Everything She Ever Wanted: A Different Kind of Love Novel

by Liz Durano

  She had eyed me with a look that told me not to say anything smart-alecky back at her before she sighed, shook her head, and returned to the kitchen where she’d been making tamales. But I already knew what she would have said, especially this time of year when everything about the house would seem emptier than any other time.

  Ay, mijo, you remind me so much of your mother…

  But I’m glad she didn’t say it out loud, not when it would have made her sad to remember Pearl Anaya-Drexel, the daughter she’d lost to cancer five years ago. Fuck, it made me sad, too. Why else did I bury myself in my business since she died, moving to Flagstaff so I could design furniture and then, for weeks at a time, drive back to Taos so I could build the Earthship that would bear her name with my bare hands? Even Dad had to pick up the slack by flying from New York to oversee production and the company’s books while I was gone. If it weren’t for the Villier brothers, most of all Sawyer, who dragged me kicking and screaming from the pit of despair I’d allowed myself to fall into and then helped me design and build the Pearl, I’d have drunk myself to death in my grief.

  Today, while the brothers and I sit outside their Earthship talking about installing more solar panels for the Pearl, I see Harlow drive away, her car leaving a cloud of dust behind her in the fading light. She shouldn’t be out and about this late, even though I’ve outfitted solar lights alongside the road leading to the Pearl, but I can’t very well impose a curfew on my tenants.

  I thank the brothers for letting me hang out with them for a few hours before getting into my truck. I’ve actually considered staying at a hotel for the next few days so I can sketch out my new designs, but I know that if I do, I’m going to offend Nana. She always looks forward to my visits, knowing that even though I’d spend hours at the Pearl sketching and working on scale mockups of my latest designs till I got my vision right, I can always count on her for food. She knows exactly what I like, and always has it ready to go in containers and if she could, have me over for dinner every night and feed me. And she has done just that since I got here and I’ve had to make extra trips to the gym to make sure the pounds don’t creep up on me.

  The sight of the Beemer parked in the driveway catches me by surprise when I arrive, and I have to do a double take to make sure that it’s Harlow’s. With the New York car plates, there’s no doubt that it’s hers. But what the hell is she doing here?

  Then it hits me.

  No. Nana. Did. Not.

  I linger outside the house for a few minutes, my hands deep in my pockets as I pace in front of my truck, kicking gravel with my boots. I can smell the food and hear voices drifting outside through the security door. I really should go inside, but the thought of facing Harlow after our first encounter has my stomach tied up in knots. I have to apologize for that stupid stunt, even if I still believe I had a valid reason to stay there with her. I mean, wouldn’t that gun and the note be considered extenuating circumstances? But then, it’s not like I announced that little fact to anyone, so it’s just my word against hers.

  Then my stomach growls again, reminding me that I’m starving. I’m sure if it could do more than growl, it would probably tell me that I’m being such a damn coward standing outside when I could be inside.

  Alright, dude, so you made a mistake. Be a fucking man and own it.

  Besides, I want to own some of that green chile stew, too.

  *

  “You forgot, didn’t you?” Sarah calls out from the dinner table the moment I step through the door before turning to look at our grandmother. “I told you he forgot. He was probably playing video games with the Villier brothers again.”

  “So what if I was? I’m on vacation,” I mumble as I take the only available seat between Nana and my sister’s on-and-off-again boyfriend, Benny Turner, and father of their eight-year-old son, Dyami. Benny works for the Bureau of Indian Affairs as an environmental protection specialist on climate change as it affects the tribes in the region.

  After a round of hi’s and hello’s, Nana finally introduces me to our guest, who’s sitting right in front of me, flanked between Sarah and Dyami.

  “Hello, Dax,” Harlow says as I mutter something that sounds like Hi. “Nice to see you again.”

  She’s wearing a pink top that plays up her key assets—her flawless skin, pert nose, and big beautiful brown eyes. And then there are her full lips that she just now licks, and as my eyes drift lower, my gaze lands on her perfect tits. Focus, Dax. Look up.

  “Oh, so you’ve both met?” Benny asks as I tear my gaze from Harlow’s tits to her face and meet her big brown eyes. God, she’s beautiful.

  “Yes, we have,” Harlow says. “Dax came by two days ago to say hello.”

  “He did? That was sweet of him,” Sarah says, smiling as she ignores my scowl and I know she’s going to torment all through dinner, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not in front of a guest. “I never realized he took the time to say hello to any of his renters.”

  “Stop it, Sarah,” Nana says. “Why don’t we say grace and eat before Dyami sneaks another piece of fry bread when he thinks no one is looking.”

  “You guys didn’t have to wait for me,” I say sheepishly as soon as Nana finishes saying grace and begins to dish out the stew in bowls, handing each one to Sarah to pass around the table.

  “And since when do you turn off your phone, mijo?” she asks, handing me a bowl of stew. “We’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour to remind you to be here before our guest arrived.”

  I pull out my phone from my back pocket and place it on the table. “Turn off my phone? Why would I turn off my—“ I pause, noticing that it’s dead. “Oh, shit—“

  “No cussing at the table, and you know my rule about phones during dinner. All of them, off,” Nana says as I return the phone into my back pocket, as does Benny who makes a guilty face.

  “So, were you working at the Pearl?” Benny asks as Harlow takes a warm tortilla from the serving plate in front of her. “Want a beer?”

  “Sure,” I reply as he twists one open and hands it to me. “Nah, it’s currently rented, in case you didn’t know.”

  Benny shakes his head. “Nope, guess I didn’t know that. I always thought you stayed at the Pearl whenever you’re in town.”

  “Not right now,” Sarah says in a sing-song voice as she grins at Harlow, ignoring the glare I’m shooting her way.

  “Unfortunately, I’m renting it right now,” Harlow finally speaks, and I pray she doesn’t mention anything about my little visit. I continue eating my stew, biting into the tortillas that Nana makes from scratch. I can’t wait to have some fresh fry bread for dessert. “I didn’t realize that Dax uses it for work. If I’d known—“

  “—you’d still stay according to your original plans,” Nana says before glaring at me. “And don’t you dare let my grandson bully you into leaving early.”

  “Dax? Bully you into leaving? Say it ain’t true?” Sarah teases, watching me squirm before she turns to look at Harlow. “Is it true?”

  I stuff a tortilla in my mouth and pretend I don’t hear a word they’re saying. Sarah is eight years older than I am and has always loved teasing me since we were kids. She knows how much I hate it, and so she does it every time we see each other. If I glare at her, she’ll only keep doing it, but I’m not about to let her bully me into silence either, even if my mouth is full.

  “I id not bully a-wone in-o leaving.”

  “Don’t speak with your mouth full, mijo,” Nana says as Benny chuckles.

  “Yeah, don’t talk with your mouth full, Uncle Dax,” Dyami chimes in just as Benny raises an eyebrow at his son.

  “And you, too, young man.”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I blurt out as the everyone at the table suddenly become quiet. I know they’re watching me as I take a deep breath and look at Harlow. I’m sure it’s no accident why Nana has me sitting right across from her. “I’m sorry I came over that day, Dr. James, but I swear, I was not trying
to get you to leave early.”

  “Call me Harlow,” she says, smiling before she pins her gaze on me. “So why did you come over?”

  I open my mouth to speak but stop myself. Mentioning the suicide note and the gun would only tell her that I was there that night, and that’s the last thing I want anyone to know. “Does it matter now? I got my weeks wrong, that’s all, and that’s why I’m apologizing right now. And I don’t care if you forgive me or not, but I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you have your stuff over there?” Sarah asks. “Why don’t you just get them and do your work here?”

  I shrug. “That’s alright. I figure I’ll head back to Flagstaff tomorrow and come back in two weeks. That should make everyone happy.”

  “YOU’RE LEAVING?!”

  It’s a chorus of voices that catches me by surprise, just as I see the hurt expression that crosses Nana’s face. I see her glance at me and then at Harlow just as I look away.

  “But you can’t leave! You just got here, Uncle Dax!” Dyami exclaims. “Please stay! I still need to beat you in Minecraft.”

  I actually had no plans of leaving but for the first time, the crowd around the table is getting the best of me, and I hate it. But it’s not their fault. Sure, I may look like my sister’s easy target but she’s just Sarah, the hospice nurse who sees so much death that she has to balance all that sadness out with something or she’ll go crazy. It’s one of the other reasons I look forward to coming home because when there are no guests around, I dish it back to her just as good.

  No, it’s not them. But the woman sitting across from me is making me nervous. She even makes the butterflies in my belly flutter, and right now, I’m not happy about that. She’s a beautiful woman, and so out of my league, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I first saw her on my bed that night. It’s not even about the damn gun and the damn note anymore for she’s apparently changed her mind about killing herself, and now here she is enjoying my grandmother’s cooking.

  No, this is about me and my damn knight in shining armor act, wanting to save every fucking damsel in distress. Only this time, it’s different, and I can feel it in my bones.

  With Harlow James and her damn tits, I’ll be the one who’ll need the saving.

  Chapter 7

  Harlow

  “So Dax tells me you’re a doctor,” Benny says as he takes the empty bottle of beer in front of me and replaces it with another one, fresh from the refrigerator. It’s my second one, and I tell myself, it’s my last one, too, or I won’t be able to drive myself home—not when I have to cross the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge in the dark and I’m always afraid I’d fall right in.

  Thank God I’m so afraid of heights that it didn’t even occur to me that it would have been so much easier to end my life that way that night. But I push the thought away for as I watch the family around me bicker and tease each other playfully, I can’t help thinking that I would have missed all of this if I had ended my life then.

  Not only that, but I would have missed sitting at the most beautiful table I’ve ever seen. It’s uneven as if it had been cut directly from the tree. There are no sharp lines anywhere. Instead, it’s graceful and fluid. And where there’s a groove that widens to the other end, it’s secured by two large butterfly joints, with the hollow that widens filled with white pebbles and rocks of varying shapes. Coated with resin to protect the whole table, it gives an illusion of a river bed. It belongs in a New York showroom, not hidden in Anita’s dining room.

  “Yes,” I reply, clearing my throat as Benny gets up to get another beer for Sarah. Except for Dax, we’re mostly done with dinner now and after a casual round of conversation about how everyone else’s day went, apparently, it’s my turn.

  “What kind of a doctor are you?” Dyami asks.

  “I’m a surgeon. I specialize in kidney transplantation for children.”

  “Is that similar to a urologist?” Benny asks, “one who checks your prostate?”

  “What’s a prostate?” Dyami asks.

  “No, I think she specifically said, ‘surgeon.’ Something about kidney transplantation. Like nephrons and stuff,” Dax says.

  There’s a movement underneath the table, and I suspect Sarah just kicked her brother before she speaks. “Really? And what exactly are nephrons, Dax? I bet you don’t know.”

  “Bet you ten bucks I do,” he says, grinning as he holds his palm out to his sister. “I do know how to use Google, you know. I looked it up.”

  Sarah giggles. “Oh, really? Now, why would anyone want to look up nephrons, of all things? Is someone having kidney issues?”

  Before Dax’s face turns completely red, I step in to save the poor kid. “Well, urologists and nephrologists both treat kidney problems. Urologists can do surgeries dealing with kidney and urinary tract disorders, while nephrologists usually prescribe nonsurgical treatments for similar problems. I’m a surgeon, and my specialty is pediatric kidney transplantation.”

  “So what do kidneys do… exactly?” Dyami asks as I see Dax glare at Sarah from the corner of my eye. “I know in karate; they tell us not to hit the kidney area, which is right about here.” Dyami reaches for his side.

  “And they’re right. You shouldn’t,” I say. “Kidneys clean out your blood. They absorb certain stuff back into the body, like sodium and potassium but only what they need. The rest, they discard, and all that ends up in your pee. But sometimes, when kidneys don’t work at all, I get called in to replace it with a new one from a donor.”

  Dyami’s eyes grow wide. “Whoa! Just like that game, Operation!”

  “Yeah, but there’s no kidney in Operation,” Dax says before he frowns. “Wait, is there?”

  Though I never owned the board game when I was Dyami’s age, I remember seeing it when I was in college. And no, there were no kidneys in the game. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Why not?” Dyami asks.

  “Probably because you can only access the kidney from the back,” I reply. “And did you know that you don’t need two kidneys to survive? One healthy one is enough to do the work of two.”

  “What happens when both don’t work?” Dyami asks. “What cleans the blood then?”

  “Then the person will need dialysis—that’s when a machine cleans out their blood for them instead of a kidney. And hopefully, as long as there are no complications, they’re on a list for a kidney transplant as well.”

  “And that’s when you come in,” Benny says, grinning. “That’s pretty impressive if you ask me. I mean, just the idea of how far medicine has come since the old days. It’s mind-boggling.”

  “It certainly has come very far. Technological breakthroughs happen everyday, yet one thing remains constant. Our bodies remain pretty much the same,” I say, noticing how serious everyone has gotten. Great. Me, and my excellent conversation skills. Why can’t I talk about something else that’s not related to medicine? Why do I have to be such a nerd?

  “So if the kidneys don’t work anymore, can a person still pee?” Dyami asks, his brow furrowing.

  “Well, if their kidneys aren’t working, then most likely they’re on dialysis, and if they are, then their urine output may be lower, or in some cases, hardly any at all,” I say. “But don’t quote me on it. It depends on how long they’re on dialysis and what the cause of their kidney failure is.”

  “Wow,” Benny says, whistling. “You sure know your stuff.”

  “I sure would hope so, especially if she’s about to transplant someone’s kidney into someone else,” Anita says, chuckling. “And if I ever end up in that scenario, I’d like someone like you to take care of me.”

  This time, it’s my turn to blush. “Thank you, but I’m not exactly doing it anymore, not at the moment. I’m… I’m on leave.” I wish I don’t stammer, but I do only because Dax is studying me.

  “Why’s that? I noticed your car plates. You drove all the way from New York to New Mexico, and that’s quite far,” Sarah says as I hear a scuffl
e under the table and Dax glares at her.

  “That’s right. It is far, but it’s been a beautiful drive. Beats writing my 35th paper on reducing transplant rejection rates or long-term pancreatic allograft survival,” I say and this time, I take a swig of my beer, a long one, hoping someone else will say something and divert the conversation away from me, or I’ll bore them all to sleep.

  “You drove all the way from New York by yourself?” Anita asks as I place my beer back on the table.

  “I did, yes, and it’s been a fun trip. I’m having a great time.”

  “How great a time, exactly?” Dax asks. The way he looks at me draws me in. It’s an intent gaze that makes me wonder if he knows something that I don’t.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.

  “How great of a time are you having so far? Are you enjoying your stay at the Pearl?” he asks again.

  “He built it, you know,” Benny says though I barely hear him. “And all the woodwork that you see—that’s all award-winning craftsmanship right there. If it weren’t so out of the way and so out of the ordinary…being sustainable and all, I’m sure it would make it onto the pages of the best architectural magazines.”

  “I’m having a very good time,” I reply. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Dax won the highest awards in woodworking two years in a row, though he’s too humble to say it to anyone,” Sarah says, and I barely hear her either for Dax’s gaze hasn’t left my face. “And did you know this dining table is built with no nails or bolts whatsoever?”

  “I think it’s called mortise and tenon joints,” Benny says, turning to look at Dax. “Right, Dax?”

  “Then stay for as long as you want,” Dax says, his gaze unwavering and I almost feel like I’m under some spell. That, or maybe the beer is stronger than I thought.

  I smile. “Thank you, Dax. I plan to.”

  “So, like, if a guy can’t pee anymore, can he still use his penis for, like, doing the nasty? You know, sex?”