Constructing Us (New Adult Romance) (23 page)

Chapter Forty-four

Four months later

I can’t believe it’s our last night in
London,” Andy said as they walked along Hudson Street, the sidewalk still splashed with rain. 

“I know,” Tragan agreed, gi
ving her hand a squeeze.  “It went so fast, looking back.”

“Everything always feels like that,” Andy mused. 

“How do you feel?”

“Great!  I mean, sometimes I can’t believe it’s real--that everything
will be okay now.”

“Of cour
se it will,” Tragan assured her.

Thoughtfully, Andy
looked up at him.  “But doesn’t this mean that I can’t go to used bookstores anymore?” 

With a
sympathetic shrug, Tragan said, “Well, babe, like Dr. Strand said, it’s the older bookstores that are likely to still use
triglexide-1
as an insecticide.  They don’t use it in the newer stores.” 

As Dr. Strand had explained
, modern bookstores had largely abandoned chemical pest-control treatment of their facilities--relying instead on sticky traps, pheromone traps, and climate control when it came to keeping bugs away.  It was more a question of practicality than anything else.  With newer stores, inventory turned over quickly, which meant that the paper and bindings of the volumes housed in the store never got a chance to age much.  As opposed to the stock found in the more antique-y bookshops, which was way more vulnerable to infestation.  This was simply due to the fact that book-bugs were particularly drawn to old paper and old glue in the bindings. 

Apparently the
vast array of insects that were attracted to old books--including booklice, silverfish, termites, beetles, and more--could be highly destructive if left unchecked.  Therefore, even though
triglexide-1
had fallen out of wide, mainstream use, some book collectors and used bookstore owners continued to rely on it as an effective insecticide chemical.  This was how Andy had come in contact with it, and often enough to have multiple “episodes.” 

Of course Strand
had explained all this after isolating
triglexide-1
as the common chemical trigger for many subjects in his study, including Andy--which came after extensive inquiries with his research subjects to find commonalities in lifestyle, biology, and overall health, and then time-lining disruptions in health, and tracking the severity and variations of specific symptoms.  From everything Strand had concluded, Andy’s “Bronsteg Disorder” was not actually an autoimmune disease, but instead an allergic reaction to
triglexide-1
.  It wasn’t a common allergy, but then
triglexide-1
wasn’t a commonly used chemical.

Strand
’s conclusions also explained why an “attack” of Bronsteg symptoms--like a drop in blood pressure, headaches, fatigue, and dizziness--would come on rather suddenly.  What Strand had discovered when working with Andy and others was that the severity of an allergic reaction--including how long it would last and how debilitating it was--depended on the length of time that had elapsed since the chemical treatment had been applied to the facility in which they’d come in contact.  This explained why she could be so ill as to have to come home from school during her senior year, but her attack of Bronsteg symptoms shortly before she’d moved into Tragan’s apartment had only lasted a couple of weeks and had been more minor in comparison.

“I’m so happy,” Andy
admitted, leaning into Tragan, breaking into his thoughts.  Happy didn’t even begin to capture his state of mind.  To think that Andy would no longer have to live with this scary question mark over her head was worth more than he could ever give her.   Happy, yes.  Also extremely relieved for her sake, grateful to a higher power, to science, to Dr. Strand, and tonight, in particular, he felt…nervous.

“You ready to be back in
Boston?” he asked as they approached a familiar orange awning, scrawled with Chinese characters. 

“Definitely.  And
it’s sooner than we thought!  Now I’ll be back just in time to start classes.  Although…there
are
things I’ll miss about London.  No more Foyles Bookshop, no more Welsh Rarebit.  And no more Szechwan Panda,” she added ruefully while Tragan reached for the brass door handle.

“Yeah, where will
we ever find another Chinese food place in Boston?” he quipped.

Andy shot him a look over her shoulder as he followed her inside the restaurant.  “I know,
but this was our special place.  And it’s the only place you’ll drink tea.”

He gave a laugh at that. 
“Hey, I’m a coffee guy,” Tragan said unapologetically.  “The Brits aren’t gonna change that.”

About forty minutes later--
as they finished up their last Szechwan Panda dinner in London--the server appeared with the check and two fortune cookies.  “More tea?” he said.

“No, thanks,” Tragan replied, reaching for a cookie.

Once the server left, Andy snapped her cookie up and, as always, said, “You first.”

“All r
ight, here we go,” Tragan began, ready for the usual lackluster “fortune” that always seemed to find him.  “‘Your future is always with you,’” he read.

“Hey,
wait, that’s actually a good one,” Andy said encouragingly, reaching out across the table to touch his hand. 

Smiling at her, Tragan turned his hand in hers and held on.  “Now you.” 

After breaking her cookie, Andy paused before reading her fortune.  “You know I usually get pretty good ones--let’s be honest.  Well, what if this one breaks my streak?”

“Stop.  C’mon, read it,” Tragan said.  “How bad could it be anyway?”

“Oh my God, don’t say that!” she scolded, but she was grinning.  “Fine, let’s see.”  Uncurling the slip of paper, she started to read, “‘Will you m--’” when her mouth froze and her eyes shot to Tragan’s, watching her across the table.  His heart started beating faster and his palms began to sweat.  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt as nervous as he did right now, waiting for her answer.  “Tragan…” she whispered finally, her voice cracking, her blue eyes becoming watery.

God, what if it was too soon
? Tragan worried.  What if Andy wasn’t ready--what if she said no?  Deep down, he knew he would be crushed. 

“Yes,”
she said, her beautiful mouth breaking into a smile.  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”  She rose from her chair at almost the same moment that he did and threw her arms around him.  Hugging her tightly, Tragan lifted her feet off the floor, at the same time exhaling with relief, and feeling sheer excitement spread across his chest.  Andy pulled back a few inches to look up at him and said, “Wait till I tell my parents.  They’ll probably be shocked.”

“Maybe not,” Tragan admitted, then explained, “I asked for your mom’s
permission when she came to visit you a few weeks ago.  And I got your dad’s permission on the phone.”  In both cases, Tragan had done it as a gesture of respect.  Fortunately, Andy’s parents had given their blessing, so Tragan didn’t have to worry about their reaction.  He also felt that they both liked him after seeing how devoted he was to their daughter.

“How could you keep all that from me?” Andy said, sounding impressed.  “You really do have a good poker face!”

“That’s true,” he admitted.  “Blackjack’s my game, but I kill it in poker, too.”

Ignoring his cockiness, Andy
touched her palm to his chest, smiling up at him.  “And I can’t believe you conspired with Szechwan Panda like this.  Is nothing sacred?”

Tragan laughed at that
.  “To be fair, I only told them what to put in your fortune cookie.  I left my fortune to chance.  Or to the guy in the back that types them up--you know, whichever.”

With a laugh, Andy
reached up for a kiss.  He brought his hand to her face, holding her cheek as he kissed her back.  She clutched his shirt and said, “I want you to keep your fortune, too, okay?”

“Of course I will.”

“To remember this moment.”

“Not just that,” Tragan said.  “But because it’s
true.  You’re my future.”

Andy smiled, fresh tears glittering in her blue eyes.  “And I’ll always be with you.”
   

~
En
d
~

Author’s Note
: 
Bronsteg
is an anagram for
be strong
.  Andy’s condition and the resolution of it are entirely fictional.

C.J.
Lake is a storyteller who is passionate about art, surfing, and skiing/snowboarding. Residing near the coast of Massachusetts, C.J. is working on a new book that will feature Tragan Barrett’s friend, Matt Winter. Readers can get in touch via email:
[email protected]