by Leia Stone
I leave, my steps quickened by the smell and taste of sweet cinnamon even though I'm not there yet. Funny how taste and smell can be burned into your memory. There's a certain someone living in Manhattan whose fault it is that I can still smell cucumber melon scented lotion without needing to be anywhere near it. But I don't think about that. About her. Those thoughts aren't allowed anywhere near me, because if I let them in, they won't stop. Like an angry mob at the closed gates of a kingdom, they will pound at my walls until they break in. Focusing on the taste of cinnamon rolls is much, much safer for the well-being of my heart.
I'm the third person to help myself to the pastry. There are only twelve in total, and the remaining nine will be gone in minutes. Thank God Theresa likes me. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have said a word to me.
If I were Ace, for example, Theresa would've kept her mouth shut. She doesn't like my best friend. She thinks he's a player, and, to be fair, she’s right. It took getting his heart smashed just one time for Ace Drakos to become a self-titled bachelor for life. It's made for some drama around the hospital, but he makes it clear from the outset what he's about. Still, it doesn't seem to stop some of the women from giving him dirty looks. Or keeping delicious homemade pastries a secret from him.
I'm the nice guy, the good cop, the one you give secret pastries to.
As I finish my roll, I down the contents of a too-hot cup of coffee and leave the staff room with a sweet yet slightly burnt taste on my tongue.
Time to see Faith.
“How’s my favorite patient?” I beam as I step into the room. I say that to everyone, but she’s the only one I mean it with.
"Hey there." Faith smiles as she speaks. For someone so sick, Faith never stops appearing happy. Once, during her second battle, I'd complimented her upbeat attitude. She told me joy is a choice and she’d choose it any chance she got.
I think of her words frequently, but I haven't fully followed her advice. In my job, even if there is more good than bad, the losses are so heavy, they often outweigh the wins. Sometimes I regret my choice to go into oncology. It’s a constant balance beam of saving people and watching them die.
"Good morning, Faith." I return her smile and close the door behind me. "How are you feeling?"
"Good as new," she responds, cheerful.
To be honest, she does look peppier than the last time I saw her. Her eyes are twinkling. Her legs, dangling from the examination table, softly bump against it.
She's excited about something.
It makes me happy to know something has excited her. The current state of Faith's world is anything but happy. I find myself wondering what it could be, but try to keep a distance emotionally during our appointments.
"Let's get this exam underway." It will be quick. A cursory exam before chemo can begin in a few days. I check her lymph nodes and glance for the tenth time at her bloodwork. “Everything looks good to start chemo, Faith.”
She’s a veteran to what some of my patients call “the poison drip;” she simply nods her head, fearless.
I'm busy checking her blood pressure when she says, "I have a question for you. A hypothetical question."
With my feet firmly planted on the ground, I push back, and the stool I'm sitting on rolls a foot away. "What's up?" I ask, looking up at her.
Please don’t ask me what percentage chance I think she has to go into remission this time. I hated the question, and I couldn’t do it with her. It made me feel like I was playing God. Even a skilled doctor and mathematician can never get that question one hundred percent right. The fact that her cancer is back again for a third time is not good.
"If a person knew something that might make another person feel a certain way, should they tell them about that something?" Faith raises an eyebrow.
My insides tighten. It's ridiculous. We haven't talked about Autumn in a long time, and yet I know it's about her. Faith is being sneaky, which isn’t her normal demeanor. I swallow hard, readying myself to hear bad news. Autumn's getting married. Autumn's pregnant. Autumn anything. The ever-present pain stabs at my heart as I imagine what Faith is about to say. My memory kicks in, the angry mob bangs on the gate, and I see Autumn in my mind.
There she is, the girl who owns every piece of my younger self.
The girl who haunts my nights, my days, and every relationship I've tried to have since her.
The girl who massacred my heart and left me for dead.
I push past the turmoil inside and ask, "This something you refer to … will it make the person feel bad? Or good?"
Faith purses her lips and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Definitely bad. But also, maybe good?"
"Maybe good?" I ask, my eyebrows raised. Maybe it's not about Autumn after all. I can't imagine there's anything Faith would know about Autumn that would make me feel maybe good. "I suppose those are pretty decent odds. I'd want to know. Hypothetically speaking, of course." I wink at Faith, the vise-like grip on my stomach loosening.
"Autumn's home."
No tightening in my core now. Just a feeling like my bones have turned to jelly and they're undulating inside me like ribbons in the wind. Those two words send me over the edge.
"Owen?" Faith's forehead leans closer, urging me to speak.
My throat is dry but I find words. "For how long?"
Faith looks away. She shrugs. "I don't know. She's moved back for now. Someone took over her lease on her apartment in the city. I suppose it depends on how all this"—she gestures to the room around us—"goes."
Holy fucking shit. Autumn Cummings was back home. And not like in the past when she came back just for a weekend, in which case I could hole up inside to make sure I didn’t run into her. She was back. I realize that she’s come back to care for her mother, which means Faith must be thinking this is her last fight.
"It's going to work, Faith," I assure her, remembering that I’m the doctor here and need to comfort my patient. I don't know that, of course. I don't have a crystal ball, or a magic wand. All I have is an ardent desire for a favorable outcome.
Faith extends a hand between us, and I catch it.
"Of course it will," she says, squeezing my hand gently before she lets me go.
The curiosity is killing me. I have to ask. "How is she?"
I regret it the second I say it. I shouldn’t show interest, it will only encourage Faith. We made a pact ten years ago: we don’t talk about Autumn. Now that pact is broken and I want to know everything.
"She flew in on a redeye early this morning. So, right now she's tired. But I bet she'd be up for a visitor later this afternoon." Faith’s face looks hopeful.
Is this woman trying to kill me? I can’t see Autumn. No way. She should know better than to encourage us to get together … but of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t know the hell I walked through with her daughter. Neither of us made it out of that fully alive.
My head shakes back and forth. An automatic response. "She doesn't want to see me, Faith."
I don’t want to see her either, but because Faith doesn’t know why we broke up, only that it was ugly, so I am trying to play it cool.
Faith lowers herself from the exam table and reaches for her purse, winding it over her shoulder. "Perhaps before I die one of you will finally tell me what happened between you two." There's an undercurrent of irritation in her tone.
My only response is a nervous chuckle. If Autumn hasn't told her mother yet, it means she doesn't want her to know. And after everything that happened, I can at least respect that.
"That's what I figured you'd do," Faith says tartly, and the laugh dies in my throat.
Through my lab coat I feel the warmth of her palm, and I turn toward it. Since I was fifteen Faith has been like a mother to me. My own mom left me and my dad when I was five, and when Autumn and I became friends, Faith welcomed me into her home. Soon I became Autumn's boyfriend. Faith treated me like a member of the family. We had family meals together, she listened to me gripe about the guys on the soccer team, an
d I knew I could go to her with anything. I don't know what would've happened to me without Faith's love and guidance. I was a flailing teenager, a good kid at my core, but my heart had been broken by the rejection of my own mother. Faith's presence and inherent mothering filled in the cracks in my heart.
Autumn may be in pain, knowing this is her mother's third dance with the devil that is cancer, but she doesn't have the market cornered. I'm hurting too.
Faith looks at me, hope plain on her face. "So, will you come by for dinner?"
Fuck no. Willingly walk into the lion’s den and see the woman who owned the scars on my heart?
No way.
"Tonight?" I ask nervously. Shit, it's hard to deny this sweet woman.
She nods. Dinner on Monday has become a ritual of ours, and I don’t have anything planned tonight because I assume I will be eating at her place. It started when she beat cancer the first time. I took her out for a celebratory dinner, and while we were at the restaurant, she'd commented on how nice it was to spend time with me away from her health issues. We'd decided then that we'd make it a weekly occurrence, and aside from illness and the odd vacation, we haven't missed a Monday. Last month I started mowing her lawns on Sunday. It was safe to say that if Autumn was living at her mom’s, I wouldn’t be able to avoid her without being rude to Faith, and that I would never do.
I sigh. "I don't know, Faith. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on."
Please, God, let me stay away. Let me resist the hold that Autumn has over my life.
A disappointed look creeps into her eyes, but she's quick to tuck it back.
Her upset makes me feel the need to amend my statement. "For now, at least. Give me a few days to catch up on work and I’ll see if I can stop by."
A few days to think up an excuse on why I could never go over to her house again was more like it. I could avoid Autumn forever, right? I’d just hire a private investigator to map her schedule and favorite stores and then I’d steer clear of them…
The strap on Faith's purse slips down her arm and she hoists it back up into place. "You’re going to see her sooner or later. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off." She winks at me as she says it.
Busted. Faith always has a way of reading my thoughts. She knows this isn’t about work.
My head tips back in silent laughter. "I'll keep that in mind." I watch her walk to the door. "See you soon," I say with a wave.
"Soon being the operative word, Owen." She gives me a motherly look, the kind with affection and warning rolled into one.
"Yes, ma'am." I couldn’t deny that woman her happiness, especially since the cancer was back. I’d eventually have to force myself to see the girl who demolished my heart and then go home and lick my wounds like any respectable man.
She slips through the door and I watch it slide into place, closing with a blunted thunk.
A deep breath escapes my chest. My fingers press into my eyes as images of Autumn parade through my mind.
Young, innocent Autumn the day I met her. Only fifteen.
Not-so-innocent Autumn the day I held her in my arms and we passed the point of no return.
Autumn, tears staining her face, as I said things I can't take back, no matter how much I regret them.
What would it be like to see her now? I have to admit, the idea is exhilarating and terrifying.
Would she turn me away? Invite me in? Throw her arms around me? Smack me across the face?
Excitement presses into the corners of my body. I could see Autumn again. Tonight, if I wanted to. In just a few short hours, I can have the reunion I've spent too much time envisioning. For years I thought of what I would say if I ran into her in town, what she would look like…
I pull my phone from my pocket and pull up Autumn's name.
All these years, I've kept the same number. I wanted to make sure she always had a way to reach me in case she needed me. I was a schmuck like that. I liked the pain apparently.
If I kept my number, maybe she has too.
My thumb hovers over the screen, then it drops down. I press her name. It's dialing.
Holy shit.
I actually did it. I was calling her.
I stare at the screen until I hear a faint “Hello” float into the air.
"Uh, hello," I say, bringing the phone to my ear.
What are you doing you idiot? She tore your heart in two and then popped it into the blender. She ghosted you on an epic level after three years together. HANG UP!
The excitement and trepidation bounding through my chest deflates like a popped balloon as I hear the voice say hello again. It's not Autumn. Even after all this time, her voice is burned into my soul.
I push on, because I don't want to hang up on this woman and I don't know what else to do. "May I speak to Autumn please?"
"No Autumn here," the woman answers, then hangs up.
My chin rests on the edge of my phone and I look out at the rest of the room.
She changed her number. She knew we were over. She fully let go.
I was the idiot who kept hope alive.
Chapter 3
Autumn
I'm woken from my nap by a smell that's as odd as it is comforting. Following my nose into the kitchen, I find onions sizzling in a pan. I rarely cook in the city, and now that I'm smelling something so typical of my mom's cooking, I feel homesick despite the fact that I am already home.
My mom stands beside a cutting board, using what looks like all her strength to squeeze a clove of garlic through a press.
"Mom, let me," I say, hurrying forward when she grabs another clove.
She shoots a look of irritation at me but relinquishes the tool. "Two more after that one, then put it all in the pan."
I do as she says, stirring the mixture after I've followed her instructions. My mouth waters, and I realize I haven't eaten since the breakfast sandwich this morning. My redeye caught up with me and I slept through lunch.
Across the counter, I see two pounds of chicken and more vegetables. "You don't need to make a big dinner for me, Mom. I usually just eat a sandwich or some take-out noodles."
She makes a face. "They don't eat real meals in the big city?"
I stifle a sigh. "They do. You would've seen it firsthand had you accepted my invitations to visit." My words sound harsh, but they are delivered in a soft tone. I didn't come here to expose unhealed wounds.
"I had some things going on, Autumn. You know that."
I nod, staring down at the contents of the pan. But even when she got better, she never visited. Part of me thought it was her way of saying she didn’t agree with my decision to move across the entire country even though she begged me to follow my dreams.
"Turn that down, sweetie, or the garlic will burn."
I do as she says. The air in the kitchen is thick with hurt feelings. And my guilt. So much guilt. I should have moved back years ago, after her first diagnosis. What kind of asshole daughter just sends money to their sick mom and thinks that will fix things?
My head hangs with shame as my throat tightens with emotion. “I should have come back years ago,” I say almost to myself.
Mom's arms wrap around me from behind, resting her head on my shoulder. "Stop, honey. Don't beat yourself up. I'm the one who told you not to come home—"
I shake my head. "I shouldn't have listened to you."
"I'm your mother. I raised you to listen to me." She gives me her no-nonsense tone and I can’t help but grin.
"But you're not always right."
She pulls me spinning me around to face her. Her eyes are wide, surprised. "What? That's not true. Who told you that?"
I laugh and she pulls me closer, until my cheek is pressed to hers. "I should've come to visit you. I was wrong," she whispers.
I raise one eyebrow. "Can I get that in writing?"
I feel her chuckle, and when she pulls back, she keeps me in her arms. "No, you may not. And you'll never get me to admit to saying it, not even in a court
of law."
I smile at her playfulness, and try not to show my surprise. Since when is my mom this lighthearted? Cancer has changed her.
"How was your appointment?" I ask, and at the same time the doorbell rings. "Are you expecting someone?"
Her eyebrows pull together. "Normally, yes. But not tonight. He told me he couldn't make it."
He?
I follow her out of the kitchen. "Mom, are you dating someone?"
Hell yeah, Mama, get some.
She ignores me, and I steel myself to meet this mystery man. Do I know him? Oh my gosh, what if he was my childhood principal or something weird?
As I’m preparing myself to meet my mom’s side piece, she opens the door and I swear everything in time freezes in place. The dust motes in the air, the leaves on the trees, the bees on the flowers, everything stands still.
It's him.
Time thaws.
All the air in my lungs escapes.
My body suddenly weighs less; the slightest breeze could carry me away.
"Hi, Faith," Owen says to my mother. His eyes steal over to me and he clears his throat. "Autumn."
His gaze sharpens as it rakes over my body and I suddenly feel like the universe hates me. My hair is in a messy cascade of curls all the way to my back from my nap and I’m wearing fucking sweatpants. My heart races, my chest heaves, I can’t breathe. There is nothing in my stomach, and yet somehow it wants to be sick all over the tile floor.
"Owen." Four letters, and I choke on every one of them.
We stare at each other, and everything flows between us. The love, the pain, the accusations, the years apart, they mix into a concoction of strangling intensity.
I'm not sure how much time passes, because I'm stuck, but my mom's voice breaks through.
"Owen, you changed your mind?"
Um … what? Owen is who my mom normally expects? Why? And how often?
He glances at me, then back to her. "Uh, no." He holds up a white paper bag. "I forgot to give you your prescription earlier. I guess I was distracted."
She takes the bag from his outstretched hand. "Oh, thank you. I forgot too."