by Unknown
Nathanael does not want me; he would have rolled over any soft body. Once his need is satisfied, his brain will engage again, and I fear that the special connection we had will be dead.
I don’t have enough friends to take the chance of losing this one. I need to salvage whatever’s left of our friendship before this gets out of hand.
I push him away, and tear my mouth away from his.
“This was the most delicious bad idea you’ve ever had,” I say, trying to keep my rejection light.
He looks into my eyes, and chuckles, “That’s the sweetest let down I’ve ever heard.”
“It felt good, but not quite right,” I say, as I kiss the tip of his nose.
His hand abandons my breast, but his touch lingers. His hand goes down to my waist. His eyes look so sad. I feel like he’s lost, and he’s holding on because our physical contact is the only thing that keeps him together right now.
So when he asks me to hold him for a moment, I wrap my arms around him and kiss his forehead.
Under Nathanael’s facade, there’s a broken child that I have never seen before. I did not even suspect that this injured kid was there. I thought he was one of the lucky ones: a genius whose life had been idyllic. I wonder if that is even possible. Lying against me is a tiny boy in so much pain that it’s breaking my heart. I surprise myself by humming Labrinth’s song, “Beneath your Beautiful,” as I rock him against me.
I’m honored that he’s letting me see beneath his beautiful, but then I had opened the door when I let down my guard in front of him.
“Are we okay?” he asks without looking up at me.
“Sure, baby, we’re fine. Go back to sleep; it’s only 5.”
He snuggles against me, closes his eyes, and falls asleep in an instant, while I remain wide awake, looking at a little bronze figure of Ganesh that watches over me from my bedside table and wondering if I’ll ever find someone else who will set me on fire again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
FRIDAY PASSES IN A BLUR. Nathanael is acting as if nothing out of the ordinary happened this morning. He’s all business while we’re testing the program that we have conceived. The software is churning out all sorts of results. We’ve fed in all the information that we know about the patients, but what we have is not enough; we want more data to process.
To make sure that we get what we need, we’re working on a standardized questionnaire that will have to be used by all the doctors who participate in the program. There are so many factors that can come into play in the genesis of a disease: the air you breathe, the water you drink, and the dye you use in your hair… and those are only factors we can imagine are relevant.
There’s so much that we don’t know that I’m not sure when to stop. By 10 pm, I’m slap-happy. We’ve been trying to decide if we should ask for the shoe size of the patient.
Nathanael is making fun of me; he refuses to even consider the possibility that shoe size could be a relevant piece of information. I give in. I’m so tired that I’m not sure I can make a valid argument for my case, but I still think that we can’t discard it, along with other body measures. Maybe I need to take a step back and stop thinking about this for the weekend.
Nathanael drops me off at home, and drives on to have a heart-to-heart talk with Pamela. She’s been hovering around us all day, and it may do them both good to have a serious discussion. I expect that she will exploit his weakness. Judging by what I saw this morning, I’m sure he’s going to get a last roll in the hay out of this meeting. I’m not meddling; they make their own beds.
I go in our unit to change into a bathing suit and sneak out to the pool area. In compliance with Florida regulations, the pool is only open from dawn to dusk, but I’ve been coming here at night fairly often. It’s been my hideaway when Pamela sleeps over. More often than not, I hang out alone in the water for an hour to give them some privacy.
I slide into the water slowly, and swim a few laps with a breaststroke. I can swim all I want, as long as the noise I make is covered by the sounds of the Jacuzzi. The night watchman only walks by the pool every hour, and he does not come on the pool side of the gated enclosure unless he hears noises.
It’s one of the things I like best about this place: even in the daytime, few people use the pool. There’s only a crowd on the weekends. It’s like I have my own private pool, except that I would probably be skinny dipping if I did.
After a few laps, my head is clearer. I go float on my back in the scalding Jacuzzi water and look at the starlit sky. It’s very relaxing. The strong jets massage me, and make me turn around like a wheel inside the circle of water. I can’t do this for too long, otherwise I’ll fall asleep right here.
It’s too bad that I never had an opportunity to swim at night in my favorite waterfall pond. I give myself a mental slap; my mind can’t go back there. Every single time it does, I’m a mess of contradictory feelings. I waste hours reminding myself that I made the right call.
Furthermore, I barely knew Oliver. You can’t be in love with someone you don’t know, can you? My voice of reason gets smothered by a lusty one that did not even exist before the first time that Oliver kissed me. The lusty voice tells me to stop listening to my brain and get back in touch with my body. She’s conspiring with my body, and she says that my body knows what’s good for me: action. Don’t I know it? I almost slept with Nathanael! Well, actually, I did sleep with Nathanael, but I could as well have slept with Happy. Nathanael is just an overgrown poodle.
Despite what Lyv said yesterday, she’s probably right: I need to get back in the saddle in order to get over this man.
Maybe when Nathanael leaves, Pamela will let me tag along when she goes back to her favorite single bars searching for her next prey. Maybe I could get lucky, too.
I hear voices, and scramble to my feet. I hide from view as much as possible. If it’s the security guard, I’m going to get a one hundred dollar fine and a lecture.
It’s not the guard. Instead, two people are floating around in the water, having a quiet conversation. Some of the words are partly covered by the gurgle of the Jacuzzi, but it’s not hard to fill in the missing words.
“This place is beautiful,” says a young girl’s voice. “And I think your mom is cool.”
“Yes, she is tough, but she’s loving. I think you can be happy here for the summer. Mom will keep the condo for a while; she needs to do major renovation in the house that she bought in Jupiter,” answers a low male voice that sounds so familiar, I hold my breath to hear better.
“I’m so glad you’re here with me,” says the girl.
I shudder in the scalding water. Those voices belong to Chanlina and Oliver.
Lyv said something about a granddaughter moving in with her. Oh my God, she’s Oliver’s mother! He did say that she was in the restaurant business. Of all the places I could have moved to, I had to move next door to his mother! And if that was not incredible enough, what were the chances of befriending her?
My heart stops and then tries to catch up for the missing beats. I’m having lunch with Oliver tomorrow.
I want to laugh, and I want to cry. I want to jump into the pool, and hug him, but I also want to go home and hide. There’s this giant pendulum going back and forth in my head. I’m torn between my urge to listen to their conversation, and my urge to run away. The latter wins; it’s dark enough to walk out, if not unseen, then at least unrecognized.
I wait until they are at the end of the pool, and get out of the Jacuzzi silently. I grab my towel, and make a run for the pool gate. It squeaks a little, but not enough to cover Chanlina’s voice.
As I walk away, I hear her ask, “Do you think Jade will be happy to see us, again?”
Oh, little one, I so wish I had the answer to that question. I’ll be happy to see her because I like the kid. Actually, I feel a bit guilty where she’s concerned.
Since I came back home, I only sent her one email, and it was terse. I told her to write to me when she lan
ded in Florida, and that I would come see her. I did say that I was thinking about her, and that I missed our mornings in the pond. I could have been nicer, but, at the time, I did not want to deal with anything that made me think about Oliver.
I’ve been the queen of avoidance, even with Agatha. I’ve written to her, but I haven’t opened her messages. I don’t want to hear about life at the base camp after my departure. I dutifully send her notes about work, and life in Florida, and I even told her about how I’m happy I am to have Nathanael as a new friend, but I steadfastly left her mail sitting unread in my inbox. On a scale of 1 to 10, her anger must have reached 15 by now. I desperately want to read her messages.
Back at home, I get a chill. The air conditioning is going full blast, and Nathanael’s door is closed. We play tag with the air conditioning thermostat: he likes it in the low sixties, while I’m comfortable in the mid-seventies, except at night. I let him win at night when I wrap myself in my quilt.
I wonder how his discussion with Pamela went. I guess I’ll know tomorrow.
I grab a terry robe to avoid hypothermia, and turn on my computer. My email opens up automatically, and I see a new message from Agatha. It’s a few minutes old, and the title is “URGENT, please DO read this email”. It’s morning in Asia, right now.
Being a contrary ass, I open her email in chronological order. The first two emails are casual. She tells me about life at base camp; she’s been supervising while Cook gives first aid care, and she’s doing a good job. Agatha says that I’ve trained her well. She goes on about how Oliver’s crew got pissed at me when they found out that I had gone without saying goodbye.
How funny that they would barely talk to me while I was around, yet get offended that I did not stand on ceremony with them before I left.
Agatha writes that when Oliver finally crawled out of the woodwork, he asked where I was. She truthfully told him that she only knew I was in Florida.
Agatha offered to give him my email address, but he declined. Chanlina had probably already given it to him. Last week, Oliver taunted her: he offered to give her my address, and said that I was living in a very pleasant community in Palm Beach Gardens.
Ouch, that must really have ruffled her feathers, especially since he wouldn’t say how he had gotten it.
The cheery tone of Agatha’s emails starts to degrade, but she’s still being a good friend because she lets me know that Oliver flew everyone to Bangkok to take some sort of official DNA test, and that no one won the genetic lottery prize. The happy father of Sirikit’s baby girl is not one of them.
Oh my God, why didn’t I open these emails before? I’m an idiot.
There’s more: to celebrate this good news, they all got smashed, and it took Liam two days to sober up. So much for him claiming all along that the father could not possibly be him because he “never goes out without his raincoat.”
I click on the last email, the one she sent while I was still in the pool. It’s a head’s up I would have received after the fact, anyway.
Agatha says she’s emailing me against her better judgment because I so deserve what’s coming to me that she should let me deal with it. She writes that she’s been my friend for too long to not warn me that I’m in for a major surprise.
When she nursed Liam out of his forty-eight-hour comatose state, he told her that her “dominatrix girlfriend was gonna get her ass kicked.”
Funny: if there’s one thing I’ve never pictured myself as, it’s a Dom! Liam must still have nightmares about my bull sperm collecting method. I’ve traumatized the poor man.
Agatha says that, even though Liam was not very articulate, he did convey that Oliver was “coming to claim what’s rightfully his.” Wow, that’s a mouthful.
I breathe in deeply, and feel light-headed. An anvil’s been lifted from my chest.
Now that I know that he’s not the father of Sirikit’s baby, I wouldn’t mind being claimed. Being claimed sounds exciting enough to overlook the fact that he’s married. How difficult can it be to get out of his marriage of convenience? I could actually be convinced that being married is not a black and white situation, and that he’s only a tiny bit married.
I click “reply”, and write,
“Dear Agatha,
You’re the best friend in the entire world. I’ve been an idiot, and I want to catch up with you. Let’s set up a Skype appointment so we can talk. I’ll just have one question for you: didn’t James object to you nursing Liam? I can’t wait to hear from you.
Kisses, Jade.”
I shut down the computer, and go to bed. As I close my eyes, wrapped up in my quilt, I’m making a list of the things I need to do tomorrow before I hit the pool. I need to shave, change the bed sheets, and talk Nathanael into taking Chanlina for a very long walk on the beach…
But, then, maybe not. What am I thinking? It may not be the best idea to let Nathanael loose on Chanlina!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE WALK TO THE POOL is short: two minutes, at most. They are two minutes during which I hold my breath. Jet lag is on my side; he has to be there doing laps.
I push the gate open, and scan the pool: no one’s there. I’m so disappointed. How silly of me! It’s already been weeks; I can hold on a few hours more. Still, tension is building. I hate waiting, but I only have myself to blame. No one forced me to run away - like a thief -last night.
For now, I dive in and swim underwater for half the length of the pool. When I come up for air, he’s here, treading water in front of me. I open my mouth, and swallow half the pool. This is a bad case of déjà vu!
At least, this time, I don’t suffocate, but ask “Where were you hiding?” I reach out to touch him. My fingers only find water, though, as he backs away.
“In the hot tub. Just like you, last night,” he growls.
His withdrawal feels like a slap, and the way he looks at me makes me uneasy.
His jaw is tense, as he asks, “Why did you run?”
“I was scared,” I say. “I needed time to adjust to your presence in my new world.”
“Have you adjusted, now?”
“Yes. Well, maybe not. I’m not sure.” I’m stuttering, and I feel miserable. I’m making a complete fool of myself.
“Make up your mind, Jade.” His voice is harsh.
“I was caught off guard,” I answer in a whisper.
“It’s hard to believe that Agatha did not give you a head’s up.”
“I hadn’t been reading her emails.” He rolls his eyes at me, which annoys me. I try to explain, “I needed a clean break. I only went through them yesterday after I saw you and bolted.”
He’s staring at me, as if I’m deranged, and suddenly I’m not scared anymore; I’m angry.
“Don’t look at me that way,” I’m yelling at him.
There’s an endless pit full of anger in me that I had been ignoring. Hell, I’ve been angry since I ran into Sikirit in the hotel bar. I’ve become angrier as the weeks passed by, and he never even bothered to reach out to me. All this anger has been simmering for weeks, just waiting to pour out. The last straw was that he didn’t even let me know that he was not the father of his wife’s baby. If he did not tell me, that means that he thought it was not relevant information to give to me.
That last thought brings me over the edge. I lose it, and I lunge at him.
“Why don’t you let me know what I should have done? And, while you’re at it, please let me know how I was supposed to feel when week after week after week went by and you never bothered to contact me!”
“Jade,” he says, grabbing my wrist to stop me from continuing to pummel his chest. He’s right to hold me; I think if he didn’t, I would scratch his eyes out right now.
“Don’t ‘Jade’ me, Jade Master. I’d rather you tell me why you’re mad at me. What did I do that gives you a reason to be upset with me? You gave up any right to get mad when you ignored me for more than two months.”
“You’re right and I’m sorry
,” he says, but it does not register.
“You have no right to get mad at me. None!”
I’m about to say horrible things to him, when Nathanael’s voice booms over the pool. “Jade, the man said he was sorry. Give him a chance to speak.”
I’m startled. Oliver and I both turn around to look at him, standing so very tall by the side of the pool.
“Who are you?” Oliver asks.
“The guy whose shoulder she’s been crying on,” Nathanael says. He stops to let the words sink in.
Oliver lets me go. I take a step back, rubbing my wrists, while the men have a staring contest.
Oliver opens his mouth to say something, but before he can speak, Nathanael cuts him short, and continues. “I’m the man she’s been working with, the one she goes home with every night, the one she confides in, and laughs and cries with, but nothing more. She hasn’t even thought of having sex with me because she’s still hung up on you. I’m her friend, so I’m asking you to do us all a favor. Since, somehow, you got dibs, why don’t you tell her where you’re at, so she can get on with her life?”
Oliver alternates staring at Nathanael to staring at me, and then he asks, “Jade, please, can we go talk somewhere private?”
The emphasis is on “private,” but it does not deter Nathanael, who says, “Sure, you should have privacy. Why don’t you two go home, and I’ll stay here, at the pool.”
I like that he speaks up for me, and I love that it pisses Oliver off. I’m so mad at him that I want him to bleed a little.
I step out of the pool, and head home, wrapped in my towel with Oliver two steps behind me. I open the door, and it’s freezing cold inside.
“We need to get out of these wet bathing suits,” I’m thinking aloud.
He smirks like it’s the best idea I’ve had all day, but he does not say a word. I turn around to lock the door behind me then face him. He’s crowding me, but I won’t be intimidated.
“Let me give you a dry towel,” I say and he follows me through my bedroom to the bathroom closet. I throw a towel at him, and go in the bathroom to remove my bathing suit. I just have time to put on the extra-large t-shirt that serves as my nightgown before he’s on me. He has stripped, and he’s pinning me against the bathroom door. His hands are on my shoulders, and his hips are against mine. He’s hard, and it throws me off track. I look up to him, and I want him so much that it hurts. I want his chest against mine, and his mouth on mine. I want him in me now, but it does not seem to be what he wants. It’s like he needs to fight with me first.