by Tracy Ewens
“That’s not quite how it went. We came to an agreement that I was going to keep Mase.”
“Damn it, bro. You need to quit being so amenable.”
“Amenable?”
“Like that? Picked it up watching Jeopardy. It’s another word for agreeable or doormat in your case. I like the way it sounds.”
“Older. Brother. You don’t get to call me a doormat.”
“If you admit it sucks that your college girlfriend left you with your newborn son then you can get on with it. Move forward and love someone else all the way. If you can’t do that, then you’re going to be a sad man who tries to Skype his kid in college.”
“That seems extreme.”
Cade raised his eyebrows. “I’m stating the facts. Let it go, man. Like the song in that snow movie.” His brother stood and started singing a song Boyd had heard because it was everywhere since the movie came out. When he twirled, Boyd laughed.
“Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my brother who barely knows how to use a napkin?”
Ella fell asleep with the afternoon sun on her face and woke to the tinkering of her wind chime. It seemed like she’d closed her puffy eyes mere minutes ago, but looking up at the swaying branches of the tree overhead, she realized she must have been sleeping for at least an hour.
She loved naps. When she was little, she craved the quiet and the cool sheets on her face in the summer or the warm blanket during the colder months. As she grew older, sleeping turned into a coping mechanism. When she was frustrated or sad, she napped. It felt like a reboot. Everything, no matter how awful, seemed to improve after a nap. It was interesting that she hit a point in her life after medical school when she rarely rested. She should figure out what that meant, the symbolism of it all, but she was tired of thinking. Tired of trying to figure out why she did the things she did.
Showering, Ella got ready for the next weaving class with Vienna. They had reached the next level now and it was time to make a place mat. She dabbed eye cream on, hoping to look less like a woman who cried over a man. How cliché, she thought and was about to come down too hard on herself one more time when she realized everything had changed from two years ago. She wasn’t running this time. She no longer had a cardboard life she could fold on the dotted line and run away from.
This time she had a home, friends, and a job she was good at. She would attempt to dangle from silk again next Tuesday, and today, before working a double, she was going to let Sistine teach her how to make a place mat. She was human now, heart fully melted. There was no turning back, and she didn’t want to anymore. She liked hugging and connection. She loved Boyd and Mason more than her heart could take, but if Boyd wasn’t capable of giving her his whole heart, she would move on.
Heartbreak was far from the end of the line this time around. Ella’s life would never again revolve around half of anything. She was simply too full of life for that now.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Boyd handed Mason the last four quarters in his pocket and finished his beer. Claire sat with her legs crossed and her dark skirt in place. Boyd had not been able to sleep. He didn’t know how to fix things, wasn’t even sure what exactly went wrong. Claire tapped away on her phone and met his eyes. He rarely thought about the past these days, but now that she was sitting across from him, Boyd found he was curious. Maybe Cade was right and the way to Ella was moving through his past.
“Mason asked me if you missed out by not being with me.”
“What did you tell him?” she asked.
“Standard answer.”
“We love each other, but we’re not in love with each other,” they both said in concert. Boyd’s chest hurt, not for what they could have had because the older they got, the clearer it became that he and Claire were not meant for one another. He hurt for Mason, for what he sometimes felt was selfishness on their part.
“What are you doing, Boyd?” She huffed and set her phone on the table.
“Oh, hell. What did Mase say?”
“That you love Ella and that she loves you. She loves him too.”
“He has no way of knowing that.”
“Are you kidding? He’s smarter than both of us put together.”
Boyd said nothing.
“Do you ever notice that martyrs are never happy?”
“I’m not a martyr.”
“Oh but you are. You’ve got this whole single-dad thing going on. I’m grateful you’re raising our son, you know that, but let’s not overdo this, okay? You love that woman. I know you well enough to state that as a fact with or without our son’s input. You have never looked at anyone that way, including me.”
“Claire, I’m not going to sit here with you and discuss my private life.”
“Sure you are.” She sipped her beer. “I’m the only person you can talk to who isn’t invested.”
“How can you say that? Treat it like an analysis?”
“We all have our strengths.” She snickered. “I may not be a great mom, but I know how to assess a major mess. Your problem is you don’t like change. Never have.”
“You’re way off. Raising a kid is all about change, being adaptable.”
“When they’re little, absolutely, but you’re struggling now. Now that you can’t have it all your way.”
“Not true.”
“True. That’s why you make beer.”
“Oh, this should be good. Tell me, Claire, why do I make beer?”
“Because you can control all the ingredients. You go to your happy place, growl at anyone who comes near you, and you create what you want.”
He had no words. How was it that he saw this woman twice a year and she was suddenly qualified to be his shrink?
“Mason was your biggest change to date. You had a baby with a woman who left you and her son.”
“I never blame you for that.”
“I’m not saying you do. You are the best person to raise him, but he’s getting older. Unless you want to make a complete ass out of yourself, you need to find a life outside of his calendar and blossoming interest in girls.”
“I have a life. I’m fine.”
“Be more than fine, Boyd. Let the doctor love you. You deserve to be loved.” She pushed the rest of her beer aside as if remembering she needed to leave. After applying her lipstick using a small mirror she pulled from her purse, she wiped some of it off with the napkin.
The pinball machine dinged from the back room and Boyd could barely make out the muffle of other people as he stared silently at a woman he’d known since college.
“By the way, you need to change your answer the next time our son asks you that question.”
“What?”
“The answer is yes. Yes, I did miss out by not being with you. I think it hurt and changed you and for that, I am so sorry. That’s mine. I have to live with the fact that I chose me over you, over both of you. I’m working on making peace with that, but in the meantime, be more than fine, Boyd. You are…” Her eyes teared up and Boyd instinctively reached for her, the mother of his son. “Don’t.” She held up her hands. “Listen to me because I’ll never say this again. You are an exquisite man, a truly good human being. I will be forever grateful to you for loving our son. So yes, Boyd. I did miss out. Don’t you do the same. Go love that woman for crying out loud. Accept the craziness that might bring. Haven’t you spent enough time keeping the peace?”
Boyd swallowed a lump in his throat as feelings he didn’t even know he had flooded to the surface.
“There’s so much of you in him.”
The tears spilled down her cheeks and she nodded, quickly brushing them away. “I have a flight to catch.”
He helped her with her coat and kissed her softly on her forehead. She wrapped her arms around him.
“Be kind,” she said.
His chest tightened and he understood why he shut some things out. Not because Claire broke his heart, but because they’d shared so much, been through so much. The
fact that nothing other than Mason worked out, didn’t mean there wasn’t history and the pain and sweat of trying.
“Be strong,” he said.
She pulled away and quickly wiped her eyes. “Do you still say that with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Does he know it used to be our thing?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t speak.
She grinned, the past and the ache right there on the edges. “Keep it that way. Keep it alive with him.”
By the time Boyd exhaled, she got into a taxi and was gone.
Chapter Thirty
Summer was just getting started and Boyd was back in the emergency room. This time he was sitting across from his son. Arms resting on his knees and hands to his temples, Boyd took a deep breath. He had to have known the teenage years were going to be more challenging than playing with Legos, hadn’t he? Looking up at Mason’s bloody nose, he tried to remember what it was like to be thirteen. Lately it seemed so long ago. When had he become the frustrated dad on the other end of the aisle? Boyd scrambled for something to say. Mason hung his head, ice pack on the top of his nose.
“I think you’re supposed to hold your head back,” Boyd said.
Mason grunted. “Google said forward. Keeps me from choking on the blood,” he mumbled through the muffle of cloth and what Boyd knew had turned into nasty swelling.
“When did you have time to Google this?”
“While I was sitting outside the coach’s truck.”
“Oh.” Boyd sat up. “Well, I guess that was a good use of your time. Damage assessment.”
“Huh?” Mason peeked around the ice pack.
“Nothing. You gonna tell me what happened?”
“Coach said it all.”
“You jumped some kid on the second day of summer league, pulled him off the field, and dragged him into the grass. You yelled something about an apology and then you punched him. While the coaches broke you apart, the kid, Jeff, Jake?”
“Joel, Joel Mitchell.”
“Right, Joel got in one last shot and busted your nose.”
Mason’s nod was barely noticeable and he said nothing.
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
“Help me out here, Mase.”
As his son lowered the ice pack and Boyd got a clear view of the damage, a baby squirming in his mother’s arms began to wail. The mom stood and attempted the “shh, shh” dancing bounce Boyd vaguely remembered. He longed for that simplicity now.
Christ, were they ever going to see a doctor? This place was never busy. Figured today there’d be a wait.
“Why’d you tackle him?”
Mason shrugged.
“Cut it out. Why did you want him to apologize?” As soon as the question came out of his mouth, Boyd figured it out. She, all of this had to do with Chloe Stropp—Mason’s crush supreme and only daughter of his baseball coach.
“What did he say about Chloe?”
“Dad!” Mason pulled the ice off and checked the waiting room.
“She’s not here. What’d the idiot say?”
Silence. Boyd huffed and stood to walk around. He was getting nowhere.
“I was catcher and he pitched. He always pitches.” The ice came back down and Boyd sat. “He’s good. I mean good good.”
“Okay.”
“She sometimes comes to practice with her dad, more now that it’s summer.”
Yeah, that explained the growing disinterest with baseball. Mason had used every excuse—his height, his lack of playtime. None of that mattered as much as not being a star player in front of the coach’s daughter.
“I dropped the ball and he said she, well he used her name and said she was never going to give me—” Mason gestured for Boyd to sit next to him.
He did and leaned in so his son could whisper what Jake or Jacob had said. When he was finished, Boyd sat back. “This kid is your age?”
Mason nodded.
“I guess I need to catch up more than I thought. I had no idea kids in your grade even knew those words.”
Mason scoffed and Boyd put his arm around his son.
“I would have kicked the crap out of him too.”
“Not exactly what I did.”
“He was in worse shape. Did he apologize to… she?”
Mason pulled the ice off again, his eyes watered, and Boyd’s heart broke. It never occurred to him when he was researching the best baby food and struggling to get his toddler to go in the potty that one day he’d have to watch his son go through all the crap he’d barely escaped. It was hard to watch such a large piece of his heart trying to navigate the world.
“I’m sorry. I’m not even in love with her anymore. We’re friends, but still,” Mason said.
Boyd shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. You don’t need to apologize for being decent, Mase.”
“But I broke the rule.”
Boyd tilted his head in confusion.
“Be kind.” A tear slipped down his son’s bruising cheek, and Boyd gently wiped it away.
“Listen to me, Mase. You are kind. Sometimes we need to back up our kindness, enforce it a little.” He gestured for Mason to put the ice back on his nose.
“Is that a new rule?”
“No, old rule. It’s in Man Book Two.”
“Oh, hell, there’s more?” Fun returned to Mason’s voice.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got volumes of man advice.”
“Great.”
Boyd squeezed his son’s shoulder as the nurse called them back.
Ella was in the break room when Boyd and Mason arrived. Trudy gave her the chart and when she saw Mason’s name, her heart jumped. She scanned the triage sheet. Possible broken nose. Without even thinking, as she often did with these two guys, she pushed through to Exam 1. She came up short when she saw Mason sitting on the bed, blood on the compress he was holding, and what tears remained still rimming his eyes. Dear God, when had she started loving him too? Something inside her nearly broke open. This connecting business was going to kill her one of these days. Ella quickly glanced at Boyd and decided she only had room in her head for one McNaughton right now.
She moved closer and gently pulled back his dirty hand and the compress. She didn’t touch, only checked to see if she could make out anything through the already aggressive swelling. It was likely a hairline, but his nose wasn’t displaced and she let out what felt like her first breath since seeing his name on the paperwork.
“What happened?” she asked, setting the chart down and washing her hands. She’d asked that question thousands of times in her career, and somehow those two words only brought back the moment she’d met his father. How was that possible with all her patients?
“Joel punched me in the nose.”
Ella whipped around, again not thinking. “The kid from baseball? The pitcher?”
Mason nodded.
Ella tried to order her brain. She was a doctor, here to assess a patient. Mason already had a mother and a father. It had been made crystal clear that there was no room for her in their lives.
“Okay, well I bet there’s a story in there for your parents.”
“What does that mean? You don’t want to hear my stories anymore?”
“I didn’t say that. I meant that times like this call for family.”
“Family is what you make it. Right, Dad?”
Boyd nodded, and Ella assumed this topic had come up before. Not where she was concerned, of course, but it seemed like Boyd and Mason had dealt with the exceptional circumstances of their family before. Ella saw Boyd out of the corner of her eye. He flinched a bit in the awkward silence.
“How long ago did this happen?”
“About two hours ago,” Boyd said.
Ella turned to her computer.
“Is Joel taller than you or shorter?”
“Why does that matter?” Mason asked.
Ella fought a smile. “Did he punch up, bending your nose, or down and kind of clumsy.”
“Down, he’s taller,” he said.
“Good. Down is better. Less impact. I’m going to need to look at your nose now, Mase… Mason.”
“Don’t call me that. You already called me Mase. You can’t go back. What the hell is going on, Dad?”
“Language,” Boyd said.
“Heck, why the heck does everything feel backward? Did you mess this up?” Mason asked and then hissed as Ella carefully took the pack off his nose and noticed his eye was already turning black and blue.
“Did he hit you across your cheek, or straight at your nose?”
“I don’t remember. I was on him and then Coach pulled me off and he got in a last shot. I think he was in front of me. I don’t know. Is it broken? Are you and Dad fighting?”
“Well, it’s not dislocated. It’s still in line, which is good news for you because putting things back in place is usually the most painful part.”
Ella saw a tear escape his eye and her heart squeezed. She couldn’t answer his questions about Boyd and wondered which frustration was making him cry. Being a teenager was difficult on all fronts, Ella thought. She set down her instruments and carefully wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t think about it; it felt like the only thing she wanted to do. His chest pulsed and she rubbed his back.
“You’re going to be fine. We all are, Mase. Please don’t worry about anything right now. I’m going to get you some ibuprofen now and then you’ll go home with your dad, elevate your head on the couch, watch movies, and eat ice cream.”
His tears slowly morphed into a laugh as he sat back and she let him go.
“Ice cream? Are you allowed to give that to patients?”
“Absolutely.” Ella turned back to her computer and quickly wiped her own eyes. “Ice cream is definitely in order, and I’m thinking I need to prescribe a Netflix marathon or since this particular case involves an obnoxious kid who has a fake tattoo, Harry Potter. All of them.”
Her eyes met Boyd’s and held. She wanted to tell him too that everything was going to be all right. That even though his son was growing up, she would be there to help him move forward. That they had both changed her life and she hoped she’d changed theirs. That she loved them both more than she ever thought possible. She wanted to say all of that and so much more, but she typed a few more notes into the computer and sent in Bri to finish up. She wasn’t the right woman for them, no matter how right it felt, no matter how much she wanted it. If Boyd couldn’t let her in, she wasn’t going to beg. After handing everything over, Ella went to the on-call room, dropped to the chair, and cried.
