Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  Petra raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay, the sweet potato fries,” he said.

  “What kind of oil are they cooked in?” Petra asked.

  The waiter snorted, but went in back to check.

  “You remember everything I’m allergic to, don’t you?” Kevin asked. “Even though you have more patients now, you still know.”

  Still not enough, Petra thought.

  “My father doesn’t,” he says. “He comes home with strawberries and wonders why they go moldy. He buys granola bars with peanuts in them. I’m thinking of asking for my own mini fridge for my birthday. I can hide in my room and I won’t have to talk to anyone ever again.”

  The waiter came back and they ordered their food.

  “Your dad has got a lot on his mind. And, well, I’ve devoted my life to this stuff. You’ll understand when you’re older,” she said.

  “You haven’t really devoted your entire life to this, have you? I mean, it’s okay to be a doctor and all, but don’t you do other stuff? What about other dreams? Don’t you want to have kids? Or get a car? You don’t even have a car, do you? I can’t wait to drive.”

  Petra winced. A busboy brought them tepid water, and she tried not to compare the service to Field. Ian had spoiled her.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” she asked, trying to seem businesslike while sipping water from a Felix the Cat drinking glass.

  Kevin fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers. They had pictures of Tweety Bird and Sylvester on them. What kind of crowd was this place aiming for, anyway?

  “I think I like Penny,” Kevin burst out. “I think I like like her.

  “So, what’s the problem? I thought she enjoyed being with you. She came out to Stream and she seemed impressed.”

  “Yeah. But I thought we were just friends, right? Then I started texting with Brie Eng. She’s really cool, and I thought I liked her, but I think she just thought I was weird enough to become one of those teenage tech billionaires, and she wanted to tell people she knew me back when. So Penny got upset, and she told me that she wanted more, and I didn’t because I thought I could hang out with Brie’s friends. And then when Penny stopped talking to me, I missed her. She likes the same things I like, she doesn’t roll her eyes when I say I can’t do something or eat something, and she’s really good at things. If anyone becomes a tech billionaire, it’s definitely going to be Penny.”

  Great, thought Petra, eying her water. Confirmed by Kevin: life was not better as one grew older, it was exactly like junior high school and maybe a little bit worse.

  “Penny’s a lot like you,” Kevin added.

  The food arrived. Kevin asked for vinegar for his sweet potato fries. He concentrated on salting his plate and licking his fingers. Petra picked at a black-bean burger.

  “So, anyway, I was thinking that maybe you could give me some tips on how to convince Penny to like me again. I was going to ask Ian, but he wasn’t at the bar and Field was closed for a private party.” Kevin wrinkled his nose. “Ian’s a good-looking guy,” he added, “and he’s smart about some things, but he can be a bit clueless, too. I mean, look at the way he was with his ex-girlfriend.”

  “What do you mean by that exactly?” Petra asked.

  God, was she actually asking Kevin (Kevin!) for gossip on Ian?

  “She used to make him take care of her cat,” Kevin said. “Even though he’s allergic. That’s why he was seeing you. She was always too busy to go out with Ian. But he would go over and play with the cat and feed it. I heard him talking to her on the phone a lot.”

  “Do you think he was in love with her?” Petra asked.

  Inappropriate, screamed inner Hippocrates, or maybe it was her pride yelling at her. Hard to tell everyone apart at this point.

  “I don’t know about that,” Kevin said. “I think half the time, he didn’t mind that he wasn’t seeing her, and half the time he just wanted to calm her down.”

  He snagged a string bean from Petra’s plate.

  “Do you think I should get Penny roses and stuffed animals?” he asked, brightening.

  “Does she like those things?”

  “Doesn’t every girl?”

  “First of all, you probably shouldn’t go near roses because of your allergies,” Petra said. “And second, what does she like? Do you think she wants a stuffed animal? Do you have any way of showing her that you listened to her?”

  “I don’t know,” Kevin groaned.

  Ian had brought her an almond croissant. He took her to trivia night. He helped her find beauty in an ugly motel room. He was nice to her mother despite Petra’s displeasure, because he wanted her mother to get along with him in the future. He looked beyond every weird rough surface, every objection, and he still saw her.

  It wasn’t just charm. He made an effort with her. He probably loved her, too. God, it was frightening.

  Joni Mitchell sang “A Case of You” in the background. Petra took a huge bite of her burger and tried not to close her eyes. She should call Ian. She wanted to hear his voice, scratchy from late nights of working too much and maybe from his dust allergy.

  Kevin slumped in his seat, a picture of adolescent misery. She probably looked much the same.

  “Okay,” Petra said, “tell me about Penny.”

  • • •

  Roses and stuffed animals were not going to cut it for this girl.

  Two hours later, Petra was slumped over her water but they had figured out some sort of gift for Penny. Petra wasn’t sure what it was, but it involved a game that Penny and Kevin played, a sword, and some sort of power over dusk or dawn. Kevin was explaining it to Petra while texting Penny when Kevin’s dad entered the diner. “Uh, doctor?” Mr. Lee said. “What are you doing here?”

  Petra sat up straight under Kevin’s dad’s scrutiny. “Hi, Dad,” Kevin said. “Dr. Lale was giving me some advice.”

  Funny how Kevin managed to string together perfect sentences while still typing madly. Although he had apparently neglected to mention one important thing when informing his father of where he was. “You didn’t tell him you were with me?” Petra asked Kevin.

  He was a nice-looking man in his early forties. He had some gray at the temples. He wore a rumpled suit. Petra caught a flicker of interest in his eyes that she was not prepared to deal with.

  He slid in beside Kevin.

  “If I’d known,” Kevin’s dad said, “I’d have joined you earlier.”

  Petra shifted in her seat. How was she going to get out of this? This is what you get for fraternizing with a patient, inner Hippocrates chided her.

  She decided it was time to leave. She opened her wallet. “That’s okay,” Kevin and his dad said at the same time.

  “It’s on me,” Kevin said grandly. “I would never let a date pay for herself.”

  “It’s not a date,” Petra said hastily.

  “She was giving me romantic advice,” Kevin said.

  Kevin’s father raised his eyebrows. Petra was getting a very bad feeling about this. And maybe Kevin was sensing it, too. “It’s my fault,” he hastened to add. “I was waiting for her outside her building. I railroaded her into it.”

  “You know where she lives?”

  “We’re all in the neighborhood,” Kevin said, squirming.

  She hadn’t done anything technically wrong, but it looked bad.

  Mr. Lee put money on the table, and he and Kevin got up, still arguing. Petra sat for a moment and tried to gather her thoughts together. She still wasn’t sure what had happened. The waitress cleared away the cups and dishes and wiped down the table before Petra got up again.

  When she got back home, she changed into her pajamas, took a deep breath, and gave Ian a call. No answer. She frowned. He always took her calls. It wasn’t so late. They had talked or been together every night since they started seeing each other. Well, except for last night. And the night before. Maybe she’d been spoiled, she thought, although spoiled was not quite the word she had
in her brain. She snuggled down in the bed, her iPhone still in hand.

  She must have fallen asleep. But when it rang, she had the phone at her ear before she could really even talk.

  “I woke you,” he said.

  “You usually open with underwear,” she croaked.

  He laughed, a sandpapery whicker, and she was awake and maybe, maybe that meant everything was okay again.

  How to talk to the man who had so many faces? The sad man she’d left this morning, the wicked one who made her blood thrum, the calm placater. She opted to do the thing she always did whenever she didn’t know what to say: she worried about other people.

  “I hung out with Kevin tonight. He showed up at my building looking cold and skinny and, well, even more Kevin-like than usual. He needed romantic advice.”

  • • •

  Ian lay on his couch. So many questions. Why was it so easy for her to talk about other people’s love lives instead of her own? How come Kevin got to spend time with her when he couldn’t? Had she been excited? Had she laughed? Had she been scared? Kevin scared him. Mostly, at the moment he was just jealous of the kid. “Did he have a good time?”

  “He did,” she said hesitantly. “I did, too, surprisingly. But I shouldn’t have done that. I should have kept more distance between us. His father showed up and wasn’t too happy about it.”

  “He’s a kid. It’s hard not to get attached to a kid, even one like Kevin. Cut yourself some slack.”

  He said that last bit a little too sharply.

  “It’s not just that. I keep slipping up. First with you—”

  “That wasn’t—”

  “And now this.”

  She fell silent. “I’m being foolish, right? Too sensitive? Maybe sometime I’ll get over my first-year jitters. I’ll start prescribing Valium to everyone I meet and have Botox parties in the office. I’ll go hang-gliding with all my patients.” She sighed. “But right now, especially because of what happened with you and with Kevin just now, I feel like I have to adhere to the rules.”

  Because of what happened with you.

  She sounded like she regretted it. Helen was right.

  “Do you think maybe Kevin has a crush on you, too?”

  To his relief, she laughed. “He has a funny way of showing it,” she said. She added, “My mom called earlier. She wanted to see how I was. She wanted me to give the whole thing with her and Jim Morrison a chance.”

  “Did you say you would?”

  “I told her I needed to think.”

  “Yes, that seems to be the theme of the day.” Then he said, “I should go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I’m pretty tired,” he said. “Long day.”

  Ian hung up.

  Danielle had accused him of being cold and distant. Which he had been with her, he supposed. Of course, she had stayed with him despite all of that. Danielle had also been a little drunk tonight, which explained her burst of vinegar. Still, after his conversation with Petra, he thought increasingly that Danielle was right. First, he’d smoldered silently when she told him about Kevin. Then he cut her off shortly after she began telling him about her mother.

  Petra had wanted to keep talking to him and he had hung up like a sulky teenager.

  Grow up, he told himself.

  He could call her back. He really should. But it was late and he imagined her little face on a pillow, tired but wanting to stay up with him, insisting on one more flick, one more kiss. At least there was passion between them. A wry smile touched his lips; he had been keeping her up late for the last few weeks. Maybe it was best that he let her sleep. He rubbed his head and sat up. He would have to work harder to win her over. She was worth it.

  He shut off his phone and skidded it across the coffee table.

  Tomorrow he would start anew.

  • • •

  Of course, Petra couldn’t sleep. Too much had happened, and now the final straw, Ian’s phone call left her unsettled. She got up, threw on a robe, and made a cup of tea. Standing over the sink in her frigid kitchen, under a single cold light, she cupped her hands over the mug.

  She had other things to consider. She couldn’t keep mooning over this. She had applied for privileges at the two nearest hospitals, and she finally seemed to be getting referrals from them. She would make an appointment across town to talk to her old attending to see if it was worth applying there, even though it was hard to get to. Especially—she winced—without a car. Maybe she could do this without adding cosmetic services, without compromising herself even more. And of course, there was still her mother to think about.

  In a way, she envied Ian. She hated admitting it to herself, but he was golden and she was still stuck. His businesses were lively. He didn’t worry about money. He didn’t have to fret about whether he was good at his job because clearly he was. And although it was clear that the memory of them still haunted him, he had no parents to argue with and cry over. He was ready to settle down and she was struggling to stay in the same place. He and Petra were at different places in life. How would this even work?

  She drained her cup. She had to get some sleep.

  Her phone trilled. She was glad no one was there to witness how quickly she leapt for it. “Hello!” she said breathlessly.

  “Petey,” Sarah said in an uncharacteristically small voice. “It’s me.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m at the—”

  “Sarah, I can’t hear you.”

  “This police officer says he’s going to arrest me,” she said. “I’m all right. I just… Can you come get me?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Don’t say anything,” Sarah warned.

  Petra shook her head. She continued to look out the cab window.

  “At least I won’t be charged,” Sarah muttered.

  The car stopped and Petra got out. “You’re paying me back for the ride,” she said. “Here’s another twenty to take you home.”

  Sarah scrambled out. “What has gotten into you?”

  “You’d better catch the cab before he rolls away, because you are not invited over.”

  “Pete.”

  “You have no idea what the last four days have been like for me—the last month or two, even. But I came down to pick you up at a karaoke bar across town. I brought your spare keys, like you ordered me to, and all I got was a terse, Don’t ask me! I don’t want to talk about it! Not even a hello, not even a fucking thank you.”

  “Hello. Thank you.”

  Petra threw up her hands and began to walk to her door.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Petra. I’m not used to asking people for help. Neither of us are.”

  Suddenly, all the fury and all the annoyance and all the responsibility of being who she was crashed down around Petra.

  “I am nothing like you, Sarah,” she said, jabbing her friend in the shoulder. “I am not the smartest person in the room. I am not perfectly organized and sure of everything about myself and everybody else in every situation. I am barely getting by most of the time. I used to think that I wanted to be more like you, but I’m starting to think that maybe it’s best that I’m not.”

  “A bouncer threatened to send me to jail. I’m hardly perfect,” Sarah muttered.

  “Yeah, I know, but you’ve got a good act going, don’t you? I was there. I saw how you made that off-duty officer think it was somehow his fault that you were drunk and crazy. Seven feet tall with a giant gun, and a mouthy Asian woman almost has him crying like a baby. I don’t know how you did that. I never know how you do that. And let me tell you, I am not about to crumble like the Portland PD under you, all right? I’ve known you too long and I’ve taken too much of your shit to let you make me feel terrible. I’m tired of being the one in our friendship who always apologizes and is always wrong, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t give me any bullshit about asking for help. You are constantly asking me for help, even though you won’t
fucking admit it, and I am tired of being kicked down for doing it. I am tired of being the fixer. You and Helen have a problem with each other? Who do you both yell at? Me. Who do you both call instead of each other? Me! Who do you tender your regrets and half-assed apologies to? Guess who, fucker. Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

  Sarah opened her mouth. Then closed it again. “You’re a physician. You love other people’s problems,” she finally said.

  “You’re a physician, too, and so is Helen. Heal thy own damn self.” Petra resumed digging for her key. “I hate other people’s problems,” she muttered. “It’s sick, that’s what it is, this stupid thing with you and Helen.”

  She turned to yell at Sarah again.

  “My mother is getting married again, Sarah. For the third time. Do you know what she wants from me? She wants me to simply sit back, trust her decisions, and support and love her. Well, why couldn’t she fucking do that for me for, what, her entire life? Couldn’t she have stopped worrying, stopped second-guessing me for one minute? She’s always asking, How’s business? Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? And what if I wasn’t? Couldn’t she just accept me? Isn’t that what she was supposed to do, because she was my mother and that’s what parents do?”

  She felt breathless, as if she had been sobbing, but her eyes and cheeks were dry. “Maybe I am tired of shouldering everybody’s problems and making people all better. Maybe I just want to be me, faults and all. Maybe I just want somebody to love me.”

  Of course, somebody did love her and she couldn’t understand why.

  “Petra, it’s late. Maybe we should get you inside.”

  “You’re not invited up, asshole.”

  “Petey, if I create another public disturbance tonight, I probably won’t be able to stay out of jail. When they find out you’ve been doing the majority of the yelling, I doubt that the police will look upon you kindly, either.”

  Petra stood in the cold.

  “I am a total asshole, all right?” Sarah said. “I admit it. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll make you hot chocolate and we can talk about exactly how terrible a friend I am.” She touched Petra’s arm. “I’m sorry about tonight. I’m sorry about me and Helen. I’m sorry about your mom.”