him by the balls. He owed him one, so to speak, and Tiago knew how most deals worked. He’d pay Eric back someday for taking pity and going easy on him, but payment would not come, over his dead body, ever, in the form of backing away from the woman who made his heart roar.
He lined up with the rest of them along the ramp down to the front of the stage. Most people wanted to shake her hand, commend her on her service, compliment her research and her bravery. Tiago, however, wanted to look her in the eye. Dare her to deny the connection she felt was stronger than any other force in her life. He wanted to hug her and thank God himself that she was alive. He wanted to tell her just how much she made him feel, in front of everyone, regardless of who they were. He wanted her to bask in the pride he felt for her bravery and her hard work. He wanted to touch her skin, kiss her lips, love her body until he couldn’t anymore. Fuck the hell out of Salt until her body sang from his worship.
“Dr. Livingston and Dr. Moore will be doing a live Q and A on the interactive website. We encourage e
veryone to leave comments and your questions will be answered by one of the doctors or one of the conference interns. Thank you so much for coming.”
They were wrapping up. A woman with a clipboard was ushering them out through an exit by the stage. Tiago was at least twenty-five people back in line. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from causing a scene. It appeared that Eric had executive privileges. He hung back by Salana’s side along with her parents. He willed her to look up, to make eye contact with him and deny him. But Salana had always been stubborn and she wouldn’t break eye contact with the last few audience members whose hands she was enthusiastically shaking.
He had no choice but to turn when the line was directed back and the people who were in front of him, now behind him, began to grumble. Tiago marched back up the ramp with the rest of the plebeians. The others seemed disappointed too. Yeah, well try being in love with her, he felt like telling them. When they exited the auditorium into the hallway, Tiago doubled back instead of following the others. He had a security officer’s uniform on, why not see if there was a stage door exit or another chance he could forge of possibly running into her? She’d be flanked by the Livingstons and Eric, but at this point he had nothing to lose.
Go all in. Go get the girl you love.
Plenty of sensible options of what to say ran through his head as he ran down the hall. He could simply congratulate her and tell her what he was up to. Maybe the letters never arrived and she had no idea what had happened to him.
A hospital-employed security guard raised a hand at him in confusion, whether to stop him or salute, Tiago wasn’t sure. He waved back, deciding the latter was the safer conclusion.
“Doors are locked from the inside,” the man told him. Tiago glanced down the hall at a row of push-handle doors that served as the lower level exit at the base of the stage. He heard Salana’s voice.
“No, thank you. I’m so glad you came.” They were all speaking when they came through the doors. Salana was gripping what looked like files and Eric was carrying her purse. It wasn’t just the moderator from the lecture who was accompanying them, there were other colleagues and other doctors. Tiago didn’t recognize any of them. But why would he, when Salt had always kept that part of her life separate. Even when they were together, it wasn’t like they hung out with her friends…
“Salt!”
Well, he’d done it. There was no turning back again.
She looked up and everyone stopped talking. The moderator gave him a dirty look like she specifically remembered asking him to turn around, eyeing his tattoos like confirmations of his inadequacies.
“I stood in line, but they wasn’t letting me through. You know how I like to break the rules.” He smiled at her then because all of those same hormones that always flooded his body when she was around came rushing through. He wasn’t intimidated. The rest of the world could fuck off. This was about him and Salt, not what other people thought of them.
Her face looked shocked; she hadn’t expected him. She’d also been through a lot in the last year, the dark circles under her eyes and her body posture told him. He knew how to make her feel better, how to restore her sense of safety. He knew how to love her if she’d just let go and let him.
“Santiago,” she said. He watched her face go through so many different emotions. From shame, to relief, to a soul-deep recognition. Salana couldn’t hide the love in her eyes when she looked at him. He saw it clearly and didn’t understand why she was so dead set on refusing it.
She separated from the group, walked over to him with her heels clacking on the floor. She grasped his forearm and made direct eye contact; everyone else stopped and stared at them.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered to him, her eyes pleading.
“You been gone too long,” was all he could say. He opened his arms and offered her the refuge of his heart. Salana looked momentarily conflicted and then she fell into them just like she’d always done. “Welcome home,” Tiago whispered into the veil of her hair. He watched her father’s furious eyes over the top of her head. “Jesus Christ, baby, I missed you so bad.”
Chapter 23
Salana
No matter how heartfelt or sincere their reunion had been, she refused to run back to Santiago and resume what they’d started before she left. He wasn’t good for her and it was as simple as that. Her trip had if anything solidified that reality in her head. Cultural differences were real and she couldn’t change who he was. Just because they had great sex didn’t mean they could cohabitate or make good partners in life.
The other half of the story, the one she wouldn’t so readily admit, was that if she were going to be with Tiago she wanted to be fully committed. But in her heart of hearts, Salana knew that she would continue leaving to pursue her passion. Underneath the rough exterior, Santiago was a beautiful wounded boy who had been repeatedly abandoned. Commitment to him would also mean constant abandonment with her work, and Salana didn’t know if she had the courage to tear open that painful wound every time she went abroad. Worse, what if something happened to her on one of those missions? She’d become another loved one who let him down, who stole a piece of his heart with their leaving him.
Some days she felt like she didn’t truly deserve him.
Salana refused to become another person to disappear on him, so in her mind, ending things before they progressed was the right answer. But she couldn’t have possibly prepared for how much it devastated her. Her entire body hurt; she dragged it around like a burden.
“It’s the ER and accumulated exhaustion,” her mother said. She chugged Gatorade straight from a bottle in the refrigerator after her run. She could feel her mother’s disapproval even though she held it back.
It’s heartache, Salana thought. My body hates me for depriving it of what it needs and wants.
Staying with her parents out of necessity had involuntarily regressed her back to childhood; she fought with them daily. Back in rotation back in the ER at Columbia Presbyterian meant more hours commuting on the train than she’d ever imagined. But she wasn’t complaining. Safety, abundant food, freedom, all of those things meant legions to her after the scarcity she’d come to know abroad. She sacked out on the train after every shift and almost always missed her stop.
“Ma’am, wake up. Excuse me, this is where you get off.” The conductor was shaking her. She was drooling; the seam of the vinyl seat was scarred across her cheek and forehead. Her car was cold and all alone in the parking lot once she got to it. A few other third shift workers peeled out of the parking lot. She yawned and hit up a fast food drive through for coffee. Hopefully she could make it to her bedroom before her parents made it to the kitchen this morning. She didn’t want to hear it. Her dad wanted her to commit—to Eric, to a sustainable practice, urged her to give up her research. They wanted her married and pregnant and promising never to leave the country. Salana wanted peace and then she wanted to find another mission and take on the world again.
Her phone pinged and she grabbed it, thinking it might be Eric. It was Tiago’s number that showed and she didn’t like the spectacular gallop her heart performed at just seeing his name appear. Maybe she would never get over him.
He’d sent a picture of himself smiling surrounded by kids. His grin was pure elation, as were those of the kids. It looked like they were in a gym, maybe an after-school program. She quickly saved the photo and wondered what to write back to him.
“I got the job, Salt. They made me the director. Thank you.”
Why was he thanking her? For some reason it made the tears flow. She wiped them away diligently as she pulled into her parent’s gated driveway. Running it off might work. So might crawling into bed and touching herself into oblivion like she often did when she was overcome with thoughts of him.
“Don’t thank me. That was all your hard work and never giving up,” she texted back to him. Swaddled in her favorite blanket nestled in her childhood bed, Salana tried to ignore the figh
t between her heart and her head.
“I don’t give up easy,” he texted.
God, the heartbreak. She was miserable. Salana didn’t know why she was rejecting Tiago, why she was constantly pulling away. He’d changed—that much was obvious—and he’d done it for her. He was noble, wanted to help people just like she did, and she believed the transformation he’d undergone to achieve that was legions harder than whatever she herself had been confronted with. Yet she’d spent unreckonable hours studying in medical school, mind set on what she wanted to do. She’d refused to compromise that part of herself for Eric, so why should she do so for any man? The logic seemed reasonable, but the reality was torture.
In some ways, her time spent in Kabul had made her feel angry toward all men. For their patriarchy, for their privilege, for their ability to impregnate women and then walk away with clean hands.
“We still on for dinner this Thursday?”
Eric. She stared at her phone with disdain. Her father’s doing.
“You need to get out, get back into the swing of things. You’re in culture shock and the only way to get rid of it is to engage in the here and now,” her father had told her.
“Honey, Eric is still so invested. It breaks my heart the way he looks at you,” her mother told her. They meant well. They loved her. But Eric didn’t—that much she was sure of.
Because what was love if not believing in someone’s dreams with them? Tiago had readily sacrificed their relationship to allow Salana to follow her dreams. He never once questioned her judgment, but rather steered her in the direction of her passion and kissed her goodbye without an ounce of resentment, even when it meant he might never see her again, or that when he did their two worlds might not meet up in the same way.
