by JD Hawkins
When he’s on the other side of my desk he hands me a tablet and says, “You nailed it. MG pharma just passed the clinical trials with flying colors. Stock price is already up thirty percent, and it isn’t going to stop any time soon.”
I skim the report on the tablet and nod with satisfaction before handing it back. “Good.”
Sam laughs. “Your gamble paid off.”
“It wasn’t a gamble,” I explain. “They hired the guy who made a similar drug for Corsca—and his original work could easily be reinterpreted and improved.”
“What are you, a pharmacist now as well as a male model?” Sam says, still pacing in front of my desk with excitement.
“Just a few weekends reading biochemistry textbooks. That was all it took.”
“Just a little ‘light reading,’ huh?” Sam laughs, though it wasn’t a joke. “Oh, by the way, I heard Warren’s reading your report from the conference right now.”
A shot of anxiety courses through me. “Does he like it?”
Sam shrugs. “If I heard about it, then he must be feeling some kind of way.”
I get up and move over to the drinks cabinet, which I keep mostly filled with waters, and pull one out.
“Something wrong?” Sam asks, sensing my heavy mood.
“No…not really,” I say, sipping from the bottle, looking out the window a little, then back at Sam. “Actually, yeah. How long is this going to keep going, Sam?”
I march away from the windows, toward the bookshelves.
“It’s been months already. I’ve been busting my ass. I’m outperforming everyone on this floor and I’m still officially no better off than an intern—two words away from never being allowed in this building again.”
Sam looks nervously back at the open door, then bounces out of his seat and rushes toward it. He closes it then moves back to where I’m standing.
“Come on, buddy,” he says. “You know it’s the long game.”
“Too long,” I growl, marching back to the window. I turn and look incredulously at Sam. “You know I’m still on a probationary salary, right? I’m getting paid the same as the guy at the front desk. No commission, no bonus. I won’t see a penny of that MG pharma deal, even. Meanwhile I’m renting a penthouse my ex—” I stop myself and glance at Sam quickly before continuing to try to cover up what I almost let slip. “Forget it. I’m just cranky. I missed my workout this morning.”
“Listen, Nate,” Sam says as he draws near. “I get it. We all get it. Everyone can see you belong here. It’s just taking the old man some time.”
“I’ve been to conferences with you guys. He met my fiancée even,” I say, glad that Sam didn’t pick up on my slip, and trying to cover it further.
Sam puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a look like he’s judging me for a second. Then he says, “You know what you could do? Go tell Warren you got an offer from Phalanx, or Hayes and Mayfield, or even one of the guys in New York. He’ll offer you a contract on the spot.”
“No. I don’t want to lie,” I say, believing myself for half a second until I realize I already am. “I don’t want to play games.”
I move away, back to my desk, Sam’s hand falling from my shoulder as I take my seat again.
“Forget it,” I say, winking at him. “You’re right. The long game.”
Sam looks back sympathetically, slowly moving back to the seat across the desk himself.
“It’ll happen in days, I can feel it,” he says. “After that trip…meeting Hazel…”
I smile involuntarily at hearing her name. Coming from someone else, in such a glowing tone, it feels a little less like some strange dream which I invented completely.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Your wife…” Sam says as he sits down, easing back into his usual mocking tones. “She’s something else. You can always tell a lot about a guy from the woman he chooses—but you’re a dummy, so I can’t figure it out.”
I laugh gently. “Me neither,” I say.
“You know,” Sam says, getting comfortable in the chair, lifting his feet to the other side of my desk as he stretches out. He points a finger at me. “A guy like you…I was sure you’d have one of those ice maidens at home. All long fingernails and complaints. Spends more time every day doing hair and makeup than an actor in a superhero movie. All designer handbags and ‘being seen.’”
I don’t laugh as hard this time, his description bringing to mind Nicole all too vividly, the amusement my own private kind. “Why would you think that?”
“I told you: because you’re a dummy. A male model with just enough luck to potentially make a lot of money in a job like this,” Sam says, with his deadpan humor. “Guys like you don’t do things the same as guys like me… We have to chase women. Damn. Took me five years of hard work to get my Julie down the aisle—but when you’ve got abs, or whatever the hell you call those things—”
“Muscles,” I quip.
“Then the hunter becomes the hunted. Then you start to find out why women get their fingernails that long and sharp. And a guy like you—”
“A dummy,” I say, playing along.
“Doesn’t stand a chance…” Sam says, then frowns as if thinking, shaking his head a little. “But no…you got a wife like Hazel. Sweet, natural, gorgeous obviously, funny, fun… How the heck did that happen?”
I don’t say anything for a moment, but keep the smile on my face as I look at Sam, as if I’m just amused. Maybe it’s paranoia, but I’m wondering now if he’s angling at something, if this whole conversational thread is him feeling me out. I take my time formulating a reply—normal for me—trying to make sure my response will sound dismissive and natural enough to not reveal anything.
But I don’t get the chance to speak. My phone rings first, vibrating loudly on the heavy wood of the desk. I glance at it casually, then grab at it in disbelief.
“Get out,” I tell Sam without looking at him, even as I pick up the phone and get on my own feet restlessly.
“What is it?” Sam says, sweeping his feet off the chair and standing up.
I only glance up from the phone for a second as I chase him out of the office.
“Go, go, go,” I urge him as he yanks the door open but reluctantly turns back before closing it.
“Who is it?” he asks again, desperately.
“My fiancée, Sam,” I say, getting ready to shut the door behind him. “As you keep forgetting—she’s not my wife just yet.”
He gives me a knowing look and finger-guns as I shut the door in his face. Bringing the phone to my ear. I amble toward the windows.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Nate!”
Her voice alone, even over the poor-quality line, induces all kinds of chemical rushes inside of me. Like a great song I now associate with exciting, fond memories.
“It’s good to hear from you,” I say, the surprise and pleasure of the moment destroying any instinct to keep my feelings to myself.
She laughs, that easy laugh that doesn’t even need a joke to come out. A laugh borne simply of her infinite, constant joy at living.
“So…did you get the job?” she asks.
I sigh heavily, coming down to earth a little. “Not yet,” I say. “But they also haven’t found out I’m a barefaced liar yet, so it’s fine. How are things with you?”
She chuckles again, then playfully says, “I thought you didn’t want to know about my life?”
“Well, the charade is over, so what harm could it do?”
“Things are…good. Work is exhausting…draining…but still I love it. Although…well…that’s actually why I called you.”
“Go on…”
“That…favor you said you owed me.”
“Yeah?”
I hear her sigh in frustration over the phone, and decide to stay silent and wait for it. “Gosh…it sounds so stupid now, even just thinking about saying it.”
“Say it. I meant every word of my promise. I want to pay you back. Any
thing you want.”
There’s another long pause. “Okay…so…I have this ex… We broke up about four months ago. He wanted…we… It wasn’t pretty—let’s just put it that way.”
“For you or for him?”
“Both?” she says, then sighs again. “No. For me, mostly.”
“I know how it goes,” I say, feeling myself channeling some new tone in my voice, shuddering tension inside of me like it’s coming from a place I’ve ignored until now.
“Anyway…he sent me an invitation to his wedding next week.”
“Hold on,” I say, frowning out at the lake, “how long ago did you say you’d broken up?”
“Four months. I know—it’s crazy. That’s kinda…that’s what makes me… Ugh. I feel so stupid saying it out loud.”
“No you don’t. This guy’s the one who sounds stupid. First for ditching you, and second for getting married five minutes afterwards.”
There’s another pause, and I suddenly wonder if I’ve crossed a line, revealed too much. The fact that this is just a phone call perhaps making me feel too comfortable, too open. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah…thanks,” she says, trailing off. I can hear her smile, but the long silence after says more than that. “So…I know this sounds really dumb and petty—and first of all, let me just say that if you say no I would totally understand you. Completely. Consider it a complete shot in the dark from me. You’re probably busy anyway, and if it’s inconvenient at all to you then—”
“Just say it,” I interrupt, chuckling a little to show I’m more interested than impatient.
“I was thinking that maybe…you could come to the wedding with me. And sort of…pretend to be my boyfriend?”
Her voice goes so quiet as she says it that only my intense attention to her words helps me understand what she’s said. She pauses for a moment, then quickly follows up as if to distract me from her own request—but I’m already smiling.
“You see, he’s a programmer—he keeps coming up with these stupid ideas for apps and things that nobody wants. He’s always trying to get investors to throw money at him, though he never actually works to make money himself. In fact, I supported him the whole time we were together.
“Oh God…I feel so stupid just thinking about his turtlenecks and Steve Jobs glasses… You know, instead of actually appreciating everything I did for him, it’s like he resented me for not being some hopeless chaser like he was. He always acted like he was embarrassed to be with a simple nurse… He would always ask why I wasn’t working on becoming a doctor—I think he genuinely thought doctors were just nurses who got promoted.”
I laugh and she laughs back, her nervous energy at letting it all out charming me completely.
“So in my head,” she continues, a little more slowly, “I thought it would be satisfying to take you to his wedding. He’s marrying some big-shot producer, apparently, and I know he feels like I’m the one who was holding him back. That’s the only reason he sent me an invitation, I’m sure of it. I don’t think he expects me to go at all. But if I did go….and if you came with me… You’re an investor with loads of money, exactly the kind of person he would totally suck up to…so I guess it would be…it would make me… I don’t know what. It just sounds more petty the more I try to explain it…”
“It doesn’t sound petty at all,” I tell her, leaning against the brickwork and looking out at the lake. “Not at all.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not,” I reply firmly. “You know I’m not. He hurt you, right? Took advantage? Made you feel like all the time you spent on him was a waste? Now you wanna get your pride back. Make him feel the pain a little. If only to believe again that there’s something like justice in the world still. Hazel, look—you’re asking me to pretend to be your partner for the same exact reason I asked you.”
She lets out a sound, half murmur of consideration, half amused giggle.
“Maybe…” she says. “But there’s not a billion-dollar job on the line for me. This is just so that I can be alone for ten minutes without my brain torturing me by remembering.”
I let out a little laugh.
“Why do you think I’m going for that billion-dollar job in the first place?” I quip, not caring that I’m revealing too much again, unable and unwilling to hold back. Her honesty compelling mine naturally. “And honestly, how could I say no?”
“You can do it then? It’s next Saturday. Sorry for the short notice. I guess they’re in a hurry.”
“I’ll come Thursday,” I reply. “And stay the weekend.”
“It won’t be a problem? With your work and all?”
“No. I’ll tell them I’m coming out to follow up on some leads from the conference. It’ll only be a half lie. If you’ll let me, I can take you shopping too. Book some appointments at some nice shops for you. Make sure you knock him out regardless.”
Hazel laughs and then mimics me, “If you’ll let me…ha ha. Look at you, playing the gentleman.”
I laugh with her.
“Well, madame is most certainly a lady,” I reply, and before I can feel like too much of an utterly goofy asshole who shouldn’t even be wearing a suit, let alone standing in these offices, she laughs and plays along.
“Sir, it would be most satisfactory for you to take one shopping.”
“Then the lady shall be taken.”
We continue laughing until it fades naturally into a silence that’s warm and intimate, even over this crackling line.
“Well…” Hazel says eventually. “I guess I’ll speak to you soon then.”
“Definitely. See you soon.”
“Bye.”
I hang up and pace the office a while, still smiling, feeling like I’m buzzing. The old furniture and the big windows suddenly more ridiculous than imposing. The idea of sitting at that big desk and staring at numbers suddenly seeming alien and pointless in the face of everything I’m now aware of. My body electrified; my senses alive. I replay our final exchange again and again in my mind, marveling at how goofy I sound, and then how nicely she allowed me to be. That’s the first time I’ve felt genuinely open and playful in…years.
I move back around my desk and look at the screen again, bringing up the page I’d minimized when Sam entered the room, reaching for the slip of paper I hid. The perfume strip. The screen displaying Santa Teresa’s employee page, zoomed in a little on her low-res profile pic. I sniff the strip, barely a trace of that jasmine left, more imagination than anything now. The only thing I could find about her, to remind me of her.
Except I don’t need reminding anymore, because she’s something in my future now.
13
Hazel
“Ow!”
The loud exclamation shakes me from a trance I never realized I had entered. I’m in the hospital, wrapping a recently-stitched leg, and the kindly gentleman who it’s attached to is the one who just made the sound.
“Sorry, Mr. Wahl,” I say with a guilty smile.
I loosen the bandage and take extra care when wrapping it again. He nods his acknowledgment, and perhaps tries to smile, but can’t break his face from wincing.
Today’s the day, I think to myself, immediately returning to my thoughts as I work—but with a little more distance now. I glance at my watch quickly, and smile up at Mr. Wahl, who seems a little more at ease.
It’s late Thursday evening. Nate will have landed ten minutes ago. A giddy excitement surges through me, as if I can already feel his presence even from the other side of the city.
“Is that all right, Mr. Wahl?”
“Yes. It’s fine. Thank you so much. You’re wonderful.”
“I’ll come back and check on you in a couple of hours. Do you need anything else? Would you like me to turn the TV on?”
“No, no. I’ll try to get some sleep.”
“Sweet dreams, Mr. Wahl.”
He smiles warmly at me as I offer one more look before I leave. As soon as I�
��m out of the door heading to my next task—a gastroenteritis case—I pull my phone from my pocket and check it. Nate didn’t say he’d message me when he arrived, but I was sort of hoping.
He’s probably not the type anyway, I figure—more the “if he says he’ll be there he’ll be there” kind of guy.
The butterflies in my stomach, the strange shimmering anticipation crawling up and down my spine, only get worse. I don’t even know what part of it all to be most excited about: showing up at Theo’s wedding with Nate on my arm, the fancy shopping “appointments” Nate promised, or just seeing Nate himself again.
“Watch it!”
I look up from my phone just quick enough to dodge the oncoming gurney and shrug an apology the paramedics are in too much of a rush to acknowledge, then stuff my phone away quickly. I can’t help wishing my wandering thoughts were as easy to put aside.
It’s nearly midnight when I get to the locker room after my shift. Another busy one, but I’m not more exhausted than usual; excitement is as good as caffeine sometimes.
“Hello there, Hazel.”
“Doctor Taylor. I mean, Pierce,” I reply, my mind still in “call Mia by her doctor name” mode. “You’re finishing your shift?”
It’s not that Mia’s shift ending now is what surprises me, it’s that she’s actually getting off work at a proper time rather than staying for way too long. She’s just about done packing her stuff into her backpack as I enter.
“Colin’s still away and our babysitter has to get home soon,” she explains.
“Okay, well hold on a second and we can walk out together,” I say, quickly opening my locker to change into my Nikes and grab my bag.
“Sure,” Mia says, lifting her bag to her shoulder and standing to wait. After a few moments she slowly says, “Hey, wasn’t…um… Isn’t today when…”
She trails off, her inquisitive tone enough. I guess partly because she doesn’t need to finish the question, and partly because she probably feels a little guilty for asking it.
I laugh as I quickly tie my laces and stand up to grab my own bag before shutting the locker. “Yes. He was. Today. He should have landed three hours ago.”
