by Amiee Smith
“Crohn’s is all the mystery I can handle in this lifetime, Lilly. I’m sorry you don’t understand that,” Michael says in English.
“I do understand, but there is more to your life… than your disease.”
“No. What you’re really saying is you want more than a man with Crohn’s.”
“Not at all. I want you. Just you. I want to build a life with you. We can’t let your disease run our relationship. Our life. If we do, we will always be dissatisfied.”
I let the tears burn into my skin. Crying is natural. I will not wipe them away. No matter what, I’m going to let myself feel this conversation. No matter what, Goddess Lilly will be okay. She will eventually soar again.
“No, you will be dissatisfied! This is my reality. This isn’t going to work, Lilly. I’ll have my assistant arrange for you to get home,” Michael says in English.
“So, you want to break up with me because I want to spend three weeks in Boston?”
I straighten my back, preparing for impact.
“No, I’m ending this because it is clear I will never be enough,” he says in Farsi.
“Michael, I had a life before I met you. I’m more than willing to make room for you, but you have to make room for me too… all of me.”
“I don’t want you anymore, Lilly. I’m done,” he says in English, his tone inflicting the worst kind of pain.
“Really? Just like that, Michael? After everything? I want something for me and now you’re done?”
I exude a deep inner-strength, even as tears pour down my face.
“Pack your things,” he says in Farsi, pushing his chair away from the table.
“Are you serious?”
I don’t move, fighting the iciness wanting to form around my heart.
“Pack your things. Leave the ring. I will stop transfer on the deed. Keep the clothes,” Michael’s words, part English, part Farsi; all douche bag.
Again, I don’t move. I will handle this conflict gracefully. Now, in this moment, I release my decade of break-up trauma. I’ve carried it around for too long.
“And the student loan payment?” I ask, quietly.
“I don’t care about thirty-five thousand dollars. I spend more on shirts,” he says in Farsi, rising from his chair.
“That was low, Michael. You had a rough night, so you may not be thinking clearly. Let’s pause. I’m sorry I brought up Boston and the agreement today. We can discuss it another time. I’ll finish my food and go play some GTA…”
“No, Lilly. You need to get the fuck out of my house.”
MONDAY
Monday, 10:42 a.m.
Lilly Shepard: Good morning, Michael. I will not excuse your bad behavior… and yes, it was exceptionally bad. However, I’m open to having a conversation. If you would like to talk, I will be done with my research around 6:00.
◆◆◆
Monday, 6:35 p.m.
Lilly Shepard: I’m finished for the day… if you would like to talk.
◆◆◆
Monday, 11:03 p.m.
Lilly Shepard: Good night, Michael. Sleep well.
TUESDAY
Tuesday, 10:54 a.m.
Lilly Shepard: Good morning, Michael. There is nothing on your calendar, but I think you have a meeting in Palo Alto today. If you would like to meet up afterwards, I’m available this evening. Just to talk.
WEDNESDAY
Wednesday, 9:58 p.m.
Lilly Shepard: I saw you logged off GTA when I got on. Michael, even if we’re not together, I hope that eventually we could be friends. It’s not like I can forget you existed. We have mutual friends now.
THURSDAY
Thursday, 1:44 p.m.
Lilly Shepard: I feel like a junior sales exec trying to land her first big account…
◆◆◆
Thursday, 2:34 p.m.
Lilly Shepard: I’m not a salesperson, I’m a scientist. I have to accept the facts as they are… you do not want me… in your life. Goodbye, Michael. Thank you for letting me be the one. Even if for a short while. I will block your number and won’t contact you again.
CHAPTER 28:
MICHEAL AHMED
Five days.
Five days since Lilly left my house.
I didn’t see her leave. I was in my office speaking with my assistant when I heard the door open and close. She must have called an Uber and booked her own flight.
I should have made sure she got home safely, but I didn’t even drop a text. Instead, I blocked her phone number.
Five days.
And since then, I have felt the worst of the worst day of my disease. Physically, my health is great. Yoga. Diet. All good. Emotionally, I’m teetering between life and death.
Five days.
I keep telling myself, any day now. I keep hoping the ache will go away. I keep wishing I hadn’t royally fucked up my life.
Five days.
I had my assistant cancel my in-person meetings and site visits in San Francisco. I skipped my weekly conference calls with my various business partners. I didn’t read the WSJ or any periodical. I just sat outside in a chaise lounge in 85-degree heat in my Burberry robe, warm-up pants, and Ray-Ban sunglasses and stared at the pale blue ripples in the pool. For hours.
Emotionally inflamed, I’m in the fog of depression.
Five days.
“Señor Michael, you have a visitor,” Angeline says from across the pool.
“Tell them I’m unavailable,” I mumble.
“You seem pretty available to me,” Lynn says, strolling through the opened all-glass bi-folding doors.
She’s in black yoga pants, a gray Patagonia jacket, sneakers, and big sunglasses. Her wavy black hair is wrapped in a bun on top of her head. The strap of a pink laptop bag is draped across her petite frame. Even dressed down, she’s cute. But her radiance pales in comparison to Goddess Lilly.
“Hey. Cute car in the driveway,” she says before kissing me on each cheek.
I couldn’t bear to tell my assistant to return Lilly’s i3 to the dealership.
Lynn sits in the wooden chaise next to mine.
“I thought you and Nick went back to the City on Sunday?”
“We did. I saw Lilly getting off the Genentech shuttle this morning on my way home from a run and she looked as bad as you do. I used some of my hard-earned reward points and hopped on a flight. I would have been here sooner, but I had to wait for Dana to get out of a meeting so I could get your address. We need to implement a Mafia app with everyone’s pertinent information. You know, like, email, phone numbers, astrological signs, addresses, music, food, cannabis strain and booze preferences. It would save us all a lot of time,” Lynn finishes her chatter with a warm smile.
“What did she say?”
“Lilly? Nothing. She was quiet on our Wine and Skype call too. She did more Chardonnay drinking than talking, but Brit was telling some crazy story about how her car broke down outside of Modesto and she had to sleep at a truck stop for a few days. She played her guitar for change until she could afford to get a tow. I guess she left her wallet with her money in it here in L.A. All of which could have been avoided if she had had her car serviced.”
“Why didn’t she call her insurance company? They would have arranged a tow for her.”
“She forgot to pay her last premium. Dana already tore her a new one about the whole thing. And while we were on the call, Brit had to renew her car insurance. But she made us promise not to tell Alex… so you can’t tell him either.”
“He has to know, Lynn.”
“Nick said the same thing, which led to our first real argument, then to amazing makeup sex and an agreement that the Brit and Alex storyline can never come between us again. You Mafia men really stick together.”
“I’m not a Mafia Man.”
“Yes, you are. I wouldn’t make this trip while I’m in the middle of editing a manuscript if you weren’t as much Mafia as Nick and Jon and even Alex. However, I’m not sure he can keep
up with the most unfettered wolf.”
“You don’t believe the whole ‘we’re just friends’ story either?”
“There’s a story there. I don’t know what it is yet. But it’s not friends-to-lovers. Nick and I are friends-to-lovers. Or maybe we’re nerdy-girl-gets-the-jock? Oh, or maybe we’re hook-up-to-lovers? Oh! Maybe we’re playgirl-meets-her-match? Holy Unicorn! What fun! You and Lilly are hot-billionaire-falls-for-a-geek.”
Lynn’s thin face lights up like a chubby kid at a buffet.
“You think I’m hot?” I ask, sincerely.
Something deep inside me needs to know if the attraction was one-sided.
“Oh, Goddess, yes. But you’re not Nick.”
“And you’re not Lilly. But she and I don’t have a story anymore.”
“Yes, you do. I’m here to help you work out your scheme. How are you gonna get your wolf back?”
“I messed it up, Lynn. Really bad. I can’t fix it.”
“Yes, you can. Everything is fixable in the world of happily-ever-after. Tell me what happened. Then we’ll plot out your scheme. I guess you would call it a strategy.”
“I have Crohn’s disease, Lynn. It’s in remission, but it’s incurable.”
“How lucky for you your heroine wants to eradicate disease. So, what’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure I can travel for extended periods of time. My disease is unpredictable, and I need to always be close to good medical care. I don’t know when I’ll have another flare-up, but I have to stick with my routines to stay healthy.”
“I get chronic and incurable. I get the need for routines to stay healthy. Trust me, I do. What I don’t understand is what your disease has to do with your relationship?” she asks, lifting an arched eyebrow.
“Lilly wants more than I can offer her, Lynn. She wants to travel and do research and lead programs and go where she wants to go. I’m not sure I can do that.”
“She wants to follow the science. You knew that when you pursued her. Her ambition is what attracted you to her. It’s a part of who she is. Like being a snobby billionaire is a part of who you are. But it’s not all of you.”
“She wants to go to Sweden. What if I get sick?”
“Michael, you just deal with it. Together. It’s what we do when we love someone. I know Lilly would never leave if you weren’t well. She would never choose to do research in some remote part of the world where you wouldn’t have access to good health care. You and I both know she would oversee every detail of your travel adventures like a highly ascended Goddess.”
“You’re right, Lynn.”
“I know.”
“Nick changed his plans for you.”
“No, Nick started living the life he always wanted to live. I love to gush to anyone who’ll listen that he did it all for me, but really our relationship was the catalyst for him to start winning again. And now we are weaving our lives together. With lots of really fantastic sex in between,” she says with a cheeky smile.
“Lilly and I had fantastic sex too. Best of my life.”
“And you’re going to let her go? Be strategic, Michael. You found a woman who wants to devote her professional life to eradicating disease. The same woman wants to devote her personal life to you. She’s Mafia so she can do both. She must do both. And you benefit from her doing both. If you guys work everything around your disease, you will both be miserable, and your relationship will eventually die. Be the brilliant mind you are and go get your girl. She’s the best deal for you.”
I rise from my chaise and move in the direction of the house.
“Where are you going?” Lynn calls from across the pool.
“To get a pen and paper. We’ve got a scheme to work out.”
“Maybe we should try the regular guy approach again? It seemed to work the first time,” Lynn hollers.
FRIDAY
Friday, 12:15 p.m.
Michael Ahmed: Lilly, are you awake? May I call you?
◆◆◆
Friday, 1:03 p.m.
Michael Ahmed: Lilly, I stupidly blocked your number last Sunday. I apologize if by any chance you’ve been trying to reach me. Babe, I’m so very sorry. I’ve been the worst type of jackass. I promise if you will give me another chance I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. I would like to speak with you before you go to work tonight. I’m leaving to go back east in a bit. My flight leaves at 2:30. Please call me before then. Please.
CHAPTER 29:
LILLY SHEPARD
“Get the fuck out of my house,” a constant broken record in my mind.
Sometimes I can ignore it and do what I need to do. But most of the time, it leaves me on my knees heaving for air.
I’ve experienced four break-ups in the last decade, all wounding and leaving scar tissue behind. But this. This break-up #5 is a slow death. Yet, I keep fighting for life.
Reading. Researching. Working in the lab. It’s the best I can do. Sometimes I’ll eat and shower. No GTA. No sleeping. No sweets. No music playing. At times, all I can do is breathe.
When I left L.A. on Sunday afternoon, I hoped Michael would follow me. Apologize. And I would have forgiven him after he gave me his word he’d never speak or treat me that way again. I would have chalked it up to exhaustion and “making it work.” I would have labeled it a clumsy moment. But now after 139.5 hours, there is no “making it work” for us.
I need to stay alive long enough, so time can heal me. I need to get through today. And the day after. I’ll soldier on until my short relationship with Michael is a tiny scar in my mind. I refuse to let this destroy me and I vow to be more discerning next time.
Now, more than ever, I want love. Real, all-accepting, dreamlike love. I deserve an urban fairy tale. And when I’ve healed, I will find it again. All while I work to eradicate disease.
After back-to-back 12-hour shifts in the lab, I’m eager to get off this shuttle and crawl into bed. Maybe I’ll sleep today. Maybe I won’t. But I’ll try. I will always keep trying.
The shuttle parks at my stop and I button my black Gucci coat in preparation for the crisp, gray Saturday morning. I slide on my red Dansko clogs and prepare for the three-block walk home. Rising, I follow the small group of people getting off in Hayes Valley. I wonder if anyone else is going home to stare at the ceiling?
As soon as my feet hit the sidewalk, a gust of SF wind causes me to blink rapidly. I wish I had worn my glasses. My dry, tired eyes need a break from contact lenses, but I wanted to look better than I feel. I even wore lipstick.
There are people behind me, so I continue to blink and step forward. Blindly. Bumping into the person ahead of me, I start to tumble forward. Classic, clumsy Lilly. Always at the worst time.
A hand catches me, pulling me out of the herd.
I know that hand. That cologne. That voice.
“Babe, you really gotta be more careful. I’ll do my best, but I may not be able to follow you everywhere.”
My eyes adjusting, I lick him up and down.
Brushed up hair. Copper-skin. Trimmed-up beard. Same Michael.
Blue unzipped Patagonia jacket. Red polo. Dark skinny jeans with a little sag. And black Adidas Gazelle OG. Not my same Michael.
“What are you doing here? In kicks?”
The shuttle pulling away from the curb prompts me to step forward, deeper into his embrace. He smells so good. Too good. I have to stop myself from burying my nose in the crook of his neck and nibbling at his skin. I have to remind myself he is no longer mine.
“You noticed my shoes, but not me waving to you when the shuttle pulled up? We need to get your contact lenses checked,” Michael says with his brilliant grin.
“Why… why… what… here?” I ask in spurts and stutters.
“I’m barely touching you and you’re already having trouble speaking? Miss me?”
Oh, the memories. Still so fresh in my mind. His mouth and hands everywhere.
I step out of his embrace.
&nb
sp; “Goodbye, Michael.”
Turning, I press the button and wait for the light to change.
“I’ll walk you home,” Michael says, still flashing his stunning smile.
No man should be this attractive. This irresistible.
“Just the three blocks. Then you have to go.”
“Can I hold your hand?”
“No!”
I shift my KQED tote on my shoulder and wrap my arms around my chest. It’s something I did my entire shift. Yesterday, twenty minutes into my shuttle ride to the Genentech campus, I realized I forgot to wear a bra under my gray blouse tucked into my black dress pants. My lab coat saved me, but I felt self-conscious the entire time.
The light changes. Michael and I stride across the street. We walk a full block before he speaks.
“Lilly, I apologize. I was out of line. In every way,” he says as we wait at another light.
“Yes, you were.”
“Will you consider forgiving me?”
“I will forgive you.”
“Babe, thank you. You’re amazing. I can’t wait—”
He wraps his arm around my waist. I bat his hand away and shift out of reach.
“No, Michael. You’ve misunderstood my forgiveness. I’m letting this go, so I can move on. You and I have two more blocks. As you said on Sunday, we’re done. My mind won’t let me undo that.”
“Understandable. Let’s start fresh. I’ll be the billionaire trying to get into your heart and you be the geeky queen trying to get into my pants and then we can have our happily-ever-after.”
“No. We tried, and it didn’t work. We can't modify the hypothesis to better fit the data.”