The Wedding Date, page 19
Abby went very still. She closed her book without marking the page and stared at him without a word.
He shouldn’t have spit it out like that; he should have done a better job of leading up to the C word. Telling parents bad news was the worst part of his job.
“I’ve already called our best pediatric oncologist for a consult, so if you can bring him back in Thursday morning, we can start doing more testing and, if necessary, come up with a plan.”
She stared back at him, still without saying anything. He wanted to touch her, or Jack, or say something to reassure her. But he couldn’t do any of those things.
“Abby? Can I call someone? Should I call Fred?”
She stood up and swayed for a second. He jumped to his feet and reached out to steady her, but she pulled back.
“Okay. Can you . . . can you just have someone call me with details about the appointment on Thursday? I should take Jack home. I should call Fred. We need to . . .” Her voice trailed away as she picked Jack up and carried him out of the room.
Drew sat back down and put his head in his hands. There was probably no good way to have that conversation, but knowing that didn’t make him feel any better.
When he stood up to go back to his office, he noticed Abby had left her book on the table. He tucked it in Jack’s file, so it would be there for her on Thursday.
He stumbled through his next few appointments, the look on Abby’s face in the forefront of his mind the whole time.
Thank God he was finished with appointments early that day. Hopefully, he could leave the office without running into anyone. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. Well, there was one person he wanted to both see and talk to, but that was impossible. She was far away from this hospital right now.
Except . . . she wasn’t that far, was she?
He made it to his car without talking to anyone and drove straight to LAX.
• • •
Alexa was still depressed on Tuesday from the meeting on Sunday night. Even though she’d huddled with Theo and the mayor on Monday morning, she was convinced they had no chance of victory, at least not this time. The people in the hills had too much influence. They were rich and white; the teens she was trying to help were poor and brown. She knew who the city council was more likely to listen to.
She got home at seven that night and shed her dress, bra, and heels as soon as she walked in the front door, too tired and discouraged to bring them into her bedroom. She changed into yoga pants and a hoodie and stood in front of the open refrigerator, a glass of wine in her hand. She really should make herself a healthy dinner with all of those vegetables she’d bought at the farmers’ market on Saturday morning.
Instead, she reached for the block of cheese in the drawer and brought it, a knife, and a box of crackers to the coffee table. Just as she sat down, her phone rang. She groaned. It was probably Theo, calling to tell her about a negative story that was going to be in the paper the next day, or someone from Councilman Watson’s office giving her a heads-up that one of her few strong allies was going to defect. She took another swig of wine and reached for her phone anyway.
Drew. With her luck, he was calling to tell her not to come visit him this weekend. He’d probably realized during the weekend off from her how nice it was to hang out with other people, or he’d met some other girl after they’d hung up on Saturday night . . . or maybe even before he’d called.
Wait, was that why he’d called on Saturday night? To break up with her? But had he decided against it since she was with people?
She thought about letting him go to voice mail but decided to get this over with.
“Hey.” She tucked herself back into her corner of the couch, wishing she’d brought the whole wine bottle to the living room. “How are you?”
“Are you at home?” He sounded breathless. Had he just been running or something? Probably another reason why he was going to break up with her. He went running after work; she put on her yoga pants to sit on the couch with wine and cheese and crackers.
“Yeah, why?” What she wanted to say was, Why, do you need to know so you don’t break up with me when I’m in public? but she managed to not blurt that out.
“Great,” he said. Her doorbell rang two seconds later. Wait, what?
She put her wineglass down and walked to the door, phone still in her hand. She saw him through the peephole with a bag over his shoulder and a tense look on his face. Damn it, she didn’t even have a bra on.
She opened the door, and before she could say anything, he stepped inside and pulled her into his arms. He pushed the door closed with his elbow and leaned back against it, holding on tight, his head tucked into the curve of her neck.
She stroked his hair and kissed his ear, happier to see him than she could have thought possible. When he turned toward her, she felt dampness on his cheek.
“Drew, honey, what’s wrong? What happened?” She wanted to kick herself for calling him “honey,” but it had just slipped out.
He shook his head, so they stood there for a while without speaking, their arms around each other, her fingers moving back and forth through his hair and up and down his back, his rough breathing the only noise in the hallway.
Drew lifted his head and kissed her hard. He unzipped her hoodie and breathed in deeply when he found her topless underneath it.
“Do you always just walk around your house like this? I should show up with no warning more often.”
He leaned down and kissed that hollow between her breasts, and felt her fingernails scrape his scalp.
“I didn’t fly up here just to catch you shirtless in your house, but what a bonus,” he said.
She kissed the top of his head, his cheek, his lips. He sighed and she pulled back.
“Why did you come? What’s wrong? Tell me.”
Drew stood up straight.
“Let’s go sit down somewhere comfortable first.”
Alexa looked into his eyes for a long time. When he felt the tears start to well up again, he turned away. He was already embarrassed enough that he’d cried in front of her; he couldn’t do it again. She took his hand. They walked into the living room and she pointed at the couch.
“Sit. I’ll get you wine. Have you eaten? Are you hungry?”
He sat, suddenly exhausted.
“No. I haven’t eaten since . . . lunch? I should be hungry, but I’m not really.”
She tossed him her phone.
“Pizza place is in my favorites. Call and order whatever while I get the wine. You know what I like.”
She came back with a full glass of wine in one hand and the bottle in the other just as he got off the phone. She sank down on the couch next to him and handed him the glass. He put an arm around her and felt that feeling of homecoming as she tucked her feet up on the couch and laid her head against his shoulder. This was why he’d come.
He took a sip of wine and set the glass on the coffee table next to hers.
“I think . . . I’m pretty sure, actually, that Jack has leukemia.”
She gasped and tried to sit up, but he tightened his grip around her shoulders, keeping her close to him.
“Oh, Drew, how terrible. When did you find out? Have you told them yet?”
He kissed her hair and released her enough so she could reach her wineglass. She took a sip and grasped his hand.
“This afternoon. Yeah, I told Abby right after I found out. I think I did a terrible job of it. She looked so . . . broken.”
Alexa pushed his head down onto her shoulder. He went willingly. Her fingers combed back and forth through his hair. He felt better than he had all day. Better than he’d felt in over a week.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a good way of telling someone that their child has leukemia. I’m sure you did as good of a job as you could.”
He shook his head but didn’t bother to protest any more than that. He just wanted her to keep holding on to him like that, touching him like that. He spilled out the whole story, still resting his head on her shoulder.
“It was so awful. I’ve had patients with cancer before, but those times, I always knew in advance. It wasn’t a kid I knew. Why am I not better at this? Why can’t I feel distant and academic about it, like other doctors I know?”
She didn’t answer him but raised his head and kissed his cheek, then his mouth. They kissed like they were just getting to know each other, like they’d known each other forever. They spent the next thirty minutes like that, taking periodic breaks for sips of the red wine that went straight to his head, then coming back together, whispering soft words in between kisses. They only separated when her doorbell rang.
“Pizza,” she said, her hand still on his cheek.
He stood up, surprised to find himself unsteady on his feet. Maybe he really did need to eat. He stumbled to the front door and found his wallet in the gym bag that he’d grabbed out of his trunk in the airport parking lot. He handed the delivery guy a handful of bills and brought the pizza into the living room, just as Alexa was coming back from the kitchen with plates.
She poured herself more wine while he put pizza on their plates, and he quirked his eyebrows at her.
“My glass is empty, too, you know.”
She shook her head and took a sip.
“None for you until you eat something. I’m not going to have you collapsing on me here from stress and too much wine and no food.”
He started to argue, but the look on her face made him realize it was futile. He dove into the pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese pizza and had finished two slices before he reached for his wineglass again. This time, she filled it up.
“I’m sorry I descended on you without any warning,” he said. “I just . . . I just needed to see you. I should’ve called, but . . .” But he hadn’t wanted to call; he hadn’t wanted her to say that she had plans or was too busy and he shouldn’t come.
“It’s okay.” She put her plate down and poured herself more wine. “I would have just finished this bottle on my own if you hadn’t come. Glad you could join my pity party.” She lifted her glass to his and he toasted her.
“Why were you having a pity party? What’s wrong in Alexa world? I thought things were going well after the meeting on Saturday?”
• • •
Alexa took another sip of her wine and fought the urge to lay her head on his shoulder. Then she wondered why she was fighting it. She curled up against him, and he put his arm around her.
“Yeah, so did I, but Sunday there was another meeting and it was . . . different.”
He rubbed his hand up and down her arm.
“That doesn’t sound good. What happened?”
She attempted to not sound as defeatist as she felt as she told him everything.
“Monroe, this is just one group of people. You don’t know that they represent everyone in the hills,” he said when she was done. “Plus, now you know exactly what you’re up against, and this will make you all the more prepared for battle.”
She smiled, buoyed by his confidence in her. Maybe she should have called him on Sunday night.
“I know, it’s just . . .” She took another sip of her wine and put her glass down on the table. She twisted her fingers together and didn’t look at him.
“What is it? Tell me.” She finally looked up. He smiled at her, with such a tender, open expression on his face that she reached out and touched his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
• • •
Drew had always known there was something about this program that she wasn’t telling him. He hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t wanted to push her. But now he needed her to trust him like he trusted her.
She took a deep breath and grasped his hand.
“This program, the whole idea of this program . . . it’s a pretty personal one to me.” She looked up at him. “You’ve probably figured that out.” He nodded. “I . . . We . . .” She sighed. “I don’t know where to start this story.”
He lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of hers.
“Wherever you want to start. We have all night.”
She laughed, but it came out half like a sob.
“Okay.” She turned so that she was facing away from him, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “My sister, Olivia, and I. We’re only two years apart. Growing up, she was my . . . my idol, my everything. I read books because she read them, I took ballet because she did, I played soccer because she did, though that one I was terrible at.” He laughed. She looked up at him and laughed, too.
“It’s true. I was. I would pick flowers in the outfield during the game and make little flower crowns for myself.” They smiled at each other, and then her smile dropped away. “When I started high school, I was so excited to be back at the same school with Olivia. And, unlike my friends, I wasn’t worried about starting high school, because I knew I had my sister there to watch out for me.”
She got quiet. He waited for a moment, before he asked, “What happened?”
“One weekend night after a few months of school had gone by, Olivia and her friends got in trouble. They all got high and then drunk, or drunk and then high, and broke into the high school and stole some stuff. Someone heard them and called the cops. They got caught as they were on their way out.”
She splashed more wine into both of their glasses and took a long sip of her own before she continued.
“And you have to understand, I was a good kid, a very never-get-in-trouble, obey-all-the-rules kind of kid. And I was so shocked that my sister, who I looked up to so much, who I thought was perfect, would do something like that. And then everyone found out, and I was so humiliated. I thought everyone would think badly about her now, and badly about our whole family. That my teachers would think less of me, that everyone would make fun of me.” She glanced in his direction but didn’t meet his eyes.
“Why was it such a big deal?” He set his wineglass down. “That sounds like typical teenage stuff. I did stuff like that when I was a teenager and never really got in big trouble, other than with my parents.”
She raised her eyebrows and let go of his hand. He felt colder without her touching him.
“I know, but Drew, you’re a white guy. Life is different for you. You were born with a benefit of the doubt that black kids never get.”
He put his hand on his knee.
“That’s true, but . . .” He didn’t really know how to finish that sentence.
She took another sip of wine and didn’t look at him.
“Come on, Drew. What would have happened if you’d gotten drunk and broken into your high school? What did happen when you did stuff like this? Someone yelled at you and told your parents, you maybe got grounded and got your car taken away, but the school didn’t do anything big. Possibly a suspension, but probably not, because you were a golden boy; you were one of the smart, charming ones who everyone loved and everyone could see would eventually make it to medical school. Because you were a white kid. So they got mad at you but always with that smile behind their eyes, to let you know they didn’t really mean it and they actually thought it was a little funny, and boys will be boys. Even if someone called the cops on you, which they probably didn’t, the cops wouldn’t arrest you; they would just give you a lecture, and then maybe tell a story about the time they did something bad when they were a teen like you. Right?”
That was frighteningly accurate. He flashed back to the time that Mrs. Mann had caught him and his buddy Toby stealing the principal’s car for a prank, and had just winked at them and pretended she didn’t see anything. They’d gotten the car up to the roof of one of the outbuildings of the school, and the principal went ballistic, but no one ever told him who did it. Would Mrs. Mann have done the same thing if it had been Malik, who was in his AP Chemistry class, she’d seen in the driver’s seat instead? He wanted to think so, but too much in the world had told him otherwise. What would have happened to him?
He felt like he was tiptoeing through this conversation right now. He wanted to ask questions, he wanted her to keep talking, but he didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing, and he had no idea what the right thing was. While he thought, he slid another slice of the now lukewarm pizza on her plate. She smiled her thanks but didn’t pick it up. And she still didn’t look at him.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “You’re right. That’s exactly how it happened with me. I should have . . . I should have thought of that. What happened to your sister?”
To his relief, she answered.
“She was arrested, along with all of her friends. It was . . . it was a pretty terrible night. I . . .” She started to say something else and trailed off.
“Did she have to go to jail?”
She shook her head. “In Oakland then, there was a pilot program sort of like TARP.” Her voice went back to her chief of staff cadence. “It only lasted for a year, but it was just at the right time for Olivia, so instead of having to serve a sentence or have it on her record, she did the program. And since I know what a difference it made for her, I feel like it could . . . it would make a difference for teens in Berkeley today. Olivia got to achieve everything she wanted to, because people gave her a chance.”
She still wasn’t looking at him. He picked up his wineglass, put it down.
“What are you not telling me?”
She shifted on the couch, pulled her knees up, and put her arms around them so her body was one tight ball.
“Oh, Drew, I was so mean to her.” Her voice caught. She stopped, closed her eyes, and swallowed before continuing. “I was mean and snotty and insulting. I made her feel so bad for what happened. I did it on purpose! I became a tattletale to our parents for everything I thought she was doing wrong. We barely spoke for the better part of a year, and even after that, our relationship was fractious and difficult for years. We didn’t really start becoming friends again until I was in college, and even then, it took years for us to be close.” She paused, clearly lost in thought, and shook her head. “I feel like . . . if I manage to make this happen, it would be my way of making up for everything.”
