Can't Always Get What You Want (38 page)

“Does your stomach hurt?”

“A little, but you know, at my age, everything hurts.” He laughs.

I wish I had my scrubs and stethoscope on now; he’d take me a bit more seriously. Right now, I’m just a strange woman accosting him over his morning coffee.

“I think you might have nicotine poisoning. You’re only supposed to wear one patch at a time, and you’ve got on…”

I look into the pharmacy bag, and see an empty NicoDerm box.

My stomach turns to ice.

“You put
all
of them on?”

He shrugs. “I thought that’s what I was supposed to do.”

He glances up at his wife. He’s looking paler and sweatier by the second. I retrieve my cell phone from my coat pocket.

“Hang tight, I’m calling an ambulance. You need an emergency room.”

He nods, looking a bit scared. “Hmm. Guess you are pretty smart. For a nurse, anyway.”

I help take the patches off one by one, and stay with him until the ambulance arrives.

—

When the hubbub eventually dies down, I slump back down into my chair, my scribbled- on napkin looking more pathetic by the second. I crumple it, then push it deep into my coffee mug. I rub my forehead and think about Mr. Nicotine Patch. I can’t believe what just happened there. I hope he’ll be okay.

The smartly dressed lady a few tables over catches my eye, and nods at me.

“Nice save,” she says, smiling.

I smile back. “Oh, thanks. It was nothing.”

I look at my cozy seat by the fire. “Why don’t you join me? The fire is nice.”

“Okay,” she says, and walks over, her black carry case wheeling behind her.

“I’m Marcy,” she says, offering to shake my hand.

“Sophie.”

“So, Sophie, what do you do?” she asks, sipping her coffee.

I shift side to side in my seat.

“I’m in between jobs right now.”

Which is code for I’m a frigging idiot who quit her job without having a backup plan.

“I’m a nurse,” I add. “What do you do?”

“I’m a drug rep. In fact,” she says, looking at her watch, “I was supposed to meet a doctor here for a quick coffee, but it looks like he’s standing me up.”

She laughs, and waves it off. “Not that it hurts me any. I love Adrian’s.”

“Me too,” I say. “So, drug rep. Does that mean you take drug samples to doctors’ offices every day?”

“That’s part of my job,” she confirms, “but a lot of it is cultivating relationships with the local docs. Discussing medications with them, meeting them for golf, coffee, lunch, whatever, letting them know about new medicines on the market and how they compare with old meds.”

She leans back in her chair. “I love my job. I’m never stuck behind a desk all day, I get to dress up for work, and I talk for a living.”

“I could live with that,” I say.

It sounds like a perfect job, actually.

“Did you see nicotine poisoning a lot at the hospital?”

I shrug. “No, I just knew he shouldn’t be wearing more than one patch.”

“But how did you remember the symptoms of nicotine poisoning? How did you know what to ask him?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s just the way my mind works, I guess. I can remember obscure medication facts quite easily. My own personal quirk, I guess.”

She assesses me for a moment, biting her lip.

“You said you were a nurse, right?”

“Yes.”

“What a coincidence. We’re looking for nurses to join our team.”

“Nurses can be drug reps?”

“Oh yes. We have all sorts of backgrounds. Nursing, business, marketing, you name it. We all have a little something different to offer.”

She digs through her purse, and produces her business card.

“Give me a call. I think you’d be perfect.”

Chapter 36

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

My mother sets a cup of tea in front of me.

“How’s the new job going?”

“Perfect,” I say, smiling into my cup.

I’m visiting my parents today, setting up Christmas decorations. It was like I was ten years old again, putting up the tree and hanging the lights. Partly because Mom and Dad have the same old decorations that they used when I was a kid. And partly because Dad always says he’s going to help, but eventually gives up and starts watching CNN.

Some Christmas traditions never die.

“I’m still finding my feet and getting used to it. But overall, it’s been a good change.”

“Don’t you miss the hospital?”

“A little,” I admit. “I miss the patients. The nice ones, anyway.”

“Have you talked with Sam yet?” she asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “No. I don’t think she wants to talk to me. I said some horrible things to her.

“I miss her,” I add.

“She loves you. You’ll patch things up eventually.”

I sniff. “I hope so.”

“Well, this new job seems to suit you better. I always wondered about you being a nurse.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“You’d never talked about wanting to be a nurse before. It really surprised me when you jumped into it.”

“In the beginning, I wanted to be there. I thought it was good for me,” I say.

I swallow hard. “I thought I could make it up to Aaron, somehow.”

Mom smiles sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“When I left the hospital, I felt like I was admitting a mistake. I felt like I was a failure.”

“You could never be a failure.”

“But, what about all of that wasted money, and education…”

“Education is never wasted, even if you don’t think you’ll ever use it again. But it’s okay to admit you made a mistake and move on. It sure beats doing something you hate for the rest of your life. I think it’s better to be honest with yourself, and have the courage to change things if it’s in your power to do so.”

I nod, feeling relieved and happy that she’s supportive.

“I’m serious. So what if you felt like you made a mistake? Lots of people change their minds, and change career paths, or their entire lives once they’re fed up with it.”

She drums her fingers across the table.

—

“Have you heard from Brett?” she asks.

“Nope. Seems I’m good at pushing people away these days,” I mutter.

“He loves you,” she says. “He misses you.”

“Ravi mentioned that Brett has been out here, helping you and Dad with the house and stuff. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She waves my comment away. “He asked us not to mention it. I think he’s a bit embarrassed about the whole situation, to be honest.”

“Embarrassed about helping you?”

“Embarrassed that you’re not together.”

I twist in my chair, angling away from her.

“Honey, what happened with Brett? He’s completely besotted with you. Don’t you love him?”

“Of course I do,” I say, my voice shaky.

“Then what’s the problem?”

I lay my forehead on the table. It feels cool and refreshing.

“I’m the problem. I can’t get over Aaron.”

I spend the next hour talking, getting it all off my chest. I start tearing my napkin into little pieces.

“So. What do you think? What should I do?”

She clasps her hands and looks me in the eye.

“I think you’re waiting for some magical day when you’ll stop missing Aaron. But, in reality, you’ll probably never stop missing him. Yes, you can learn to live with it, you can heal, you can be happy, but you’ll never be the same person you were before you met Aaron. You can’t erase the past, or rewrite history. Just remember it, acknowledge how it changed you, and move on.”

I stare at her, stunned. I can’t think of one thing to say.

She smiles kindly at me. “Just think about it.”

—

After supper, I pull on my winter coat and retrieve my boots from the back door.

“Are you sure you won’t stay overnight? It gets dark so early now,” Mom says.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.

“Okay.” She squeezes a bit harder. “I love you, Sophie.”

—

I stare at the dark stretch of highway. The car is quiet, but my mind is buzzing.

Aaron…

Memories start flooding back, as they always do, but this time, I allow myself to take an honest look at what we had.

I love him, but was it perfect?

Have I put our relationship up on a pedestal?

Maybe, just maybe, the Aaron living in my mind isn’t really who Aaron was.

Maybe it was just an ideal.

I allow myself to see Brett’s perspective. How could he ever compete with a perfect memory?

I’ve been so unfair to him.

I wanted Aaron so badly. I still do. It breaks my heart, but maybe I do need to let go. Because I can’t keep living like this.

If only I had a sign, something that told me what I needed to do.

“Please, God,” I say to the quiet interior of my car, “give me a sign, something to help me put this puzzle together. Anything.”

Silence.

My mind swirls around until I can’t take the quiet anymore, and I switch on the radio. A familiar tune fills the air.

“No freaking way…”

The melody from “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” washes over me.

I listen, my heart pounding with every note, every word. Especially at the chorus.

All the tumblers have fallen into place in my head.

And in my heart.

—

The minute I get home, I call Sam.

“Truce?” I say.

I hear her breathing over the line.

“Please, Sam, I’m sorry. I really need to talk to you.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry too. I feel so bad about how we left things…”

“Never mind. I was a big dick.”

She laughs. “You’re a woman, you can’t be a dick. Asshole is unisex, but dick is totally male.”

“Well, regardless, I was being one. And I’m so sorry.”

“Okay, truce,” she says, and I can hear her laugh.

“Sam? Do you remember how to get to the red tent clearing?”

She pauses. “I think so. Why?”

“There’s something I need to do.”

Chapter 37

The Last Time

—

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

“Yes,” Samira says.

These backcountry roads all look the same to me, one snowy field after another. My knees bounce with nervous energy as I scan the horizon for anything that seems familiar.

I should feel tired. I couldn’t sleep at all last night.

I tossed and turned for hours, and finally decided to get up and write a letter. A letter that I’ve folded and put inside this bright red, helium-filled balloon sitting on my lap.

I’m feeling a bit nervous, actually. I’m going to the place where I have the most vivid memories of Aaron.

A place that only he and I shared.

Our own private heaven.

Samira cranes her neck, and slowly pulls her car beside an old access road that leads into a field.

“I think this is it.”

We get out of the car. I vaguely recognize the dark tree line. It looks different. No leaves. No color. Just gray trees and crunchy snow.

“Thanks for doing this, Sam.”

She gives me a small smile and squeezes my free hand. The balloon bobs and sways in the breeze, a bright red stain against the stark landscape.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

I squeeze back a couple of tears.

“No. This is something I have to do on my own.”

She nods. “I’ll wait for you. Take as long as you need.”

I stomp through the deep snow toward the trail visible at the tree line. The balloon rubs on a few branches overhead, and I worry that it might pop.

I yank it down, and hug it tight against my chest.

The woods are brighter than I thought they’d be. From the road, they appeared dark and menacing. But, without leaves getting in the way, the sun streams through the branches, dappling the ground below.

I walk. And walk. And walk.

I’m starting to get a bit sweaty under all of these winter layers. One of the biggest moments of my life, and I’m going to be a sweat-ball for it.

Awesome.

Nothing looks familiar. Aaron made me wear a blindfold, so I have no idea how far I have left to go.

And then, the ground slopes downward, and I remember Aaron’s wrapping his arms around my waist. Even if my eyes don’t remember a thing, my feet do.

I hear his voice crooning in my ear.

“Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood…”

My throat tightens and my eyes burn. I’m not sure if I can do this.

I choose my steps carefully, navigating through slippery snow.

The clearing comes into view.

I stop walking.

“Oh…”

Nothing looks like it did in my memories.

But.

It is still so beautiful. Virgin snow blankets the clearing, sparkling under the bright November morning sun.

I tentatively walk toward the middle of the clearing, visualizing where our tent had been, where the fairy lights had hung.

My heart hammers in my chest.

My tongue slicks over my dry lips, and I let the balloon rise up into the air, while still holding the tether.

I clear my throat. “I…uh…”

Oh, this feels so stupid. Maybe this was a horrible plan; maybe I should just turn around and go home.

Maybe…

Wait—what was that?

A small flash of brown swoops past my face. I follow it as fast as my eyes allow, and notice a tiny bird sitting on a tree branch.

He starts singing.

“All right, birdie. I’ll talk to you.”

I start again.

“Aaron…I. God, this is hard.”

A small sob escapes me. My hands vibrate, making the balloon shudder and jerk above me. The folded letter bumps and taps inside, a literal Morse code of my anxiety.

My birdie friend sings sweetly, as if encouraging me to go on.

“I remember the first time I saw you. You were confident and sexy, and had the attention of every girl in the room. You scared me.”

A cathartic bubble of laughter echoes through the clearing.

“I swore you were bad news, and that nothing good could come from you. But, I was wrong. So wrong.