Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  All of that icy reserve appears to have melted away now, though, leaving only sorrow. He’s sitting at the table, his head in his hands. His long fingers are curled into his blond hair. As quietly as I can, I tiptoe into the room. Aron looks up when he hears the door close. I’ll bet he didn’t sleep at all last night; there are shadows beneath his eyes and little stress lines around his mouth. He stares at me as I come forward, as I take the seat next to him. There’s a lump in my throat as I say, “I heard about Davonte. I’m so sorry, Aron.”

  He looks away. “I thought I was going to get him through this,” he says in a dead voice. “I really believed it.”

  Cautiously, I touch his arm. “I have no doubt you did everything that could be done.”

  “Joanna said the same.” He bows his head. “But I always wonder if that’s true. Especially when I fail.” He grimaces. “You should have seen his mother when I had to tell her he probably wouldn’t make it.”

  I take a huge chance and put my arm over his shoulders. I know this isn’t completely professional, and it would look bad if someone walked in on us right now. But I feel the pain in Aron’s voice like it’s inside my own body. And at my touch, his rigid muscles loosen slightly. “I can’t imagine having to deliver that kind of news,” I say quietly. “It’s a terrible responsibility. But Davonte was lucky to have you as his doctor.”

  He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “His mother would have agreed with you. Until last night, at least.”

  “If it seems like she’s changed her mind, it’s because she’s lost her baby. She won’t be able to say everything she feels or even understand it herself. Right now she’s just trying to survive.” My eyes are burning, and I blink to chase the sting away.

  “I hate it,” Aron whispers. “Cancer. It is an insidious, evil thing.”

  “And you help these kids defeat it, and make the world more fair.” I stroke his arm, praying he hears me. “But you also let yourself care about them, even though you understand how much it will hurt if they don’t win in the end.”

  “I don’t have a choice in that.”

  “Of course you do. You could disconnect, and you could treat them like bodies instead of people. But you don’t. I can hear it in your voice every time you talk to one of them. I admire you for it.”

  He turns his head. “You’ve been on this rotation for how long?” he says, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of his mouth.

  “Five whole days,” I say. “But obviously, I am very wise.” I say it as a joke, but he nods.

  And then he closes his eyes and leans, just a bit, and I do too. Our foreheads touch. “Thank you, Nessa.”

  I stare at his face, the sadness etched there, and a yearning swells inside of me, more powerful than attraction. More than wanting to kiss him again, I want to know him. I want to understand him. I want to spend time with him and hear more about what’s in his head. I want it more than anything I’ve wanted in a while. It’s more dangerous than a simple crush, so much more likely to distract me from my work, to get complicated, to hurt me when it ends. But despite that risk, I absolutely mean it when I say, “Anytime, Aron.”

  The next morning, I skip the gym in favor of a ridiculous amount of time spent in front of the mirror. Aron and I aren’t doing anything fancy, just dinner, so I end up settling on a cute belted blouse and a pencil skirt that makes my rear end look damn good, if I do say so myself. After I fiddle with my hair and makeup and pray both withstand the day, I commute to the hospital and visit all my consult patients before returning to the office to spend the afternoon writing up my first neuropsychological evaluation. Lisa comes in around half-past five, looking frazzled and unhappy. She sags a little when she sees me. “I’ve been looking for you. Should have known you’d be in the most obvious place!”

  “Whoa. What’s up?”

  She closes the door and sits in her chair. “I wanted to catch you. I know you’re going out with Aron tonight.”

  “Yeah …?” I can’t figure out why she’s looking at me that way.

  She sighs. “I was talking with one of the Palliative Medicine fellows this morning, and it turns out she knows him.”

  “Yeah?” My throat tightens. I hate the way she’s looking at me. This mixture of pity and warning.

  “She said she was far from the only one.” Lisa leans forward a bit. “It turns out a lot of women know him. And when I say know, I mean—”

  I sit back, suddenly remembering Nick’s hateful words from yesterday: I hear he gets around. I completely discounted that information because of the source. But to hear it from Lisa … “Stop. Whatever you’re trying to tell me, just stop.”

  She grimaces. “Nessa, I don’t want you to get hurt! Apparently he worked his way through the roster last semester and left a lot of broken hearts and bad feelings. Forget ‘gentlemanly fish’—this guy is a total shark! I mean, I’ve seen him, so I get it, but—”

  “Stop!” I blink fast, because I don’t want to cry. That would be stupid, because I’ve been out with Aron once. One look at him was enough to tell me other women would want him, too. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s been with a few. And on top of that, I’m not looking for a relationship! Except, I realize with sadness … with him, I might have been willing to make an exception.

  “Stopped,” says Lisa, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m only looking out for you. I could tell you really liked him.”

  “I appreciate you trying to protect me,” I say thickly, trying to swallow the misery that’s welling up inside me.

  She gives me an apologetic smile. “That’s what friends are for. And I’m sorry.”

  We both turn toward the knock at the door, and half in a daze, I open it. Aron is standing in the hall, his bag hanging from his shoulder, and his face lights up when he sees me. “You ready?”

  I stand there for a second, completely paralyzed by the beauty of his smile. “I’m ready,” I finally say. But as I grab my bag and say goodbye to Lisa, nothing could be further from the truth.

  Chapter Seven

  I join Aron in the hallway, closing the door to the intern office. I don’t want to be watched. Aron frowns when he sees my expression. “Rough day?”

  I close my eyes and nod. I should call the whole thing off right now, but I don’t want to do this here, in the hospital, when any of my colleagues could walk by. It’s not that I think Aron wouldn’t handle it well. It’s how I would handle it. Because now that he’s in front of me, all I want to do is be with him, and it feels like a fist around my heart. “Where are we going?” I ask, my voice a little raspy.

  His fingers brush my cheek, so gentle and warm. “I got us reservations at Buddakan. Have you heard of it?”

  I shake my head. “Indian?”

  “Asian. Nessa, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” I hazard a glance at his face. There’s a hesitant smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It crashes over me like a wave, my want of him, and I swear I see the same thing reflected in his eyes. It might just be his desire to cross me off his to-do list, though. And … wouldn’t that be the definition of keeping things simple? I’m a grown up. I can do this. “Let’s go.”

  He takes my hand, and we walk to the parking garage. He leads me to a blue Volvo that looks old enough that I suspect he got it when he first came here for medical school. The inside of it smells like his grassy cologne, green tea, and the faintest hint of sweat, which makes me smile. At least he’s not completely perfect. He drives like someone who knows the city like the back of his hand and slides smoothly into a parking spot the size of my cubicle. “I could use valet parking,” he says, glancing down at my shoes.

  “It’s fine,” I say, looking at my chunky mahogany heels. “I wore my practical footgear today.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Your idea of practical and mine are quite different.” And then he flashes that wicked grin. “But I’ll carry you if you ask me nicely.”

  He opens my door
for me and we walk to the restaurant with his hand on the small of my back. Even that tiny point of contact is doing things to me, sending shocks of pleasure to all my sensitive spots. It’s not fair. And suddenly I wonder: is this how he touches all his conquests? Is this how it starts? How does he expect tonight to end?

  That’s when I know I can’t bear it. Doing things that scare me is one thing, but doing things that are downright bad for me is another. I don’t want to fall (maybe literally) head over heels when all he wants is a one night stand. It might be simple for him, but for me, it wouldn’t be. I don’t want to be a conquest, to be a name on a roster, as Lisa called it. Not when I’ve spent the whole week thinking about seeing him smile and hearing his voice. Not when I’ve seen him agonize over losing a patient; not when I’ve come to admire him. “Wait,” I say, turning away from his touch. “We don’t have to do this.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Listen, I’m really busy right now, and …” I sound like a complete loser. “I’m not sure I can …”

  “Eat? Because that was the plan.”

  “I can’t. I’m … not really into Asian food.” Truth: the smells coming out of that restaurant are making my mouth water.

  “Why didn’t you say so? We can go somewhere else. There’s a place—”

  I take another step away from him. “It’s all right. You don’t have to take me to dinner.”

  His face twists with confusion. “I don’t have to? When did I give you the impression I was doing this out of a sense of obligation?”

  “I’m sorry. It was really nice of you to ask me out, but—”

  He takes my arm and pulls me toward a stone-paved historic lane that runs between the buildings. With firm, sure hands, he guides me until my back is against granite, and I let him because I don’t want to make a scene. But I’m eyeing the buses that roar by, wondering which one will get me home.

  “Look at me,” he says roughly. When I do, he continues. “I’ve been thinking about you all week—you’ve been the only bright spot in what’s been an absolutely miserable few days. And for some reason, I thought you felt the same. Can you tell me how I got that wrong? I’m not usually such an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” I say miserably. “I don’t think I can handle this. I mean … I don’t think I have time for this.”

  He submerges the hurt in his expression beneath a winsome smile. “All I wanted to do was have dinner with you.”

  “Is that it?”

  He considers that for a moment. “Well, no, if we’re being honest.”

  “Honesty is good,” I croak, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t think I can keep up with you, Aron. We want different things.” I want to avoid getting my heart broken.

  His eyes narrow. “How do you know what I want?”

  “Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Lindstrom.” It comes out strangled and sounds as sad as I feel.

  He stares at me for a long minute, letting those words sink in, and then he curses and scrubs his hand over his face. “Of course it did,” he mutters, nailing me with a look so intense that I feel it like a hand on my throat. “So you heard some rumors and came to the conclusion that I am only interested in a quick fuck, yes?” He waves his hand toward the restaurant. “And that this is merely a ruse, just the fancy wrapping on my plans to get into your pants?”

  “That sums it up,” I whisper.

  “Wow, you must think I’m such an asshole.” He takes a few steps back, long and lean, lacing his fingers behind his head and blowing a breath through pursed lips, like he’s trying to stay calm.

  I hate the pain and aggravation in his eyes, and I hate knowing I put it there. But I also hate the idea of him using and discarding me. “Are the rumors true?”

  He stares at a spot on the bricks about a foot over my head. “Probably.”

  I wince. When he sees my expression, he approaches me quickly, never taking his eyes from my face. “I’ll tell you, if you want to know,” he offers. “You can hear it from me.”

  I look away, unable to bear the intensity in his gaze. “Why, because you want to hurt me?” Now I’m being too honest.

  “No,” he says. “Because I want something else entirely.”

  Something in the way he says it draws me back to him. We lock eyes. “Okay,” I say, mentally bracing myself.

  “I made some mistakes earlier this year. I had been under a lot of pressure, and it was nearing the end of my residency, and I … went through a phase.”

  My eyebrows shoot upward. “A phase?”

  “I’m not proud of it, not at all. Since I’ve been in this country, my sole focus was on becoming a good doctor. I suppose all the stress … once I saw the end in sight, and I’d gotten accepted to this fellowship program, I went a little wild. After about a month or so, though, I realized the damage I was doing, and how unhappy I was becoming, and that was it.”

  I frown. “That was it?”

  His look is full of warning. “Don’t think I’m better than I actually am, Nessa. I don’t want to disappoint you. But I haven’t been with anyone since then. You’re the first woman I’ve asked out in a long time.” He gives me a wry look. “And as attracted as I am to you, my intentions are mostly honorable, I promise.”

  “Mostly honorable.” Stupid hope spins inside of me. This is like riding a roller coaster, exhilarating and terrifying.

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “Can I make a suggestion, in light of our past indiscretions?” he asks.

  It’s a gentle reminder of Nick, of the fact that both of us have done things we regret. “I’m listening.”

  He takes my chin between his fingers and tilts my face to his. “Let’s get to know each other.” His nose touches mine. “Let’s go slow.” He tilts his head and brushes his lips over my cheek. “And let’s see what happens.”

  “I don’t know, Aron.” This is your chance. Push him away. End it now.

  He traces his finger down a lock of my hair. “I’m not asking you to marry me,” he says with an amused smile. “I’m only asking you to have dinner with me. Get to know me. And then you can decide if you want to see me again.”

  “I know that, but …” I can’t risk getting to know you. But I can’t make myself say those words, either.

  His body is only a few inches from mine, and I uncross my arms, taking down the barrier between us, allowing him near. I’m caught in Aron’s gravitational pull, and I think he can sense that, because he seems to know how far he can push me, how close he can get.

  “Give this a chance, Nessa.” Slowly, carefully, he lowers his mouth to mine. His lips are warm, soft, a tactile repetition of his request, and even though my mind’s not made up, my body is ready to surrender. My fingers rise to touch his face and find the curved scar on his jaw. I slide my fingertip along its length, and he groans softly and raises his head. “Give me a chance.”

  There is something so vulnerable, so stripped down in his expression as he waits for my answer. I am leveled by it, by the thought that this beautiful man is asking for this from me. I’ve been so up and down tonight, so back and forth, but right now, I’m completely content in the circle of his arms. And though this is frightening enough to make my heart race, I know he’d catch me if I stumbled. “Slow …” It’s the only word that comes to me besides YES.

  He kisses me again, so different from our kisses in the rain, sweeter somehow, more intimate. I can almost taste his smile as he whispers, “Slow.”

  As it turns out, Aron Lindstrom is a freaking master of slow. After three weeks of it, I feel like a prisoner living on bread and water. I have enough to keep me alive, but I’m always starving, always wanting more. I don’t actually see him more than a few times a week. I should be happy about that—his schedule is so intense that I don’t have to worry about him distracting me from my work. But instead, I miss him. And the times I do see him are intoxicating and always leave me counting the seconds until it happens again.

&
nbsp; I’m doing exactly that one Friday morning when my phone rings, and my heart jolts when I see the number. “Hey, Frank.”

  “Hi, Nessa. I wanted to call you instead of emailing.”

  My stomach sinks at the worn-out sound of his voice. “You heard from Dr. Eshkol.”

  “I did. He said he can only sign off on your dissertation proposal if you agree to include the additional study we talked about.”

  I raise my head and look around the intern office. Justin’s the only other person in here, and he gives me a curious look. I get to my feet and head for the hallway, my throat tight. “Frank, I’m working sixty hours a week here,” I say.

  “I know, I know. Listen, I’m going to help you. I don’t think this is a reasonable request, but they’re voting on my tenure application in a few weeks, and I can’t exactly—”

  “I understand,” I whisper, tears starting in my eyes. “I just … I don’t know how I’m going to get this done.”

  “If you can write up the Institutional Review Board application, I’ll push it through and get the approval. Maybe you can take a week or two off to fly out here and collect the data?”

  I suck in a breath through my nose, trying not to start sobbing in the middle of the hallway. “I guess I have no choice, right?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  We hang up, because I don’t want to lose it while I’m on the phone with him. Instead, I call my mom. “Do you have a second?” I ask when she answers, striding down the hall to nowhere in particular. The intern office is in the basement of the rehab hospital next to the main building, so all that’s down here is the janitor’s lair and the paper shredding room. I duck in there, hoping no one decides to dispose of their confidential documents while I’m using this space to freak out.