More Than Physical (The Physical Series Book Book 2) (18 page)

The week had been shit, spent on pins-and-needles, waiting and hoping for her father’s full recovery.

Sasha had spent nearly every waking minute at the hospital, from the moment she arrived at the Emergency Room the previous Friday night, to today. With the exception of a few surgeries she was called on to perform for her own patients, Sasha had taken time off and rescheduled her clients in order to be at her father’s bedside.

Christopher Leonetti had always been a strong man. He’d taken good care of himself for as long as Sasha could remember, keeping himself in shape by swimming laps three-days-a-week, as well as playing in a weekly doubles tennis league, as well as eating healthy. So it came as a complete surprise to learn that he had a heart attack at age sixty-four, brought on by an undetected condition called mitral valve prolapse, where his valve flap didn’t close properly.

Much to both her mother’s and her dismay, Sasha’s father had been feeling dizzy recently, experiencing shortness of breath and palpitations over the course of the last several months. But instead of listening to his own body, her father simply chalked it up to a busy work schedule and too much strenuous exercise. Men.

The pain in his chest had grown to a point where he could no longer ignore it when he finally collapsed, clutching his chest, at a garden party last Friday night. The night Sasha had been ready to spend wrapped up in the arms of her lover.

Her mother had been beside herself when she’d called Sasha on Friday night en route to the hospital via the ambulance. Thankfully, due to the fact that both she and her father were respected doctors in the Boston area, they had access to the finest and best cardiovascular surgeons in the vicinity. Feeling completely derailed and lacking any control over the situation, Sasha quizzed and questioned the surgeons at every point during and after the surgery, wanting to know precisely what it was they were doing, and the implications to her father’s long-term health.

While she wasn’t an expert on all the specifics of cardiovascular conditions or surgical procedures, only having a basic understanding from what she’d recalled from medical school, Sasha was still a doctor by trade and made damn certain that all the necessary tests and precautions were considered. Of course, it also didn’t hurt that her father was also a respected physician, and had his own inquiring mind and helpful suggestions.

Sasha’s mother, Shira, was another story. Although they’d been presented all the evidence to suggest that the surgery was relatively easy (as simple as any heart surgery could be), her mother continued to worry.

If one could describe the stereotypical Jewish mother and wife, it would be a perfect characterization of Shira Leonetti. She was a beautiful woman at sixty, her thick, dark hair tinged gray on the sides and crown, coifed in a sleek chin-length bob. Her graceful walk indicated an air of dignity and poise, the perfect semblance of a doctor’s wife.

Sasha loved her mother. She was fiercely loving, but tough-minded. While she could be manipulative and could lay on the guilt-trips like no one’s business - more often than not - Sasha knew it was done only out of concern for her daughter’s well-being. And the nagging about settling down with a “nice Jewish doctor”, as cliché was it was, literally sent Sasha into a spastic tizzy. Any time Sasha spent more than five minutes with her mother, it would inevitably come up in conversation.

But not this week. Watching her mother’s anxiety and worry, and deep-seated love for her father as she kept a vigilant post at her father’s hospital bedside made Sasha’s heart swell with adoration for the woman. Her parents weren’t perfect. Far from it. They bickered and quarreled like any couples do who are in long-term relationships, but it was out of love and respect for one another that they never let it break them.

And Sasha had certainly tried with all the antics she pulled on them as a teenager. And then came the incident in college. Well, needless to say, her parents were strong, compassionate individuals who didn’t allow drama to interfere with their devout love for their family.

What was it about the two of them that made them work so well? They were truly opposites – her mother, bold and brash at times, and her father, a soft-spoken, highly intellectual introvert. Their two personalities were so vastly different, views on life polar opposite, yet simpatico in the areas that mattered most. It reminded Sasha of how she and Jackson were together.

The thought, popping in her mind completely unbidden, stopped her thought process mid-stream. Her hand came up to cover her mouth as a strangled gasp sparked from her throat. The sound floated through the quiet room where her mother read from a book in the corner, her father sleeping with a soft-snore.

Keeping her eyes averted, Sasha flinched when her mother clearly caught on to the distress of her daughter’s thoughts.

“Darling, you know your father is out of the woods now. It’s not
tsuris
,” she said, using the Yiddish word to indicate that it was no longer a serious matter. “Is something else troubling you? You’ve seemed more than distracted recently, even before your father’s health crisis.”

Her mother was very perceptive, and had always been in tune with Sasha’s mental state, she’d give her that. Eyes like a hawk and nose like a hound. Shira could sniff out trouble and gossip like any good
yenta
could.

Realizing her mistake too late, Sasha shook her head and sighed. There was no way she’d get out of this without making a mad dash for the exit. Her mother would just continue to press her for information, breaking her down like she was a possible suspect in lock-up. Her mother would have made one hell of a detective on those TV shows.

“Ah,
mamaleh,”
Sasha lamented, dropping her head to her hands. “Why is life so complicated? Things just seem to get in the way when you don’t want them to.”

Picking at the imaginary lint on the sleeve of her blouse, Sasha felt the assessing stare of her mother’s dark brown eyes, boring into her skull as if she had some mind-reading superpower. For all Sasha knew, she probably did. Her mother had always been able to read her.

That only increased the guilt she felt from her previous transgressions over the years – all the grief she’d given her parents and the anguish over her misbehaving ways – weighing on her like a heavy burden.

Setting her book down on her lap, hands placed primly on top, Shira pursed her lips with a tight smile.

“Yes, they do, my dear. Life does have a way of throwing us curve balls when we least expect them. But I thank the good Lord that he’s blessed us with the ability to call on the strength and love of each other to get us through those times of
tsoriss
.”

Sasha nodded her head in agreement. “Hmm. Yeah.”

“
Bubleleh
,” she said, using the term of endearment she’d used when Sasha was a child. “What is it, my beautiful girl? Is it a man?”

BINGO. The woman was never wrong when it came to matters of the heart.

Shifting uncomfortably in the vinyl-coated hospital chair, Sasha blinked twice trying to regain her focus, keeping her eyes cast down to the sterile flooring. How could she even begin to describe the situation with Jackson? Where could she even begin?

“Yes,
mamaleh
. It’s a man. A very sweet, impossibly gorgeous, intelligent, generous
mensch
.” She knew throwing in the Yiddish descriptor for “good man” would help her mother swallow the news of her daughter’s current lover. “One that has turned me inside out and upside down and thrown me so far out of orbit, I don’t even know if I’m still on planet Earth.”

The squeak of the chair had Sasha lifting her head to see her mother walking across the room toward her, circling behind Sasha and placing her hands on top of Sasha’s head. Her long, thin fingers smoothed over the top of her hair, eliciting a sigh of gratitude from the depths of Sasha’s soul. Her mother used to do this to her when she was a little girl, gently massaging her scalp and sliding her fingers through her thick mass of hair. It was so calming and provided her with such a comforting peace.

If only she could find that same level of Zen from the anxiety she felt around Jackson. When the very thought of him thrilled every cell in her body. The excitement she felt from being with him. He was in every waking thought – day and night. The way he filled her so deeply and perfectly when he was buried inside her. His humor and charm that made her heart soar with joy and happiness.

It was that happiness that she’d been missing and hadn’t even realized it before now. Sasha had been single for so long, she’d tamped down the need and avoided the gnawing in her belly, eschewing the loneliness that creeped in like a misty fall morning.

And now it exposed the pieces of her heart like the peeling of paint specks on a house. His presence in her life was slowly chipping away at the exterior and burrowing inside, making his way in. Opening her up to the possibility of living a happy life.

And it scared the shit out of her.

Her mother’s smooth voice drew her attention back to their conversation.

“Did I ever tell you how your father and I met?”

Sasha turned to glance over her shoulder at her mother, whose eyes were on her father’s prone body laying just a few feet from them.

Her eyes misted in reminiscence. “I was engaged to marry another man before I met your father. His name was Ira Bernstein, a young medical student at Harvard. Nice Jewish man, raised in Brooklyn. We met at a social when I was nineteen and he was twenty-three. We’d been dating for six months when he took me to a party one evening, where all of his colleagues and cohorts were celebrating the end of their last semester before graduating with their medical degrees. It was very hot that evening and I excused myself to step outside on the patio to get some air. Ira remained inside yucking it up with his drunken friends. He was quite the drinker. Your father was already out on the patio, standing there by himself, looking so handsome, but lonely when I met him for the first time.”

Delicate hands continued to work their magic through Sasha’s hair, sometimes lingering across her forehead or cheekbones, smoothing over her skin. The soft, gentling touch of a mother.

“He didn’t say anything to me for several long minutes after I introduced myself to him. In fact, I was just about to walk away because I couldn’t believe how rude he was. He just stared at me with this strange expression until he finally looked me up and down and said, “
Of course I know who you are. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen
.” He had me stunned speechless,” she laughed a self-deprecating laugh, wrapping a curl around her finger and tugging it gently. “And you know what a rare occurrence that is.”

Sasha couldn’t help but snort in agreement. “Well, if the shoe fits…”

Her mother swatted Sasha’s shoulder before continuing her story.

“Your father’s compliment was so sincere, so factual in the way he stated it, I could hardly breathe. No one had ever called me beautiful before that night.”

Stiffening slightly in her chair, Sasha’s lips pursed and nose scrunched, as if she’d eaten a tart fruit. How could that possibly be? Her mother was the most beautiful and classy woman she’d ever known. A doppelgänger of Talia Shire from The Godfather movies. It was unimaginable to think no one had ever paid her that obvious compliment.

“Are you serious?” she asked incredulously. “Your fiancé had never told you that? What a blind doofus.”

Her mother chuckled softly, the warmth of her breath cascading down Sasha’s neck as she stood behind her, lovingly stroking her hair.

“Ira was not much for paying compliments, I’m afraid. A bit of a dud, now that I look back. So when a handsome, Italian man of six-feet-two told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, I was instantly smitten. We talked for over an hour on the balcony that night, and by the end of the evening, I was at a crossroads. I knew…without a shred of doubt…that I was to be with your father. But it blindsided me.”

“Wow…what a pickle. Two men after the same woman. You little minx.”

“It wasn’t easy, darling. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I was so young and had already made a commitment to another man. To both his family and mine. My whole world lay in front of me and I was at this fork in the road, uncertain of which way to go.”

Sasha knew the feeling well. With Jackson, she wanted so desperately to give in to the unrelenting pull…the tug he yielded over her heart. But every time she felt like letting go, she envisioned her future and the possibility of him ending things after she was in too deep. And it would absolutely devastate her. She couldn’t fathom what it would be like to experience that type of pain again. Or deal with the emotional upheaval that could literally break her.

Although their situations lacked in distinct similarity, Sasha still felt the same torment and fear that her mother must’ve felt when faced with the same type of crossroads. Uncertainty plagued Sasha when it came to how she should deal with the ever-growing attraction to Jackson.

Fortunately for Sasha, her mother chose her father in the battle of the men.

“For what it’s worth, you apparently made the right choice. I certainly appreciate it, since I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t married Dad.”