by Hawk, Maya
Sutton.
He’s making a beeline for the restroom area, but he stops short when he sees me. His eyes shine, and his mouth curls just enough for me to see the white of his straight smile.
I cup my hand over my eyes and duck down, as if I could possibly make myself invisible by not making eye contact with him.
“Lauryn,” he calls out.
“Hey,” I smile and fight the burn in my cheeks. My mouth goes dry and my heart strums hard. “Sutton, you remember I told you about James, right?”
James twists in his seat, his normally calm expression hardening in an instant.
“James this is Sutton – Dr. Pierce – I’ll be working closely with him during the launch of Arovag.” I expect them to shake hands, and I wait, only they stand there like two bulls locking horns and flaring their nostrils. I’ve never seen this side of James before.
The clinking of dishes and cutlery and the drone of hundreds of lunchtime conversations are all I hear. I want someone to say something. Anything.
“James,” Sutton says through gritted teeth.
“Sutton.” James sits up straight, pulling his shoulders back as he stares down his nose from his perch on the high-rise chair.
“You two know each other or something?” I laugh. I laugh because it’s the most insane assumption in the entire world.
Sutton’s eyes drift into mine and then back to James’. “We do. We went to college together. Undergrad. Dartmouth.”
“Wait…what?” I’m confused.
“Roommates actually,” Sutton said. “Until James dropped out of the pre-med program and had to move to another building.”
“I never knew you were pre-med,” I say directly to James. “You told me you were always Marketing.”
“Does it matter?” James spits his words at me. He’s never done that before. Something about Sutton has tripped his trigger. He turns back to Sutton. “How do you know Lauryn?”
“She’s my stepsister,” he says. “Family.” He emphasizes the word family, as if it carries more weight than it does. “But we go back a long time. I’ve known her long before she was a metal-mouth, pimple-faced teenager with string-bean legs.”
“Thanks, Sutton.” I shake my head and my eyes dart down. They’re still squaring off like a couple of stags competing for a doe. The whole thing is ridiculous.
Are they fighting over me?
“Aren’t you supposed to be working this weekend?” I ask. I sense James’ stare, and I’m sure he’s wondering how I know Sut’s work schedule.
“Just finished at the gym. Grabbing lunch now and going to hit the showers. Catch a nap and then I’m heading in tonight for a 24 hour shift.”
“If you don’t mind, Sutton, I’m trying to enjoy lunch with my girlfriend,” James says. His voice is just a hair deeper than normal. For whatever reason, he wants Sutton gone from our space now.
“See you Monday, Lauryn,” Sutton says, shooting me a wink and a smile and heading off.
“You never told me your stepbrother was Sutton Pierce.”
“I never told you my stepbrother’s name.” My brows scrunch. “I didn’t think I needed to. I told you, we weren’t in each other’s lives.”
James’ shoulders are tight. I’ve never seen him so tense before.
“If you’re threatened by that, you’re being absolutely ridiculous. He’s my stepbrother.”
He lightens a bit, his shoulders falling as he adjusts in his seat.
Seeing James become jealous gives me an odd satisfaction. At least, I think he was jealous. “Did you two have a falling out back in college?”
“Something like that.”
My balloon is burst by three little words. It was never about me. It was about their history. James, once again, didn’t act threatened to lose me. The passion in his eyes was timeworn and not directed at me. “What happened?”
“It’s in the past, Laur.”
Our server appears out of thin air with a cheery smile on her face and a swift apology. We order. We eat. We pay. We don’t speak another word.
We walk home in silence, left alone with our own thoughts. My time with James is gray scale: black and white and every color in between. It seems as if every time Sutton comes into the picture, he injects bursts of Technicolor.
I slip my hand into James’, needing to know we’re still okay. He gives it a nice, simple, solitary squeeze that tells me his quietude is not because of me. “You okay with me working with Sutton?”
“It’s not like I have a say in the matter,” he says, shuffling along. “I’m just surprised you’re okay with it.”
Yeah, you and me both.
“Just doing my job. Trying to stay professional,” I say, matching my stride with his. “It’s just work, and it’s just temporary. Once this drug is launched, I can focus on moving back to New York.”
“Can’t wait, babe.” His words land unconvincingly, perhaps thanks to their monotone delivery. It’s as if his mind is somewhere else.
I nudge into his arm to break his train of thought. “Want me to take one of those pills tonight?”
He glances down at me as if he’s shocked. I arch an eyebrow and bite my lip. Maybe if I pretend hard enough that his jealousy was because he was afraid to lose me, it might serve as a bit of fuel for the dying fire in my core.
“It’s alright, Laur,” he says. “Not tonight.”
“Y-you never turn me down.” I’m always the one who does the turning-down of sex. It’s how it’s always been.
“Don’t read into it.” He squeezes my hand and offers a smile before facing ahead. My apartment is a block away, and now I have to walk home holding the hand of my boyfriend who doesn’t feel like fucking me tonight.
I’m on some alien planet in some alternate universe where up is down and left is right. That’s the only explanation. That or this is all some weird, freaky dream where nothing makes sense and no one is who he says he is.
I search his face for a hint of something I can read, but all I see is his RCF – resting calm face. I can’t read him at all, but I know something’s up. He saw Sutton and now he’s so preoccupied with something from his past that he doesn’t even feel like having sex with me. How can his face be so deceiving?
A chill runs through me, as if the bond we’ve had has just been partially severed. I’m beginning to realize I don’t know James the way I thought I did. And maybe all those times I thought he was so calm, he was hiding how he really felt?
I loosen my fingers from his and slip them into my purse, pretending to search for my cherry Chapstick. I need a reason to let go of James’ hand. It suddenly doesn’t feel the way it used to.
SEVEN – SUTTON
“How do I look?” I pop the collar of my white lab coat as Lauryn unloads brochures, pamphlets, and logo’d pens and stacks them neatly along the table at the convention center that Monday morning. “Say it, Lauryn. I look like a sexy doctor.”
She pauses for a moment, refusing to look anywhere other than into my eyes, and chokes on her spit. “Get over yourself.”
Oh, how I’ve missed messing with her. “You need some help?”
She shakes her head, grabbing the last of the brochures and slamming them on the table. “I’m good now. Fifteen minutes ago, I would’ve said yes.”
“I’ll get here earlier next time.”
The conference center’s main doors fling open and staff members secure them as throngs of lab coat and scrub wearing medical professionals stampede into the space. Everyone loves an excuse to leave their post, and everyone loves free stuff. Drug reps are notorious for giving out gobs and gobs of free stuff. Oh, and there’s a free lunch catered by one of the top Cuban restaurants in town that books out for weeks at a time. That must be the draw.
“So basically, we just stand here and wait for people to come up and ask us about Arovag,” she explains. She stands back, her arms folded across her lower belly.
“You should uncross your arms,” I say. “Makes yo
u appear more inviting.”
Lauryn shoots daggers my way as her arms fall to her side. “I know what I’m doing, Sutton.”
A lovely Latina doctor in a long white coat and candy apple red heels floats up to our table. Her shiny lips curl into a seductive smile as her dark eyes lock into mine. She’s a woman on a mission, like many before her. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I say, squinting to read her name take. “Dr. Ortega.”
“Yes,” she says, tracing her finger along the dip of tanned skin that peeks through her jacket. “And you are?”
“Dr. Pierce,” I say. “And this is my esteemed colleague, Lauryn Hudson. Lauryn here-”
“Dr. Pierce,” she says, rolling the ‘r’. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard of you. You’re a hospitalist who refuses to work at a clinic.” She says it as if she’s amused, as if I’m the first OB-GYN in the history of the world to refuse to work in a clinic setting. “I believe my boss tried to get you to come to Women’s Health Group. We offered you a pretty penny.”
“It’s not about money, Dr. Ortega.” I offer a polite smile and lift a brochure, spreading it wide and pointing to the words. “So this is a great new drug for older women suffering from a minimized libido. They can be pre or post menopausal, and the drug is even approved for women as young as twenty-five.”
She doesn’t seem interested in the drug. “Would you consider coming to the clinic for a private luncheon? Perhaps you can give our staff a lecture on the benefits of this new…drug?”
I turn to Lauryn who’s standing slack-jawed, trying to fight a smile, and watching the entire exchange. If she could talk, I’m sure she’d be saying, “Who’s the amateur now?”
My mind instantly imagines copious scenarios of Lauryn being hit on by doctors during her visits, and a twinge of jealousy heats my body.
“Lauryn here is the representative for Arovag.” I grab her by the crook of her elbow and drag her in closer. Dr. Ortega still won’t pay attention to her. She only has eyes for me.
“Do you have a card, Dr. Pierce?” Dr. Ortega asks. She rubs her lips together and smiles, tilting her head to the side. I think she’s trying to flirt with me. I glance over her shoulder where a line of people begins to form, mostly women, some looking much too young to be doctors. There are nurses, physician’s assistants, and nurse practitioners here. The booth across from us, which is touting estrogen patches and progesterone therapy, is empty. The booths flanking our sides are also home to bored-looking drug reps waiting for interested patrons. The party is clearly at our booth.
“Hi.” I watch Lauryn attempt to talk to the second-in-line woman. “Can I help you? Were you interested in Arovag?” Lauryn lifts up a pen covered in the teal and hot pink logo and hands it to the lady. She takes the pen, but she’s still watching me. Lauryn leans into me, placing her palm on my shoulder and leaning into my ear. “Please tell me you’re not wearing some kind of pheromone cologne today.”
I shake my head.
“This is ridiculous,” she mutters out of the corner of her full mouth. “It’s like a bunch of goddamned feral alley cats in heat.”
“Nice meeting you, Dr. Pierce,” I say, handing her my card. Only it’s not my card, it’s a card to the hospital with our general numbers printed on the back. She doesn’t notice. She palms the card and presses it against her chest, staggering away backward as if the sight of me makes her drunk with lust. “Next.”
A young nurse in pale pink scrubs walks up, staring up at me with a goofy grin on her face as her fingers fidget with her long, brown hair. “So, what’s this new drug?”
Lauryn rolls her eyes and steps back, and I catch her checking her watch. I want to tell her this thing ends in four hours. It’ll be over soon. I want to tell her the attention gets old. I want to tell her that a line of women all waiting to talk to me means absolutely nothing to me when the one I want is sitting right beside me wanting nothing to do with me.
The young nurse saunters away with a stack of brochures and swag, and I welcome the next patron.
Lather.
Rinse.
Repeat.
I never should’ve signed up for this gig, but when the lady at the pharmaceutical company told me whom I’d be working with, I agreed without so much as a single stipulation. I’d have done it for free had she asked.
The convention dies down in time for lunch, and Lauryn boxes up her things as if she has a plane to catch.
“Let me help you,” I say, handing her handfuls of what little swag remains.
“I got it.”
“Let me carry this stuff to your car,” I offer.
She zips the rollaway suitcase and pulls up on the handle. “No need.”
“Can I walk you to your car?” I’m getting nowhere with her.
She turns to face me. “Why?”
“Because we barely had a chance to talk all morning.” That’s one excuse of many, but I’ve got plenty more if she continues to play difficult.
“We’re not here to talk, Sutton. This is work. We’re working together,” she reminds me. She wheels her suitcase out and around our table and heads to the exit, her heels clicking on the tile in quick little ticks. I follow her, taking wide strides until I catch up.
“Let’s get lunch. My treat.” I grab the handle of the rollaway from her hand, our fingertips brushing, and pull it behind me. “You’ve got to be hungry. We’ve been standing around for the last four hours sipping bottled water. I mean, it was loud in there, but I swear I heard your stomach growling.”
“It’s probably not a good idea.”
At least she isn’t saying no. There’s hope.
“Do I need to run it by James real quick? Get his approval?” I snicker. It’ll be a cold day in hell before James approves of me hanging out with his girlfriend. But it’ll be an even colder day in hell when I give a shit about anything James says, thinks, feels, or does.
Lauryn snaps toward me, her lips curled in disgust. “Leave James out of this.”
I toss a hand up to apologize, but I’m not really sorry.
“What happened with you two anyway?” Her tone has taken a softer pitch, a sure sign she wants something, and in this case, it’s information she wants. I’ll gladly give it to her, but I’ll have to feed it to her in bite-sized pieces because if I dump it all on her at once, she’ll write me off as a jealous asshole touting conspiracy theories in an attempt to destroy her happiness.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I slip a hand in my pocket and slap a smug smile on my face. Having the upper hand with Lauryn feels good for a change.
“Yeah. I would like to know.” She shrugs her shoulders. “He won’t tell me a damn thing, but I know something went down with you two. I tried asking him last-”
Lauryn screams. The scrape of gravel against flesh mixes with the symphony of traffic across the street. In an instant she’s out of my reach and lying on the ground grabbing her ankle.
“Did you just fall?” I try not to laugh, but I’m only laughing because I know she’s okay.
She clutches her right ankle, her face writhing and twisted. I release the rollaway bag and crouch down. “This hurt? How about here?”
She nods, but she isn’t crying. She’s tough, and I know it pains her in ways that are more than physical to look weak and vulnerable for a small sliver of her life.
“Here,” I grab beneath her shoulders and hoist her up. “Can you walk on it? How’s it feel to put pressure on it?”
She takes one hobbled step and lets out a tiny yelp before lifting up her foot and balancing on her good leg. I hoist her up on the trunk of someone’s white Audi and take her ankle in my hands once more. It’s swelling by the second. I touch it with tenderness, but I don’t think it’s broken.
“It’s twisted that’s all,” I say. “How’d you fall anyway?”
She rolls her eyes and looks away, as if she’s ashamed. “I saw one of those lizard things.” Her head hangs, and her wild curls fall in her face.
“An
anole?”
“Yeah, a lizard,” she says, puffing hair from her eyes with a single breath. “He climbed across my shoe. I thought he was going to climb up my ankle.”
“Those things can’t hurt you, Lauryn.” I brush the hair from her face, though she still won’t look at me. Across the parking lot is a Seven Eleven. “You need to ice this. Wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I don’t give her time to protest. I run across the parking lot and return with ice chunks in a Big Gulp cup and a box of sandwich baggies. I make her an ice pack and hold it against her swelling ankle.
“It’s bigger now than it was five minutes ago,” I say, pressing into her puffy flesh. “Still hurt?”
“Like a motherfucker.”
“I’m taking you home,” I declare. “You’re staying off this thing the rest of the day. Doctor’s orders.”
“I’ll be fine.” She slides off the trunk of the Audi and pretends not to wince when she lands. Slow, hobbled steps lead her to where her car is parked a few cars down, though I follow her the entire time with my hand on her low back.
“I’m driving you home.”
“No,” she grits.
“You can’t drive with a swollen right ankle.” I take the keys from her clutches and unlock her car, opening the passenger door and lifting my brows. “Get in.”
Lauryn stares at me like she wants to sock me and then drags herself inside the car one painfully slow inch at a time. I shut the door behind her and head around, throwing her bag in the back before jumping in.
“Where do you live?” I start up the car, the black leather melting the thin fabric of my blue scrubs. Cranking the AC, I turn to her and wait for her to speak up. She seems annoyed that I’ve taken over, and looks at me as if I’m invading her personal space. She hits a button on her NAV and a voice begins directing us to Mosby street, which is two blocks north of my place. “Just relax, Lauryn. You’re in good hands. I’ll take care of you.”
EIGHT – LAURYN
11 years ago – senior year, fall semester
