by Ruby Lang
The reverend pressed his lips together. And then, to her horror, his face seemed to just collapse softly.
“I struggle all the time,” he said. “And lately, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. If I can continue to counsel people when my son’s life is unhappy. If I can bring more children into the world when I don’t know anything. I’m older. I’m getting old. And instead of growing into wisdom, instead of finding myself settled, I find I have more questions all the time—more questions about myself most of all. If I’ve done the right things. I tried to have God guide me.”
Sarah slid down in the booth. She was arguing with a drunk clergyman in a pseudo-Asian restaurant, and her maybe-boyfriend was probably angry with her. This was definitely not what her mother had in mind when she’d told Sarah to take the reverend out. Could the evening get worse?
“Dried shredded tuna,” Elspeth sang as she put down the dish. “And this is our house special savory soy milk. You spoon a little bit on top and eat it together.”
“We know how to eat it,” Jake muttered.
“Ell-Em-Kay if you need anything else.”
Jake leaned and whispered fiercely as if Sarah wouldn’t hear, “Dad, pull yourself together. Do you need me to walk you to the bathroom?”
“I remember when Sarah was a baby, she had the brightest eyes and she would look so long and fixedly at everything. At first I thought it was strange in a child so small. And when she grew up and stayed that way—”
She was going to choke on her inappropriate laughter. She was going to choke on this dry-ass, thready, salty fish floss.
“Dad.”
The reverend stopped. He gulped a glass of water. “I seem to have gotten carried away.”
He waved Jake off and toddled toward the back of the restaurant.
“Is he going to be okay?” Sarah asked. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I mean, he’s not a bad person.”
“He tries hard, too.”
“Don’t we all.”
Jake started to laugh. “It’s true. We all try hard, Sarah. You attempt to be perfectly organized and on top of it. I try to do the right thing. The reverend keeps plugging away at our souls. And look at us, we’re a mess.”
Sarah started to smile tentatively. “You aren’t mad at me? For making your dad get teary?”
“I knew you had it in you, Killer.”
She did laugh at that.
After a minute, she added, “I didn’t like the way he was putting so much on you.”
“He blames himself for how I’ve turned out.”
“You’ve turned out just goddamn fine. You’ve turned out great! You have some actual fucking self-respect, Jake. I am so angry that he can’t see that.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s on purpose, in any case. He doesn’t react well to change.”
“Well, that’s true of a lot of us.”
There were quiet for a minute.
“Maybe you should go find your dad.”
“You’ll stay, right? Even though he’s embarrassed you? Even though I’ve put you in a crap situation?”
He took her wrist gently, and every nerve in her body shot to life, as if electrified. Her eyes found his inadvertently, and she couldn’t move away. She didn’t want to.
He let go.
He rubbed his forehead. “I mean, you should leave if you want.”
“Dammit, Jake. Why don’t you ever say what you want?”
“I want you,” he said low. He wasn’t even sitting as close anymore, but she felt the hot, dark waves coming off him. “I want you—I’ve wanted you all this time. Is that what you need to hear? Your mouth in particular fascinates me, especially when you get mad and try to defend me. I want you all the damn time always, and if we weren’t out in public, I’d take you lying down on this inlaid table. With a lychee fruit nestled in your belly button.”
She had leaned in to hear him, and now she drew back. She put her hands on the table so that they wouldn’t shake. She wanted him, too, but now was not the time—which he knew. But she had pushed him, and even he seemed surprised at what had tumbled out of his mouth.
She tried to sound light. “Well, the last thing I need is for your dad to catch me with an Edible Arrangement in my navel.” But she was blushing. She thought she’d given up blushing. “Anyway,” she said, trying to brush it all off, “are you saying this stuff because he’s here? Is this some scheme to piss him off? Is that why you brought me?”
He made an effort to recover. “Never doubt that fruit in your belly button is a good look for you.”
She closed her eyes. His voice was warm, like a hand touching her in all the right places. She was going to die of embarrassment and sexual frustration right here in a dumb faux-Chinese restaurant. He ran his fingertips over her clenched fists. “I need to go check on my dad,” he said in her ear. “I’d like you to stay. Please don’t run off because we’re terrible.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Why would I run? My fantasy date is men crying while I down artisanal soy milk.”
She stayed, not that she thought it was a good idea. But Jake had been a mistake from the minute she met him again. And yet, how was it that now that he had walked away from the table, she missed him?
• • •
The rest of the evening had gone as well as it could, under the circumstances. The chef, Neville Longbottom, or whatever, had come out to chat with them. His father engaged him in a long discussion about the influences of Taipei street food. They even spoke a little in Taiwanese, which Jake understood, but Sarah didn’t. For a moment while his father and the chef conversed, her brow furrowed deeply, and Jake knew in that moment that she wished in her dark inky heart that they’d all get food poisoning from the restaurant.
How bad did he have it that her spite was a turn on?
But when they got to the car, Jake turned to his dad.
“Dad, you have to stop with this with Sarah.”
The reverend didn’t feign ignorance. “She’s an outspoken young woman.”
“That is so dismissive. You’ve always been condescending of her and of me. She was right, you know, about that stupid restaurant.”
Jake knew he was going against his training—he was maybe making his father’s confusion worse. But his dad wasn’t a student. And Jake was mad. Was the reverend really at a turning point if he could cling so much to his old opinions? How much more of a crisis was it than the usual dad wringing his hands?
“That chef knows more about Taiwanese food and culture than Sarah does—or you. You young people, you think you know everything. You have no idea what I went through when I moved here.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But meanwhile you have a doctorate of divinity. You’ve studied a Western religion, but your faith and knowledge and experience get questioned all the time. People doubt you know how to pray, how to even read and interpret the Bible in English, let alone Greek. And since when has a non-Asian person ever shown up for your English services? But people are willing to shower this Neville Whatsit with praise and money because he worked in Taipei for a year and can serve us a Taiwanese breakfast for dinner? Sure, he has skills. So do you. And if the fact that you’re treated differently even though you’re an expert in your field isn’t some deeply held bias, I don’t know what is.”
“Religion is not a restaurant.”
“It’s not. But it’s still telling. And if you think that these so-called little things are unconnected to the bigger things happening right now, then maybe you need to look harder.”
“Sarah is giving you these ideas.”
“No, she isn’t. It’s all stuff I used to think growing up, but I didn’t know how to put it into words. But I’ve been out in the world. I’ve seen the things my kids deal with, and I’ve had time to figure out my own mind. Our experiences are leading us to different conclusions, and I think that’s why you’re upset with me.”
Silence.
“Anyway, you shouldn’t blame S
arah. It was a mistake bringing her.”
“I asked you to.”
“I wanted to show her . . . something. I don’t even know what. But instead I probably just pushed her away more.”
More silence. Clearly, his father didn’t believe him—that all of these thoughts predated Sarah. They hadn’t lived in the same house for more than fourteen years. They hadn’t agreed for even longer, not that Jake had shared that information with him. But the longer they were apart, the more his father seemed to keep Jake suspended in the golden glow of amber. And maybe it was Jake’s fault, because he just grunted instead of disagreeing with the reverend—maybe it was his fault that he’d done that with Ilse. Now he’d divorced Ilse. And he’d gotten close to Sarah. He wanted to be closer.
“Sarah was sick with cancer and she’s recovered.” A sidelong glance. “Is that why you’re so interested in her?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Luckily they were stopped at a red light.
“You like to save people, Jake. In a lot of ways, you saved me.”
“Stop saying that, Dad. Maybe the problem is that you keep saying that.”
His father shrugged. Apparently, the conversation was over.
Later, when they got home, Jake couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the weirdly spiced soymilk or the matcha dessert. Or maybe it was his dad’s words.
Perhaps Sarah had been right. She said herself that she was unsteady on her feet these days—not because she was still sick, but because her certainty in herself was shaken. And he was still feeling his way around the edges of his own life right now: He was trying to figure out what he liked to do in the quiet hours when he got home, trying to make sure he didn’t work himself into a breakdown. He was finding places he liked to run or walk with Mulder, maybe even attempting to reacquaint himself with his friends. Maybe his dad had a point, too. It wouldn’t be so strange that he would try and manage Sarah because he couldn’t manage himself.
Sighing, he got up and pulled on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. Mulder followed him quietly, her nails clicking on the floor. He clipped her leash on, and they went outside into the cool night air.
He wanted to keep seeing Sarah. He’d practically extracted a promise from her that she’d see him next week after his father left. But maybe he was too screwed up himself.
Do something for yourself, she had told him. She wanted him to take what he wanted. She probably never expected that thing to be her.
Chapter Ten
It maybe wasn’t nice to make her enemies cry, but then Sarah hadn’t considered herself nice for over a decade. Besides, despite how she’d built the reverend up in her mind, he wasn’t really the enemy. She didn’t feel good about the encounter, but as the next day wore on, she didn’t feel guilty about it, either. She started acting more like her old, whole, healthy self. She corrected Petra, yelled at a drug rep who was rude to Joanie, and gave the finger to Helen at least four times. At the end of the day, she had an appointment with one of her favorite patients.
“The test came back positive. You’re pregnant.” Sarah paused for a moment.
The young woman was silent.
Sarah glanced at the chart again, not that she needed to. Lena was a college student, but she’d been Sarah’s patient when Sarah worked with ProntoDocs! at the mall. Lena had come to Sarah a couple of days ago because of a suspected yeast infection and asked casually about having a different test. Now she was back for the results.
“Was this a planned pregnancy?”
A short laugh from Lena.
“It’s very early on,” Sarah said gently. “At this point, pregnancies often fail.”
“I can’t. I can’t have a baby right now. You understand, don’t you? It was an accident. I want—I want a termination. I can’t do this.”
“I understand, Lena. I’d say the fetus is about eight weeks. Very early. You’re just within the range for medical abortion—which is nine weeks. I’m going to give you the information on clinics, but basically if you do this, they’ll administer mifepristone, and usually about twenty-four hours later, you’ll take misoprostol at home. You’ll need someone to bring you to the clinic and keep an eye on you at home because there’ll be a lot of bleeding.”
At Lena’s look, she added, “It’s fairly straightforward, and you don’t have to remember all of this. I’ll give you the information. You can always talk to me anytime, too, and ask more questions.”
Sarah touched her arm and said gently, “It’s a lot to take in, but you already suspected, didn’t you?”
Lena nodded.
Sarah said, “I can call and make an appointment for you myself. It’s very common and safe. But it’s okay if you change your mind—you have the choice.”
Lena didn’t respond.
Sarah added gently, “You need to do the right thing for yourself. Think about it and let me know.”
Lena was her last appointment, and Sarah kept her in the office to talk to her a little longer.
This was why she did it. Not because of the procedures, but because she could reassure people. She was blunt and maybe too stubborn. But in her own way, she could be there for her patients. She would be there because no one had really been there for her. Maybe her illness had shaken her confidence in her discipline, her health, her certainty that working harder was the answer to all doubts and doubters. But here, at least for a moment, Lena believed her, and that made Sarah believe in herself. Sarah’s patient left pale but with a resolute squareness to her shoulders, and that was something.
The feeling carried Sarah through the evening. She even felt a fizz of energy late that night as she perused her New Experiences To Do folder. She wasn’t going to book a trip to the Galapagos—not now. And singing lessons seemed like an artifact of the past. She was still making notes when her phone buzzed, and she found herself smiling involuntarily—and probably goofily—when she saw Jake’s name on the screen.
“Have you recovered from your dad’s visit?” she asked.
“I think we’re all going to need some time to lick our wounds.”
His voice was low and wry, and she felt a swell of—what was it—hope? Heartburn?
“Thank you for both the best and worst date I’ve ever been on.” Jake added.
“Clearly, you haven’t gone out much.”
“Can you say it wasn’t like that for you?”
“It was . . . unique.”
“Are you free tomorrow night? I really want to see you again.”
She started unloading her dishwasher. What did it mean that she felt relieved that he had not only forgiven her for getting angry at his dad, but that he also sounded so eager and happy? She felt wanted. And she was excited to see him again, too, which was a frightening thought. She kept her voice casual. “You aren’t going to try to seduce me by making my navel into a fruit cup, are you?”
She kind of hoped he would.
“No, that didn’t seem to work, so I’m going to seduce you by overwhelming you with science. There’s a moon-watching party organized by OMSI. I got a membership to the museum on impulse a few weeks ago.”
“For an impulse purchase, that’s pretty predictable of you.”
“Laugh all you want. They have all of these great programs, like lectures and viewing parties with astronomers and staff, and after-hours wine tastings. Not that I plan to organize all of our outings around the museum—erm, not that I’m assuming that you’ll . . .”
“Another new experience to check off my list,” she said lightly. “I’m—I’m looking forward to it.”
Another night of Jake. He told her to dress warmly and hung up.
The next night, when he picked her up, there was a picnic basket—price tags still looped around the handles—in the back seat of his car. He drove to the state park, and as they walked down the path, she took his free hand. He gave her his crinkly-eyed smile, and she felt almost giddy.
They stopped and stood for a moment, breathing in the coo
l, damp air. Clusters of people holding telescopes and binoculars wandered toward a clearing. A few kids ran past, their flashlights cutting through the haze of sunset.
Then Jake began to pull her toward a spot on the far side of the viewing party that he’d decided was perfect. Sarah laughed. It felt . . . good? Strange to be outdoors in the dark, curiously illicit but also innocent?
She liked holding hands.
They got to the spot, just a little apart from everyone else. She helped Jake spread the blanket and stayed standing to stretch her limbs. As usual, she gave herself a quick check to make sure there were no strange twinges. When she was in med school, she’d never succumbed to second year syndrome. While Petra had especially tended to believe that she had whatever disease she’d been studying, Sarah hadn’t bothered worrying. She’d exercised and tried to get enough sleep and stuffed her mouth full of vegetables, and there had been a comfort in that; she’d used it to stop her worries.
Now she self-consciously checked herself. She felt stupid for all the times she’d made fun of Petra. Not that Petra ever returned the teasing. Petra had been the one to insist she go get checked out.
And now Petra was getting married in a month and a half, and Sarah was the disorganized one who’d barely managed to book the yoga retreat for the wedding shower. She didn’t know whom she was bringing to the ceremony, even though she’d said she’d bring someone. Apparently, she just didn’t know how to celebrate anything anymore, as evidenced by her night on the town with Jake and his father.
As she settled onto the blanket, she considered asking Jake to come to Petra and Ian’s shindig with her. She could imagine him in a suit, all sleek vertical lines and warm muscle, holding her close on the dance floor. But she didn’t want to put that word marriage in his head. He’d just gotten divorced. His ex-wife was re-marrying in a few weeks, and she wasn’t sure how kindly he’d look on white dresses and revelry. All of this fuss over cakes and cards was stupid. Except that Petra and Ian’s celebration was going to be great because they were her friends and she actually cared about them. And because they would probably be happy together and annoyingly fulfilled in their relationship. So she couldn’t even feel cynical about buying them a two-person tent for all the camping trips they were too busy to take.