He nodded his understanding. “Will you tell me about your parents?” he requested, taking a seat on the sofa and patting the cushion beside him.
“I— You have a flight to catch and…”
He took my hand, pulling me gently into his lap. “I never pretend to be interested for the sake of doing so. If I ask you something, it’s because I truly want to know.”
This was a fundamental part of Josh. He never cared if the moment got awkward or needed some conversation filler. He was measured with what he asked and what he decided to talk about. He reclined slightly on the cushions and settled me between his legs, waiting for me to speak.
“My mom was born and raised Southern, daughter of a governor. My dad grew up in Northern California and worked on my grandfather’s second term campaign as an intern. They met, fell in love, got married and she moved out to California. He was a divorce attorney and my mother a homemaker who involved herself in local charities and with my school. I had a good childhood: private schools, nice vacations, all of their attention, love, and support.” I paused and thought back to the night that had forever changed my life.
“Then one evening, out of the blue, my parents called me into the living room. My mother had been crying; my father was more serious than I’d ever seen him. I instantly thought I was busted for having had sex in the backseat of my boyfriend’s car as we had done that for the first time a week earlier. I was so naïve and self-centered.”
Josh hugged me. “You were, what, sixteen years old? You’re supposed to be self-centered at that age. So I take it they told you news about your father’s health?”
Sighing, I recalled the memory. “Yes. My father was a smoker in my younger years but had quit when I was in middle school, so I think we were all shocked when he was diagnosed with lung cancer. When he quit, we naively figured all the risks disappeared.” I waited, realizing that Josh was still intently listening.
“How long did he have?” he queried softly.
“Less than a year. He tried one round of chemo, but that seemed worse than the cancer. He had hoped to watch me graduate, but he fell a few months shy.” Josh’s arms came around me and swallowed past the lump in my throat. “At least he knew that I’d been accepted to Stanford. It made him proud.”
“I bet it did and your mom?”
“After my father died, we packed up and sold the house. My grandfather died that same year and my mother was in a deep depression. I never knew my mom to smoke cigarettes, but evidently my grandfather had been a heavy smoker and I guess she had smoked for quite a few years in her youth. I didn’t realize then that she already knew she had the early stages of emphysema. Combination of her smoking and the second hand smoke exposure.”
“She insisted on moving down with me during college. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but the thought of leaving her alone was worse. So we moved down to Palo Alto and got an apartment there. At the end of my freshman year of college my mom told me she was sick. By my junior year she was on oxygen, and then a month after my graduation, she passed.”
“She attended your graduation?”
“Yes, from a wheel chair and on oxygen, but she got to see it. The last couple months I studied for the LSAT, and we composed her bucket list. We went through places she’d always wanted me to see, things that were important to her for me to know about, such as traditions, et cetera. I guess it gave her peace to know that we made plans together for the future. I don’t know, I guess it doesn’t really matter.”
“Of course it matters. I think it is a gift to have had that time. Is her death the reason you didn’t go right into law school?”
“Yeah, that, finances, and my little mental breakdown.” I was trying to make a joke, but realized it fell completely flat when he stiffened. “I was only kidding.”
He kissed the back of my neck and swept my hair to the side. “Tell me about it.”
“I had planned on going to law school, but the medical debt was high, and there were a lot of things to take care of. I wasn’t focused.”
“They didn’t have medical or life insurance?”
“My father did, and still there were sizable medical bills. It’s astounding how much cancer costs even with insurance. Selling the house helped, and although I didn’t have a lot of insight into the finances at that point, my father’s law partner told me that my mom was debt-free. But with my father’s death and my mom not yet being sixty-five years old and qualifying for Medicare, she had no insurance. I had to sell their cars and my mom sold a lot of her jewelry. So no law school fund. I chose to save up some money first rather than going into student loan debt. I took the experience I had working for my father during the summers—filing, preparing documents, and helping schedule—put it on a resume, and got the job with Warren in LA.”
“Tell me about the breakdown.”
Wincing, I hoped I had changed the subject successfully. “It’s not something that is easy for me to talk about. Tell me something personal that no one else knows about you, and I will.”
Exhaling, he massaged my shoulders gently. “I had a vasectomy towards the end of my marriage.”
I hadn’t figured on him sharing something so deeply private. “Why?” I had to ask when he didn’t elaborate.
“Aside from the obvious reason that I don’t want to have children?”
“I guess I was thinking something convinced you to make that decision when you did.”
He paused before changing the subject. “Were you hospitalized and treated?”
I realized we were trading vulnerabilities and took a deep breath. “Yes, briefly on the hospitalization, and I was on antidepressants until I moved to LA.” My voice was small and I wished I could erase that part of my life.
“Did you try to harm yourself?” His voice was quiet and nonjudgmental but I still felt deeply exposed.
“No, but I stopped taking care of myself. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t shower. I just cried and wanted to bury myself in bed and give up. Not the same as cutting my wrists, but not exactly healthy, either.” I could feel his hands rubbing my arms, warming me up from the chill.
“What prompted the vasectomy?”
“My ex got pregnant. It wasn’t mine.”
Letting out a breath, I took his hand, bringing it to my lips. I gave it a kiss and then turned towards him. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Who found you, got you help?”
I sighed, hating the embarrassment of having needed help. “My father’s partner and best friend, Charlie Hastings.” I hoped not to have to elaborate, but he wasn’t having it.
“What happened?”
“He and his wife, Beth, had been checking up on me and I hadn’t returned his calls. He found me crumpled on the bathroom floor dehydrated and out of it. He called an ambulance and they-uh put me in a place for a few weeks. He even paid for everything and then moved me down to LA. I owe him a great deal, and yet he refuses to see it that way.” I got up and paced as if trying to mentally shrug off the memory. “The thing is that I’m not that girl anymore. She wasn’t strong enough to pull it together and so talking about her and what happened isn’t easy.”
“That was just a few months ago, Haylee. I think you should cut yourself some slack.”
With a smile, I took a seat again, feeling more myself by the minute. “I’m not going back there, Josh. I don’t need the meds, and I don’t need the counseling. It was just a reaction to a tough situation. I’m stronger now and realize only I can change my fate and the way I choose to look at life. I may not believe that life is a big happy ending, but being depressed is a choice and I’m choosing not to be.”
“Haylee, depression is not something you can just flick on or off like a switch. I think it’s commendable that you have adopted a can-do attitude, but it isn’t always as simple as that. You lost both your parents at a very pivotal time in your life—”
It was easier to keep a handle on my
emotions when I wasn’t getting sympathy. “Josh, I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but I don’t need you to try to psychoanalyze me anymore than you’d want me doing it to you. I’m not saying I won’t have moments where I’m sad about things because I know I will, but this is something I need to do for myself. No one else can help me with it.”
“All right. I won’t say anymore. Everyone has their own way of dealing with things and if this works for you, then I’ll respect that.”
“Thank you.” I breathed a sigh of relief that this conversation was over.
“Haylee, I don’t want to get married again, ever, or have children. I walked away in Mexico because I don’t want to hurt you. I should have been resilient enough to have let you go to your room and not used the key, but instead I called Mark and—”
Putting my finger to his lips, I confessed, “I’m really glad that you called Mark. And I’m glad we’re clear on what it is you want and don’t want. In the interest of full disclosure, I want to get married someday and have kids, and I mean plural because being an only child when you lose your parents sucks. But before doing any of that, I want to go to law school, get a job, and settle somewhere—which means I don’t want a long-term relationship to derail that plan in the meantime.” At this point in my life just the thought of anything long-term petrified me. This was not a complication I was ready to deal with at this point in my life.
“So we figure this out until you leave for school next fall?”
“Considering we both want different things and are heading in separate directions, I think it would be good to have an expiration date up front.” In my mind, I reasoned it would be nice to know when something was going to end as opposed to having the rug dragged out from under me. Losing both parents had taught me that nothing was for certain and time went by in the snap of a finger.
Drawing back, he stroked his thumbs under my eyes and wiped away the residual tears. “I need to catch a plane to Hong Kong.”
Frowning, I got up from the couch only to be pulled back down.
“I needed some time by myself to process,” he maintained, searching my eyes.
I knew I wasn’t hiding the fact that I was upset very well. “How’s that working out for you?” Considering he had essentially followed me here, I think it went without saying that he was a walking contradiction.
“Look, it wasn’t personal.”
Rolling my eyes, I felt all of the anger from this morning return. “It sure as hell felt personal that after a night of your face in my hooha, the next thing I have is a note saying you’re leaving me in Mexico.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Hooha?”
My gaze narrowed. “That would be what you take from that sentence. Bottom line is you hired me to be your travel secretary while Nigel is unable to do so. Then you leave me to do the walk of shame back into the office. What was I supposed to tell Nigel? What was I supposed to think? It sure as hell felt personal.”
“What is a walk of shame?”
Looking closely I realized he wasn’t kidding. I got up, and took a deep breath. “Google it. I’m not going to take the time to explain it as you have a flight to catch. I’ll see you back in New York.”
“All right, maybe I will google hooha, too, while I’m at it,” he smirked, pulling out his phone.
I busied myself gathering two of the hard sided suitcases I’d seen in the back and packing them with several coats and a couple more of my mother’s gowns to include her wedding dress. I don’t know why I wanted it with me, but it just made me feel better to have it in my possession. I finished up and found him still engrossed in his phone.
“All right, according to the urban dictionary, a hooha is also known as female genitalia, aka vagina, aka punani. Well, that’s a new one. Also considered a happy place. I guess I won’t be clicking on images.”
Shaking my head, I tried not to smile.
He gave me a devilish grin. “Now, then, the walk of shame. Let’s see. It is known as the walk across campus in the same clothes as yesterday after you slept with someone and spent the night in his or her room.”
He glanced up at me after reading a bit more. “First of all, you are showered and changed. And secondly, I would never put it that way.” He looked mildly offended.
“It was a figure of speech. Even if I am flying back across the country to New York, it feels like I might as well be skulking across campus in last night’s clothes. You never did tell me, by the way, why you’re here. How did you know where to find me?”
He appeared uncomfortable but answered the question. “I had a layover and called Maria to see what your travel plans were. She told me about you renting the car, and so I waited in the Hertz lot and followed you. I was curious.”
“You could have called me.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to send mixed messages.” The twinkle in his eye showed he got the irony.
I blew out a breath. “Yeah, cuz showing up here didn’t. Look, you wanted time alone. It’s fine. I get it. Next time, please tell me to my face so that I don’t feel like—I don’t know—how I felt this morning when I got the note.”
“How did you feel?” He genuinely seemed to want to know.
Considering I was still raw from the sting of it, I decided to be frank. “The tray showed up, and I thought what a romantic gesture. Then I got the note, and I thought maybe it was something cute, but it wasn’t. It made me think that somehow I had done something wrong or—I don’t know.”
He moved closer and cupped my chin. “Tell me.”
“I thought maybe my reaction was weird or my thighs were too big, or I said something wrong last night during.”
His eyes widened.
“Look, I know that sounds ridiculous to you, but for a woman, these are the stupid things that go through our head when a man just up and leaves after something intimate like that. Obviously, I got over it by the time I took a shower. But you said not to take it personally, and, well, after what happened, I thought it particularly unthoughtful to tell me to think of you leaving me as business. That’s all.”
“I don’t know what to say.” He seemed contrite, but I noted that the first words out of his mouth were not that of an apology.
“Well, you asked and I’m simply being honest even if it is more than you want to hear. Anyhow, I’m ready.”
He looked down at the two suitcases and took them out to my car to load while I locked up.
***
We took our separate cars to the airport and met up at the rental counter after turning over the keys.
“I’m going to get checked in. I think you need to make your way to the international terminal that way.” I pointed and turned towards the domestic terminal.
He frowned. “Let’s call Maria and get you on my flight to Hong Kong.”
Hesitating, I glanced down at my suitcases. “Josh, you want time alone. I get it. I feel better now that you’ve told me that to my face, and I filled two large suitcases that are meant to get back to New York and not by way of Hong Kong. It’s fine, really.”
But suddenly he didn’t seem to think so. “We can have them shipped. Come on, I’ll take care of that while you call Maria.”
After Maria worked her magic and we got checked in, I looked over at Josh in the lounge. “Why did you change your mind?”
Glancing back at me, his stunning green eyes were serious. “I figured if we were going to do this, it might be better to work out the awkwardness overseas where no one knows what is the norm, rather than back in New York.” His answer was pretty black and white. I guessed that I was not going to get a because I thought I’d miss you from him anytime soon.
“So the hotel situation: am I going to have to drink enough each night to get up the nerve to give you my key? Or will you—I don’t know—let me know ahead of time if you plan on coming by?”
If he noticed my sarcasm, he chose to ignore it. “This is new territory for me, Haylee, and I’m a little paranoi
d about how to maintain professional boundaries what with the new personal ones.”
I was a little offended. “I would like to think I’ll be professional, Josh. You don’t have to worry about me embarrassing you; I’m not going to hop on you in a conference room, I promise.”
He glanced at me, evidently amused. “You’re not the only one I’m worried about.”
Holy crap, was Josh as turned on by my presence as I was by his? It was hard for me to believe when he always seemed in such control.
“Do you have one of these?” He showed me his iPad.
I shook my head. “No, but they seem pretty cool. Plus, you can play Angry Birds on a larger screen than just your phone.”
He quirked a brow.
After I motioned for him to hand it over, I swiped over it with my fingers. I went to the app section, downloaded one of the program’s versions, and demonstrated.
“What kind of game is that?” He looked a cross between appalled and intrigued.
“Stress release. You shoot birds at pigs or monkeys. It gets addictive. Try it, at least.”
He seemed apprehensive, but a few minutes later he was shooting birds with expert precision.
“See, and now you are properly educated in mindless stress relief. You could even put it on your phone if you’d like.”
He gave me a look that conveyed his irritation at having been sucked in, and I had to laugh.
“I have enough work without that distraction,” he told me. “But if you need to kill some monkeys or pigs on a larger screen, feel free to borrow it anytime.”
Smiling, we checked the clock and made our way to the boarding gate.
***
First class on a 747 was spectacular. We went upstairs and I marveled at the individual pods with flat screens and leather chairs that looked like they reclined into full beds. I was immediately greeted by a flight attendant and asked what I’d like to drink.
Josh negotiated with the man beside me and he had seemed inclined to trade so that I would be seated next to him. Wasn’t as though we could snuggle and watch television, as the pods were designed for individual privacy, but we would be able to talk, which would be nice.
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