by Hayes, Liv
Chapter 22
ALEX
I didn’t sleep. I stayed up all night, staring out the window, remembering how Mia had looked on the eve that we first met. Hooked up to wires and tubes.
You’re not like other doctors.
She was so right and so wrong all at once.
The next morning, in the elevator, I was on autopilot. I felt like a fucking zombie. And when an orderly knocked into me with one of the gurneys, spilling coffee all over my coat, I nearly snapped.
“So sorry, doctor!” he said. “Let me at least get you a towel or something.”
“It’s fine,” I said through pursed lips. “You’re fine. Go on, now.”
The corridors were bustling. It was a scattered array of colored scrubs and eyes glued to files or clipboards. At the nurses station, I grabbed a handful of tissues and started blotting at the stain.
When that failed, I yanked my coat off and groaned loudly.
So this was how my day would start. Maybe I deserved it.
I shuffled about, making my way to my assigned rooms, picking up files, meeting with patients. Shaking hands, relaying advice, scribbling prescriptions. The light in all the rooms poured in with a suffocating intensity, making the white-washed walls seem blinding.
“Looks like it might not rain today,” Grace enthused. She was attempting to scrub my coat clean of the coffee stain. It worked, albeit just a little. “You need to sleep, Dr. Greene.”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked. “In any event, you’re probably right.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked as I pulled my coat back on. “Any day now, right?”
“In relation to what?”
She blinked.
“Cait,” she said. “She’s due soon, isn’t she?”
Although I was aware that Cait was honing in on D-Day, for some reason, the revelation startled me. I had spent so long on the wayside, unattached from her, waiting for some communication, that I had become more focused on my feelings for Mia and how much I perpetually missed her instead of the impending birth of my child.
But despite my confusion, trying to piece together what was going through Cait’s head was like sending a satellite into space and waiting on standby for that faint flicker of signal.
I nodded, straightened my lab-coat, and sighed.
“Yes,” I said, my voice lowered. “Any day now.”
I tried calling Cait’s cell in-between patients, but she never picked up. I called a second time: nothing. A third directed to her home phone: voicemail.
My veins glowed with a kind of slow-churning fury. I felt, all things considered, pissed off.
In-between the hospital and office, I spent my free hour sitting in the hospital courtyard, which was thankfully empty. I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t even want coffee. I just wanted to be alone with my own thoughts.
Mia.
Mia, with her hands against the glass, her body painted with the neon night-life that bled through the window. The way her dark hair spilled against alabaster skin.
I sighed. Soft, quiet. What had I done?
As I sat there, feeling unabashedly sorry for myself despite having no true rhyme or reason to be – there’s no cure for being a human – Weisman came over and settled down on the stone bench beside me.
For a second or two, he glanced upwards towards the sky.
“Nice day today,” he remarked. “No rain. Not a cloud in the sky.”
“Hm,” I muttered. “Yeah. No rain.”
He turned to me, hunching over slightly. He was a good-looking guy, and even his relentlessly bad posture (poor sleep, too much liquor) didn’t seem to dent the charming curl to his sideways grin. His hair, which was mostly black, was speckled with a distinguished gray.
And I’m not sure why I did it, to be honest. Why I told him. It was lunacy, of course. Placing everything on the table as I did. But if I didn’t tell someone about the albatross that was my love life, and God knows I had no other people surrounding me that I could consider friends, I would have lost my mind. The only person that I wanted to talk about Mia with, was Mia. And she wasn’t here.
“Could I ask you something, Nick?”
“Sure,” he said. “Shoot.”
“Do you think there’s ever been a doctor who’s crossed the line of ethical boundaries with a patient?”
He straightened up, his eyebrows raised. Maybe it was the speck-sized promise of drama, but he suddenly took interest.
“Why are you asking?” he said. “Did you hear something around the hospital?”
“No,” I answered. “I was just asking.”
Dr. Weisman relaxed, exhaling heavily.
“Al…” he said. “Is something going on?”
“Aside from the fact that I’m going to be a father soon? At least, I was. I have no idea what’s going on at this point.”
He shook his head, turning towards me. His hazel eyes narrowed, and I could see that he was just as tired as I was. It was the first time, I think, that I saw something gentle in Dr. Weisman. The typical hard-headed lech had been replaced with a real person.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” he said. “You’re fucking a patient, aren’t you?”
“Jesus Christ,” I hissed. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”
He said nothing, lowering his eyes. I felt the chill of words unspoken suddenly drift over me. I could have fainted, or vomited, or some combination of the two. But instead I stayed, sitting, rigid.
“Who is she?” he asked. “The girl.”
“She’s no one.”
“You’re lying,” he declared. “If she was no one, you wouldn’t be sitting here, looking morose, white as a fucking sheet of paper, Al.”
“I feel sick,” I said, covering my face. “Jesus. Oh, God.”
I felt the warm press of Dr. Weisman’s hand on my shoulder. Comfort. Only there was no true comfort here. I was a mess of tangled vulnerability; all knotted up veins and skin cut with invisible, inevitable lashings.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “What’s gotten into you, man? A patient?”
“I know.”
He whistled. I lowered my hands. When I cut a glance at him, his eyes were on the scattered leaves that danced across the courtyard’s stone pathway.
“I’ve done many foolish, fucked-up things,” he said. “My family loathes me now. I don’t even have the dog. I’m living in a box until the offer for my new place comes through. But Alex…” he stopped, his hand still resting on my shoulder. “A patient. That could ruin everything. That’s not reckless abandon. That’s suicide.”
I swallowed.
“You can’t see her anymore,” he added. “Patient still or not, she’s on file. She’s in the system. She’s ink on paper, and a click away from tangible proof in a lawsuit.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” I told him. “She just came out of nowhere, and I was blindsided. I care about her. I can’t stop thinking about her. I feel like I’m living on standby without her here. I stopped seeing her, Nick. I did. But I don’t know if I can keep it up.”
“You need to calm the fuck down,” Nick explained. “You can, and you will. You’re just living some ridiculous fantasy. It’s time to grow up.”
My face grew hot. I didn’t want to take his advice, nor did I even I want to hear it.
But the worst of it was…he was right.
“It doesn’t last forever,” Weisman added. “I loved Elaine, you know. I was in love with her. There was awhile when I couldn’t even fathom breathing without her around. But it doesn’t last, Al. It fades.”
“I didn’t say I loved her,” I told him.
Dr. Weisman gave me a knowing look. A don’t-bullshit-me, man kind of look. And I couldn’t deny it.
“Trust me,” Nick said. With that, he took a pack of cigarettes, lit one, inhaled. “Nothing lasts forever, Al. I’ve made this mistake before.”
He offered me one. I tentatively accepted. And I spent the rest of th
e afternoon trying to breathe, trying to function, with the taste of ash in my mouth.
Mason’s car was in the driveway when I arrived, turning off the engine but remaining in place. It was almost 8 o’clock, and I could see through the kitchen window as he stirred something in a large pot, standing over the stove.
When I knocked, he answered.
“Hey, doctor,” he said. He said doctor like it was a bad joke. “What’s up?”
I pulled out my phone, glanced down at it, then looked back up at him.
“I’ve called Cait three times today,” I told him. “She picked up on none of them. Is she home?”
Mason’s lips parted, and he turned away. His body language was riddled with obvious discomfort as he stepped aside, let me in, and mumbled:
“She’s in the nursery,” he said. “She’s decorating.”
I felt his eyes follow me as I walked down the hall, around the corner, and up the stairs. When I reached the nursery door I gave a gentle tap (physician’s habit), and let myself in.
Cait was seated on the rocker, sorting through a box of Children’s books. When she connected the dots, realizing that it was me who was standing there, and not Mason, she timidly set down a copy of Goodnight, Moon and attempted to stand.
“Don’t,” I insisted. “You don’t need to get up.”
“Why are you here?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you kidding?” I asked. “You never answered my calls today. You’ve gone completely awol. Your due-date is around the corner. What do you think is fucking wrong?”
Suddenly, I took note of the walls. They were still the same shade of Sweet Mint, but the trim was a darling pale pink. The crib, which had been barren, was now filled with ruffled, lacy bedding. The small stuffed duckling that I had bought was nestled inside next to a heart-shaped pillow.
“What’s going on?” I finally asked. “Is this your way of telling me that you’ve changed your mind, Cait? Because I don’t have time for your games. Just let me know what I need to do. I won’t fight you on it.”
She said nothing. Dead, cold silence. Not even radio static.
“I want to be here for you,” I told her. “But I can’t if you don’t let me in.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“You asked me for this,” I said. “You came to me out of the blue with news that you were having a baby, and I’ve helped you, and tried to be a decent man in a rather shambled set of circumstances. And it all started because you asked me to.”
Cait softened. Her lips puckered.
And then, of all things, she started to cry.
“Cait,” I said gently. “Cait, what is it?”
She sucked in a deep breath.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I’m a horrible person.”
I knelt down beside her, and tried to take her hand, but she yanked it back immediately and covered her eyes. A loud, shuddering exhale followed.
“Why would you say that?” I asked. “We don’t have to do this, Cait. We can work something out. I’ll be here for you. I’ll be a father to our little girl.”
“No,” she said. “You won’t.”
I paused, fumbling. I was on my knees, aching against the hardwood floors. But I didn’t stand.
“Of course I will,” I told her. “And we can set something up. A schedule. And we can make this work. I want to be here. For you. For the baby.”
It was then that I remembered: Ivy. The book of names.
“Does she have a name?” I asked, my heart quickening.
Cait sniffled loudly, wiping her face. Her mascara bled down her cheeks.
“Not yet,” she said, and I replied:
“I like Ivy,” I told her. “I looked through the book of names, all of them, just like you asked.”
This didn’t help. The sobbing grew louder. So much so, that Mason came barreling up the stairs, and Cait had to insist that we were fine, and that she didn’t need help.
“Go back downstairs,” she told him. “We’re okay.”
Mason gave me the once-over, lingering in the doorway. Then, as instructed, he left. I waited for the last creak of his heavy footsteps down the stairs before I said anything else.
“What’s going on?” I asked her. “What going on with you, Cait?”
“I told you,” she said. “And I’m so sorry.”
I rose to my feet, crossing my arms.
“Why?” I asked softly.
She looked at me. Really looked at me. All puffy-eyed and swollen faced. Her cheeks were plum-colored, lips slack, hair in a messy bun. Out of all the times I had seen her, she now resembled the worst version of herself.
“She’s not yours, Alex,” Cait said quietly. “She’s Mason’s.”
“Excuse me?” I said. The words did not compute. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the baby isn’t yours, Alex,” she said. “She’s not yours. She’s Mason’s.”
As I registered the words she spoke to me, I acknowledged, with each passing second, that someone in the wide expanse of Earth was holding their newborn. Somewhere in the world, the first cry of an infant was heard. A mother’s tear was shed.
And I was nothing.
“How could you possibly know?” I asked.
“I had the paternity test done,” she explained shakily. “Amniocentesis. They took some of the amniotic fluid and ran the labs.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she insisted. “You were incessant. You were buzzing around, calling me, trying so hard, Alex,” she attempted to wipe her cheek, which only smeared the coal-colored eyeliner. “I guess I was hoping she was yours. I was hoping if I neglected it, this could just glide by.”
“How could you?” I asked. “How could you do something like this? How could you continue to accept my help?”
“Alex-”
“How long?” I snapped. “How long have you known?”
When she said nothing, I spoke her name. It felt like ice against my tongue.
“Cait,” I said.
“One month,” she answered.
One month. An entire fucking month.
I stared at her. I stared at her, sitting there, making her pathetic attempt at saving her face. And I wanted to hate her, you know. I wanted to hate her as much as I hated Mason, or even hated myself.
And I was angry. God, I was livid. But instead of yelling, I took one last look around the bedroom – at the little duckling with the black-bead eyes, the frilly bedding, the pink trim along the walls, and said:
“I…” I paused. “I’ll leave now, I think.”
“Alex,” she started again, and I raised my hand.
“Don’t,” I told her. “Let me leave. Let me walk out. And please, for the love of God, Cait, don’t ever contact me again.”
I could hear her strain to get up as I bolted down the steps. In the kitchen, Mason set the ladle he was holding down, and looked at me.
I hit him square in the nose. Fist to bone. The blood spurts were immediate; the scream that followed ringing throughout the entire apartment.
In the Porsche, I sped away, ignoring the blood on my knuckles.
My hands had already been stained.
Chapter 23
MIA
The two weeks that followed were nothing but shelving books and silence. Alex didn’t call, and didn’t answer any of my attempts. Not a single word.
On the nights I wasn’t working, I spent them inside, wrapped in a blanket, staring at whatever was on the TV, feeling pathetic and devastated and self-deprecatingly foolish.
I was a twenty-two year-old young adult. I was a strong, capable woman that didn’t need some guy to make her complete. So why was I letting some affair drag me down?
Don’t cry, I told myself. It’s not worth it.
When Aimee eventually came over, she sat with me for a long while, looking distraught.
“Don’t make an
y comments the current state of things,” I told her. “I know I need to clean.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said.
“Good,” I said. All of my joints felt unhinged. My eyes were swollen. But I still hadn’t cried. “It’s over, you know. Between Dr. Greene and I.”
“Is it?” She asked, vaguely dubious. “I mean, I’m sorry. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I thought it was just some stupid spat,” I told her. “We got into it the other night. I got offended after he tried giving me this gift, and I asked him about our future, and he totally blew it off. But I didn’t think…I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect it to just end, like jumping from the edge of a cliff. Nothing.”
Aimee curled up next to me, pressing a palm to my cheek. Her hands were warm, and she smelled like raspberry lotion.
“You have amazing things going on in your life,” she told me. “Remember that. You’ve got Cambridge to look forward to. You have this incredible thing that you’ve worked four years to attain, and now you have it.”
“I know,” I muttered.
“Don’t let this swallow you,” she said. “It’s only love. You’ll find another.”
“I know,” I said. “I get it.”
After a moment’s pause, my insides coiling, I added:
“I’m going over there,” I said. “I’m going to go by his apartment, and officially end it on my terms. I’m going to speak with him. I’m not going to allow him to play this off like some fucking coward.”
“No,” Aimee said hastily, sitting up. “That’s not what I was implying. That’s not what you should do, Mia. Stay here. Watch a movie. I’ll make you some hot chocolate. But do. Not. Go to him.”
She followed me around as I pulled on a T-Shirt, a pair of jeans, and my sneakers. I threw my hair up in a hasty ponytail.
“I need to do this,” I told her. “You don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t,” she insisted. “You need to sit down. That’s what you need to do. You need to take a deep breath and realize that some things end, Mia. They just end. And it sucks, and it’s terrible. But going to him isn’t going to help you. It’s going to make this worse.”
“You don’t know anything about anything,” I told her.