by Penny Wylder
Russ’s chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. “I can understand that. You have ambition, Maggie. Not to mention a huge heart.” He lifts a strand of my hair and twirls it around one of his fingers. “It’s why I don’t want to let you go, Mags. Because I love that about you.”
My heart twists in my chest, a little too painfully aware of how close that is to another three little words. Words that might break me, at this point. But he doesn’t say them. He just sits in silence, watching me. Waiting to see what I want to do.
Finally, I lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet this time. And I settle on the truth. “I don’t want to let you go, either…” I admit in a low whisper.
As bad as this idea is, as crazy as us trying to be together seems…right now, he is exactly who I want.
7
A week passes. A week of sly glances in the hallways, of whispered promises between rounds. Dad doesn’t give me back a full roster of patients yet, but he lets me have three more than before, after I apparently treated the handful of rich patients to his satisfaction. So now I’m up to six patients instead of three. Better than before. But still not the two dozen I should be handling.
Still not enough to stave off the annoyed or angry glares of my fellow nurses in the hallways.
But I have Russ to distract me from those, at least. We start to fall into a regular pattern. He’ll text me something innocuous—a winking face or a grin. Then I’ll text him the time of my next break. By the time the break rolls around, I’ll find Russ waiting for me in the handicap stall on our floor, down an out of the way passage, or maybe in the break room near the OR wing.
We’ll lock the door, and for twenty minutes, we can lose ourselves and forget about our problems in one another’s arms.
It’s not enough to make me feel satisfied with my whole life—I still wish I were doing so much more, helping more people than I am right now. But it’s enough to distract me, for the time being. Enough to make my current life survivable, at least, and maybe even lined with a little silver.
I have no idea how long it can last. I can’t see it ever working out. But for some reason the desperation that induces, the knowledge that this can only ever be a temporary wild fling, just makes it feel all the hotter whenever we are able to sneak away together. I lose myself in the heat of his arms, the intensity of his kisses, and it soothes me into forgetting, for a little while, that one day I’ll have to let him go.
At the start of our second week of… whatever it is we’re doing—whether you can just call it hooking up or it’s starting to transition into more, I’m not sure—I finally have a day off work at the same time that Russ does. Our schedules normally don’t align, and for once, I think, we can take advantage of this. Be together without having to sneak, or without risk of my parents stumbling across us.
But when I text to ask him what he’s doing that day, his reply says he has an appointment that he can’t miss. My stomach sinks. So much for my grand plans of going on a semi-normal date, somewhere downtown and far from my family’s prying eyes.
Then my phone dings a second time. If you’re free, why don’t you come with me?
What are you doing? I ask a moment later.
You’ll see.
Confused, but ready for any excuse to see Russ outside of work or my parents’ pool parties, I agree to meet him up in the Bronx in a couple of hours. I spend most of those two hours dressing, because what the hell do you wear to a date—is this a date? —where you don’t know what you’ll be doing? Finally, I settle on jeans and a cute sweater, since it’s still freezing outside, all layered under my heavy overcoat. Then I catch the train, just in time to make it to meet him on time.
When I get to the address he sent me, though, all I see is a rundown looking building with a line of people outside. Everyone there has shabby-looking coats. A few are carrying sacks of what look like odds and ends.
Slowly, it dawns on me. This is a soup kitchen.
Sure enough, a moment later, a side door pops open and Russ waves me inside. I jog into the warm building, my breath still fogging from the cold air, and I freeze as I step over the threshold. Because damn, I’d forgotten how good he looked out of his work scrubs. Not that he looks bad in those, but his flannel and jeans today have me wishing we didn’t always have to wear the same clothes over and over at work.
He wraps me in a tight hug the moment I get to his side, and I fold into him, breathing in his familiar scent, grateful for his warm, strong presence. When we break apart, I grin up at him, my head tilted with curiosity. “So this is the big secret, huh? Volunteer work?”
“Come on, I’ll introduce you. I got the manager to agree to put you on serving duty with me.” He checks a clock over my head, near the doorway. “Which starts in five minutes, so we don’t have much time.”
I trail after him as he introduces me to a few of the other volunteers, and the coordinator who puts everything here together. Everyone seems nice, and they all know Russ well. They joke with him, smile and laugh at his jokes in return. I keep side-eying him, wondering how he has this entire other side to his life that I never knew about. I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad have never mentioned that Russ does volunteer work. How did this never come up, in all their years of friendship? It seems like he’s a regular, too.
Finally, once the introductions are complete, Russ shows me the ropes. It’s pretty simple, really. Take a tray, serve the food in front of you, and pass it down the line to the next server.
“Make sure to smile at everyone, make conversation as they come through,” he adds. “Sometimes this is the only place that these people get to see a friendly face or be treated like a human being.”
Something about the way his voice dips at the end of that sentence makes me eye him funnily. His expression has gone a little shaded, as if he’s remembering something. But before I can ask about it, a bell rings somewhere, the main doors open, and our “customers” flood inside.
We spend the rest of the lunch shift serving everyone who comes along the line. I follow Russ’s lead and smile at everyone, laugh, crack jokes. Not going to lie, for a volunteer gig, it’s a lot of fun, if a little worrying to see how grateful people are to be spoken to or smiled at.
By the end of the shift, my arms ache from lifting all the trays. My heart aches too, but it’s a good kind of ache. I feel full, happy. Like I made an actual difference, for once. Maybe it’s just a tiny one, but still.
Russ loops an arm around my waist and kisses my temple as our shift wraps up. “So?” he murmurs against my hair, “how did it feel? You wanted to help people…”
“It felt great,” I reply, tilting my face up to smile at him. It takes me by surprise when he leans down to kiss me, in full view of everyone around us, all the other volunteers, everyone eating nearby, on the other side of the lunch line. I pull back a little sooner than I’d like to, in spite of how hot and soft his lips feel against mine. “Um… should we do that here?” I ask, unable to help the catch of nerves in my voice.
Russ chuckles softly under his breath. “As if your father would ever be caught dead anywhere near a place like this,” he points out, and I can’t help but laugh softly, too.
He has a point.
The other volunteers have helped themselves to small portions, and are clustered near a table in the kitchen, chatting. Russ grabs a tray for me, one for himself, and pulls out chairs near the end of the table. A few people smile over at us, but they seem to sense that it’s our first chance to be together in a while, so nobody moves closer or tries to strike up a conversation.
Which is good, because I have about a million things I want to talk to Russ about, now that we’re somewhere unsupervised. But the words all stick in my throat, get tangled up, until I finally just settle on asking. “So… you’ve been doing this for a while?”
“Every day I have off, ever since I started at the hospital.”
My eyebrows shoot upward, so high they nearly touch my hairline. “But… I’ve never
heard you mention it. You and Dad have been friends for so long. How does he not know?”
“Because I never felt comfortable telling him. I figured if I mentioned it, he would start to ask why I do it, and I couldn’t have that.” Russ catches my eye, his gaze boring into me, through me. I feel like he can see straight through my shell and into my core, whenever he does that.
It makes me both nervous and excited, all at once. It also makes me want to do the same thing. Get through his outer shell, see the real Russ underneath. So I clear my throat gently. “Why do you do it?” I ask, my voice pitched low.
“Back when I was in med school with your father, I couldn’t afford a full-time job on top of my classes. I had a part-time gig, but it wasn’t enough to make rent, even in the crappy kind of multi-room dorms that your father was living in at the time. He had a little help from his parents to get on his feet—not a lot, mind you, but enough to make those rent payments. I didn’t.” Russ runs a hand through his hair, and the silver speckles in it catch the light, reflecting in the fluorescents in a way that makes me want to reach out and follow his lead. Trail my fingers through his dark, fine hair, and see how soft it feels today.
But I curl my hands around each other instead, to resist. Not while he’s telling me this. I want to hear the whole story, first.
“Anyway, I eventually got a housing grant from the department, after I came out top in the class. But before then…” He clears his throat. “Well, there were a couple of months where I had to rough it.”
My eyes go wide. I take another slow glance around the shelter, the realization slowly dawning on me. “You mean…”
He bows his head. “I was homeless for a little while, yes. It was the hardest period in my life, honestly.” His voice goes rough, and I can’t hold myself back anymore.
I reach out and gently cup his cheek. He turns to face me again, as I draw him toward me. I kiss him softly, my lips soft against his, the kiss slow and gentle. When I draw back, he’s smiling at me, ever so slightly.
“That’s not the usual reaction I get to this story,” he says quietly, and I laugh.
“Sorry. I just… I hate to think of you like that.” I bite my lower lip, and, unable to resist, I glance around the shelter at the others gathered here. How many of them have similar stories? How many just needed a little help to get on their feet again, and instead wound up here? “And my father didn’t help you back then? I thought you two were close.”
“He didn’t know,” Russ says, a little more harshly than he maybe intended.
My eyebrows rise.
“It was my own fault. I didn’t want to tell him.”
“Why not?” I ask softly.
“I was too proud to admit it. I always looked up to your father. And he has such strong opinions about who should get what kind of help. He’d made comments in the past, ones I never really thought too much about. Comments about how the homeless just needed to work harder and they could get back on their own two feet without help.”
My cheeks flare red. “That does sound like him,” I mumble. “I’m so sorry.”
Russ shakes his head. “Don’t be. There were other people who helped me out—though nobody I knew from my regular life. I was too proud to admit to anyone what was going on. Not the teachers at school, not my friends, not even my best friend, your dad… But shelters like these, where I was able to get a meal, get my feet back under myself? They were a godsend. At the time, I swore that once I was back in a position to do so, I’d help out. Give back the same way people paid things forward to me.” He gestures behind himself at the kitchen. “So, now I volunteer here every spare chance I get.”
My heart feels so full it could burst. “Russ…” I rest a hand on his on the table. He turns his palm around to lace his fingers through mine.
“Don’t be too impressed.” He laughs. “I also enjoy it here. It’s fun.”
“I agree.” I smile. “It feels good to help others. It makes you feel like your life has meaning, like you’re doing something important, right?”
“Exactly.” His eyes dance with amusement when they meet mine.
The words just slip out of me. I can’t help it anymore. “That’s what I want to do. But not here at home. I want to join Doctors Without Borders. Go to the places where medical help is needed the most, and just… do what I spent all those years in school learning how to do. Save lives.”
He squeezes my hand gently in his. “So why haven’t you applied yet?” He tilts his head and eyes me curiously.
Like it’s that easy. Like achieving my dreams is that simple. “I… can’t. Dad won’t let me.”
But Russ is already shaking his head. “That’s an excuse, Maggie.”
“No, it isn’t,” I protest. “Dad paid for my nursing school. He says I need to earn back enough money to pay him back for it, by working at his hospital, where he wants me. Otherwise he’ll blacklist me in the rest of the industry.”
“You think he could really do that?” Russ lifts an eyebrow. “He has pull around the medical establishment, sure, but enough to get you blackballed from every single establishment or company you might possibly try to work for, anywhere in the world?” Russ shakes his head. “Don’t give your father that much credit, Maggie.”
“What about the school bills, though?”
“If he already paid them, the bill collectors can’t come after you for it. You could offer to pay him back, set up an agreement. If he hasn’t already paid them off, then you could just assume control of the payments yourself. It would be hard to do, on a starting salary, I know, but—”
“Worth it,” I interrupt. “Yeah. I guess I could…”
He squeezes my hand again, and tugs on my arm gently until I finally look up at him. “So?” he asks, his voice softer now.
“So what?” My eyes track his. Drop to his lips. To his mouth, just inches away from mine. It’s hard to stay focused on practical things like career discussions when Russ is right in front of me. Staring at me like this. In a way that makes me suddenly wish we were alone, somewhere private. Not seated at a table with half a dozen witnesses, probably wondering who this young thing Russ brought in is.
My cheeks flush at the thought, and I drive it away. Not the time to worry about that.
“So, what’s the real excuse?” Russ’s grin looks almost sly now. “Besides your father. What’s the real reason you haven’t pursued your dreams?”
I open my mouth. Close it again. Then I press my lips together tightly, thinking. He’s right. There are ways around my father’s control. Big, dangerous steps that I could take. But they scare me. Why do they scare me?
“Because I might fail,” I murmur. “It’s such a big risk. Taking on that debt, and going out there into the world with no backup plan. No family at home to fall back on. Going somewhere I’ve never been, with people I don’t know yet… It’s terrifying.”
“It is a huge risk.” He nods, never letting go of my hand. Never taking his eyes from mine. “That’s what makes it worth it, Maggie. The risk motivates you to reach for higher things than you might have otherwise. Yes, there’s farther to fall if you take that leap… but you’ll never learn to fly if you don’t.”
With that, he squeezes my hand one last time and peels away from the table. I look up with a start to realize that half an hour has passed. The other volunteers have started to clean up already. One of the women tosses me an apron, along with an approving wink.
My cheeks flush, but she senses my embarrassment and leans in quickly. “Don’t worry, we all approve,” she murmurs. “We’ve been wanting Russ to find someone as nice as him for years.”
“I don’t know if I’m that nice,” I admit with a smile, as I watch him across the other side of the kitchen, hauling some of the larger pans to be washed out in the sinks. But she just pats me on the back, undeterred.
“He cares about you,” she says. “A lot. And I can see you feel the same way about him. You two will make it work. Love always
finds a way.”
Love? I almost blurt. But the woman’s already moving on, scurrying across the room to start to work on another set of dishes that need washed. My face feels like it could start a small forest fire at this point, it’s so bright red. Still, I can’t help but cast another glance in Russ’s direction, my heart hammering in my chest.
Love. Fuck. Could it really be? But I don’t remember the last time I felt this way about a guy. I don’t think I ever have. And the fact that Russ brought me here, today, and showed me this side of his life, after years of keeping it hidden from my father, and from all of his other friends… This has to mean something.
Could this be more than just a fling? I wonder. Could I actually love him?
And if so… am I completely fucked?
8
You’re off tonight, right? Russ’s text appears in my phone while I’m in Dad’s car, listening to Dad rant about some obscure argument going on right now between one board member and another. Much as Dad does drive me crazy, I don’t envy his job. He’s constantly dealing with people like that, who have more money than common sense, as he likes to complain. From what I’ve paid attention to of the current rant, I do have to agree that it sounds ridiculous.
Mostly, though, I just want to get home so I can reply to Russ’s text. My heart skips a beat as I side-eye Dad, wondering if I can get away with texting while he’s talking. I slide my phone out from where I’ve tucked it under my thigh and run my thumb over the unlock button. I’m just pulling open Russ’s text thread when Dad shoots me a pointed look.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course.” I shove my phone back under my leg. “Rich people having dumb arguments that will affect real people’s lives down the line. As usual.”
