Pulse (13 page)

I
unbuttoned my jeans, and she sighed.

“I love
it when you do that,” she said. “I love watching you undress.”

I
stripped for her, slowly. I unbuttoned my shirt button-by-button, let it fall
from my arms. I slowly slid down my jeans, then stepped out of them.

Crawling
over her, so that our bodies were hovered only inches apart, I let her slip me
out of my boxer-briefs, my erection springing free.

When she
grabbed it, I groaned. I loved it when she was bold.

I
watched, heated, as she skimmed her hands down the length of her torso, her
fingers etching over the jutting hip-bones. I pressed the length of my cock
against her, and she whimpered quietly.

“Ahh...”
she sighed as I kissed her shoulder, her throat, the nape of her neck. “Please
don't tease me.”

“No?” I
whispered, catching her earlobe between my teeth. “You want me to fuck you,
Mia?”

She
looked flustered. God, it had me going already.

“Yes,”
she begged. “Please. Please just fuck me.”

I slid
myself inside of her, sinking in with a painful slowness. I took a sharp
breath, moaning against her neck, our fingers intertwining while my other hand
cupped her face.

“Harder,”
she said, her mouth against my lips, our teeth clashing. “I need you harder
this time. I need you to fuck me like this was the last time we'll ever see
each other again.”

I slid
out, centimeter by centimeter, then thrust into her, hard. Her whimpers grew
into yelps, her fingers digging into my back.

“Fuck,” I
breathed. I thrust deeply into her again, her back arching, her eyebrows
falling into soft lines as she was growing close. I squeezed her breasts,
twisting one of her nipples gently, and she shivered deliciously. “Every way
you move drives me crazy.”

Our eyes
locked. I kissed her as our breath grew full of the frantic, impending release.

“I can't
hold back,” she said. “Let me come.”

I stayed
inside of her, moving serpent-like, not sliding out even a little. I wanted her
to feel me come. I wanted to feel her come.

When we
kissed, I felt the last sudden rush of blood before everything fell apart; I
came with a final snap, feeling the heat pool between her legs. She moaned,
tensing around me, her sighs full and syrupy sweet. Her hands were still
gripping my shoulders.

“Damn,” I
whispered, breathless. “I hope – I hope that was okay.”

“Of
course it was,” she said, touching my face. “You're perfect. You're everything
I've ever wanted.”

I smiled,
tired. I rolled over, scooped her into my arms, feeling the rattle of her heart
beneath her bones. I kissed her temple.

“I should
have worn a condom,” I said, feeling that small ghost of regret. “This is
getting reckless.”

“Well, I
have an IUD. I'd never...I'd never do that to you, Alex. I'd never ruin your
life like that.”

Something
about those words chilled me. Is that what this was, I thought? An escape from
the suffocating realities that had slowly built around me, like a jail-cell
wall, one cement block after another. A white-coat job with long, winding hours
and little praise or affection. A lonely, cold apartment. No real friends.
Cait's pregnancy. This baby that I had on the way, that I would have to raise
and help form into a decent human being. Unlike me.

Mia could
sense me tense, and her eyes widened.

“What's
wrong?” she asked. “What are you thinking about?

I kissed
her forehead, a soft peck.

“Your
heart's going off like crazy, honey,” I told her.

Taking
her wrist, like I had the first time we met, I listened to her pulse. And it
was then that I recalled my first sight of her; this nervous girl in a hospital
bed, or the sleepy-eyed face in a dark room, all tethered to wires and beeping
machines.

You're
a good doctor
.

No, I
wasn't.

 
With my own heart thudding, I added: “It's
practically sprinting.”

She fit
so perfectly into the curve of my arm. I could have held her there forever.

“It's
because of you,” she said. “My heart has a mind of its own.”

As I held
her, we listened to the beach noise. From our hotel room, on the beach-front,
we could still hear the lap of waves against sand. The distant sound of gulls,
or late-night laughter.

And right
then, though I would have never told her, my heart broke a little.

Chapter 15

MIA

It was
hard to climb back into his Porsche after leaving the hotel. We couldn't stay
the night, because he had the hospital looming over his shoulder, and
appointments to take in the afternoon, and I had to pick my mom up at the
airport. Graduation was finally here.

“I wish
you could come,” I said, feeling the pit form in my stomach. We were driving
back from Clearwater, and the sun had not yet risen. Radiohead was playing in
the background, a static lull, and I was curled up on the passenger's seat,
half-asleep.

“I wish I
could,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “You know I do.”

I did
know. But I still didn't feel any better about the whole thing.

“This
sucks,” I said.

“It does
suck,” he agreed. “But I'll be thinking about you all day.”

That
morning, running off of three double-shot espressos, I picked my mom up at the
Orlando airport. We had breakfast at Nature's Table, did a little bit of
sight-seeing around the city, and I dropped her off at the Hilton to check-in
before returning to my apartment for graduation preparations.

I slid on
my dress, then my graduation gown, and snapped a photo of myself. Holed up in
the bathroom, I beamed it over to Alex.

I waited
for a quick respond, but never received one. Hospital-stuff, I figured. Nothing
to get hyped up about. I just had to let it go.

During
the car-ride to campus, Mom peppered Aimee and I with little facts about
Arizona, and the heat, and the people, and the scorpion that she'd found
crawling around in her kitchen that same morning.

“Scary,”
I said. “What's the point of scorpions, anyway? Like, spiders eat bugs, bats eat
bugs, snakes kill spiders, but what do scorpions actually do besides look
terrifying?”

“Dad
killed it,” she reassured me. Dad was my second favorite relative in the world,
who unfortunately had to stay behind for work, which was also the same reason
that mom could only stay until Sunday.

“Thank
God for Mia's Dad,” Aimee remarked. We all agreed.

During
the ceremony, as I walked across the stage to get my diploma, I tried to
imagine that Dr. Greene – that Alex – was in the crowd, hiding somewhere,
watching me while en incognito. I imagined his brimming smile, full of pride
and maybe a little bit of nostalgia as he remembered his own college
graduation.

As I held
that diploma, I felt strangely sad. But I smiled through it, hugged Aimee
tightly, and blotted the tears as my mother took a million photos, and told me
a million times how proud she was of me.

When
Aimee invited me out, despite my mom's protest for me to go, to have fun, I
decided to shack up with her and watch old movies and eat ice cream. Seeing her
again for the first time since Christmas only reminded me of how much I had
actually missed her.

“When do
you expect to hear back from Cambridge?” she asked. Because this was the only
topic on everyone's tongue these days.

“Any day
now,” I told her. “Maybe tomorrow, even.”

“Are you
nervous?”

“Yes. No.
Absolutely.”

Mom
laughed.

“So, what
happened with you and Evan? Aimee said you two were no longer a going concern.
You know, I liked him. He was a nice boy.”

I guess.
I guess he was. Maybe we're all generally nice people, and just glaringly
imperfect humans.

“We were
together, and now we're not,” I told her. I didn't want to get too deeply into
it. It was over, and I just didn't care to keep picking the scab. “There's not
a whole lot to tell.”

“Well,
I'm sorry to hear that,” she said. “Is there anyone new in your life?”

This was
the hardest part. Lying to my mother. Because how you tell them, truly, that
you're falling for an older man that was also your doctor?

“No,” I
lied. “Not now, at least.”

We spent
the rest of the night watching
The Princess Bride
, then fell asleep.

That
morning, Alex texted me. I read it aloud to myself as I was brushing my teeth:

I'm so proud of you, my little fox.

Before I
knew it, it was already time for me to bring Mom back to the airport. I watched
her wheel her luggage inside, waving a thousand frantic goodbyes in my
direction, and I swallowed the lump in my throat, reminding me that such a
thing existed as summer break, and holidays, and that none of this was forever.
It just felt like it.

Back at
the apartment, with my phone buzzing, I reached inside my purse only to pull
out a pair of glasses. Dr. Greene's glasses.

How?

I thought
about it, then it clicked. I must have grabbed them off the Porsche's floor
while scrambling to pick up the spilled mess from my purse. It had managed to
fall from the dashboard, but that was my own tired stupidity.

“Guess
what I have?” I smirked. “I hope you don't have a terrible headache or
anything.”

“Contacts,”
Dr. Greene said. “A glorious invention. Still, I'll be needing those back.”

“Where
are you?” I asked.

“At the
office,” he said. “I could pick them up after?”

It was
raining outside. I should have accepted the offer. It would have been safer
that way, in more ways than one.

“Or I
could bring them to you.”

“Mia,” I
could hear him sigh, even though he had tried to pull the phone away. “I don't
think that's a good idea.”

“I'll be
quick,” I promised. “Anyway, I have to work tonight. The library is still open
until midnight, you know. I won't be here later on.”

He told
me to meet him outside, so I threw on a hooded sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and
braved the heavy pelting of rain. In Florida, the rain didn't come in subtle,
gentle droplets. Each storm was almost like a threat from God, that he could
rip open the Earth and swallow us whole again if he wanted.

It took
me almost fifteen minutes to snag a cab, at which point I was thoroughly
soaked.
 
When I finally arrived at the
office, the driver agreed to hang around the parking lot as long as he could
keep the meter going.

I stood
outside the entrance, waiting for him, anxious about the amount of cash that I
had on me, and where he was.

I pulled
out my phone, shot him a text, and about ten seconds later, he emerged.
Accompanying him was a heavily pregnant woman; blond and statuesque and very
beautiful in a prim and proper, Ice Queen kind of way.

When I
smiled at him, she noticed me, and asked who I was.

“This is
a patient of mine,” he explained. “Mia, this is Cait.”

We shook
hands. She stood for a second, silently trying to figure me out.

“Well,
alright then. I'll see you later,” she said to Alex, then turned to leave.

He waited
until she was safely out of the parking lot before speaking again.

“Who is
she?” I asked.

“Secretary,”
he said quickly. “Obstetrics.”

I didn't
think twice about it. I simply grabbed his glasses, handed them over, and
waited for him to stop acting as if he'd seen a goddamn poltergeist.

“You
really can't just show up here unannounced,” he said. “We need to be careful.”

“Wow,” I muttered.
“I really am sorry, then.”

I was
sort of pissed, to be honest, but I knew I had to try and be understanding.
There was no way to go about this without it being tricky. If I wanted to be
around him, it had to be by his rules.

“You know
how much I care about you,” he said, his tone apologetic.

“Of
course I do,” I said. “Anyway, I need to go. The meter's running, and I really
should have waited, because I'm broke.”

He
reached into his wallet, withdrawing a crisp twenty. And despite the
discomfort, and maybe even a bit of mild shame, I accepted it, thanked him, and
darted across the parking lot. All while cursing the rain.

Sifting
through the nickels and dimes at the bottom of my purse, I was thankful to have
this new job. I barely had any scratch to my name. Any extra amount went
towards food. If I didn't have campus housing, and actually needed to pay for
rent and utilities, I'd be screwed.

And here
Dr. Greene was: a successful and smart doctor.

I sank
into my seat, and the driver seemed to notice my distress. He offered me a
Starburst from his pack, saying:

“You can
have the last pink one, if you want.”

I took
it, smiling.

“You're
awesome,” I said. “Thanks.”

Later
that afternoon, I shot him a text. Then a second one. But he never replied.

Chapter 16

ALEX

I was in
the OB/GYN waiting room, sitting next to Cait, when a text alert pinged. My
eyes had been glued to this giant glass tank in the corner, filled with various
exotic-looking fish, that was supposed to be therapeutic or something. They had
this lilting, instrumental music playing in the background. Flutes. And the
entire room was bathed in a warm, champagne light.

Ping
.

Cait's
eyes were glued to some Home and Gardening magazine. She didn't even think
twice about the alert. I nudged her, saying:

“One
second. It's the office. I'll be right back.”

She
nodded silently. Nobody seemed to actually talk in this waiting room. It was
all just the background music, the friendly chirp of the receptionist, or the
flipping of magazine pages.

Outside,
leaning against the front door, I opened the text.

I know you're probably busy. I'm sorry for being
such a pain in the ass.

She
wasn't, of course. She was just being her age. A twenty-two-year-old girl,
anxious and wondering where the guy she's been fucking has been off loitering,
and what's he's been thinking about, and why he hasn't answered her texts aside
from my last vague message. It wasn't a conversation. And why not?

Long-handed
answer? I was too anxious to message her with Cait present; she had appeared
curious since watching Mia leave the office. I could see it all over her face.
Everytime I glanced at the floor, or at my phone – sneaking a peek at the photo
that Mia had sent me, dressed in her graduation garb – she perked up.

“What's
wrong?” she asked.

We were
standing in the nursery, our hands covered in paint, when the phone sounded. I
sighed heavily.

“Nothing,”
I had told her. But what I wanted to say was: “Everything.”

Now, here
I was, standing outside the entrance of a Women's Health Center, waiting to see
my unborn child in all of its ten-fingers-and-toes glory.

I know, I
should have been more excited. And I definitely wasn't feeling nothing. A sense
of prospect for this very moment had almost worked its way through my
bloodstream like a slow, simmering mix of anxiety and dread and a pinch of
excitement. If a patient were to come to me with these symptoms, I'd probably
suggest some testing, but I knew this was just a heavy dose of anticipation.

I wanted
to feel happier. I was hoping, especially over the past several weeks, that
something would shift inside of me; that some sort of hidden, buried paternal
instinct would finally work its way through the soil and come to blossom. Sure,
maybe most fathers-to-be are a little scared, but that's
all
I was feeling.

I wasn't
happy about it. Not at all. And maybe this was what I needed – to see the baby
as something more than just words out of Cait's mouth, or paint swatches taped
to a blank wall.

After
snapping myself out of the daze, I went back inside and waited. I pissed around
on my phone playing Plants vs. Zombies. I read a news article on the situation
in Palestine. I re-read Mia's text, staring at the photo with what was probably
a weird, blank-looking expression.

When they
called Cait's name,
 
I felt insecure and
unsettled as we maneuvered our way down the hall and into this little, darkened
room. I sat down on the open seat beside where Cait lay down, her stomach
having seemed to really pop in the last few weeks.

“He or
she has been very active lately,” Cait remarked. “I've barely been able to
sleep, and my back is killing me.”

She was
talking to her doctor, and not me. The same doctor whose hand I shook for the
first time, and introduced myself to for the first time, and where, for the
first time in this particular office, I was hearing about Cait's woes. The
mother of my child, with her sore back and lack of sleep.

My own
wretched behavior, my own distance, suddenly became very real.

When I
spotted Cait's fidgeting hands, all unwoven nerves, I held one. For the sake of
formally-trained beside manner, maybe, but if there was ever an appropriate
time, this would be it.

I used my
empty left to shake her OB's hand, smiling sincerely even though I knew that
the returned smile was fake. She didn't like me much, I sensed. But I guess it
was deserved. Cait was full-term now, and this was the first time we were
meeting.
 

The
ultrasound tech was nicer. Her smile was kinder, brighter. When she squirted
the contact gel onto Cait's stomach, she warned that it would be cold.

At first,
the screen was blurry. She moved the wand around, and I waited, mouth slightly
agape, for the picture to clear.

“Are you
sure you don't want to know what you're having?” she asked.

The
wheels in my head, as I saw my baby for the first time, began to shift and
turn. There it was, all laid out in front of me, indisputable proof: a tiny
profile, tiny limbs, tiny legs all kicking about.

“I'd like
to know,” I said, swallowing. “If it's a girl or a boy. I really would. Cait?”

She
glanced up at me, surprised
 
and vaguely
uncomfortable. She was still holding my hand, but there lacked that expected
grip that two expectant parents might share.

After
wavering in some hesitancy, lowering her eyes, she spoke.

“Okay,”
she agreed softly. “I'd like to know, too.”

After a
minute of searching, the technician's eyes lit up.

“Are you
ready, Mom and Dad?” she asked. God, she looked so delighted.
 

“Yes,” I
said. But Cait said nothing.

She
grinned widely.

“It's a
girl,” she declared. “Congratulations, you two. She's beautiful.”

A girl. A
baby girl.

“Wow,” I
said softly. “A girl.”

I watched
my daughter dance around on the screen. She kicked and moved her arms and legs,
squirming around, all nestled and snug. When she stretched her fingers, I could
see every one of them, all perfectly formed.

I
tightened my hand around Cait's, full of a sudden, unexpected affection. But
she didn't return the gesture.

The
technician printed out a stretch of photographs, and I observed each one
carefully. When she was gone, I glanced up at Cait, full of awe. The nausea was
still very real, the anxiety still very constricting. But I now felt something
new. She was here, and she would be welcomed into the world soon.

“We're
having a little girl, huh?” I mused. “I guess that could gives you some liberty
to color-coordinate the nursery now.”

She
nodded lightly, withdrawing her hand from mine.

“Who was
that girl?” she asked. “The young one, with the dark hair?”

As if on
cue,
ping
. Another text.

“I'm not
sure I know who you're referring to,” I said. When confronted, if ever there's
one resounding truth: play convincingly dumb. “The girl who met us outside the
office entrance?”

“Yes.”

“I told
you, she's just a patient,” I said quickly. “Translation: she's nothing.”

Cait
wiped the gel from her stomach with a damp towel. I stood, sickened at the
words that had just fallen from my mouth.

She's
nothing.

I looked
down towards the floor; white and gray speckled tile. My phone felt as if it
were burning in my back pocket.

“Do you
need any help with the nursery items?” I offered. “The crib. I know you'll
probably want some help with that.”

“There's
no need,” she said mildly. “Mason's coming over tonight. He'll help.”

I stopped
short. “Mason?”

“Yeah,”
she trailed off, pulling her shirt down. “Does that bother you?”

“Is water
wet?”

“Alex,”
she said, unamused. “Seriously.”

“I'm just
trying to understand,” I told her. “I thought you two were no longer an item. I
thought he'd kicked you out of his place.”

She grew
quiet. She didn't speak again until we were in the parking lot.

“I don't
want to do this alone,” she finally said, leaning against her car. An old
Acura. My old Acura. A loan that would probably become something more along the
lines of permanent. “And you'll always be her father, but if
this
isn't
going to be a unit, I'd like to have someone there with me.”

What
could I say to that? Even the best part-time father is still a part-time
father.
 
There was no way I could be
there for every single late-night feeding, or diaper change, or take every
First Watch while my daughter napped in her bassinet.

“How is
the job hunt looking?” I asked.

“Poor,”
she said. “I submit resumes every week, and nothing. I'm not sure what else to
say. I'm sorry.”

I sighed.
Sliding into the Porsche, I fumbled for my check-book, scribbled the numbers
down on the sharp line, and handed the check to her. She accepted it
reluctantly.

“Thank
you,” she said.

“Yep,” I
said. I was staring out through the windshield at this point, more pensive than
I wanted to be in the late afternoon. Caught between a rock and a hard place.
Mia, Cait, and the tiny human that would be making herself known sooner than
later. “Of course.”

I didn't
text Mia. I spent the night at the local Books a Million, pouring over heavy
texts on fatherhood, infants, and everything I could scour from the
bookshelves. I drank about eleven cups of House Blend.

At the
apartment, hands pressed against the cold window, I watched the clouds gather.
Even in the nightfall, they were full and hanging with water.

I
wondered what Mia was doing. If she was out with her friends, having a week-end
bender or something. God, I hoped she wouldn't be drinking. I hoped she
wouldn't be out at some hole-in-the-wall bar, with those leery-eyed boys her
age. The thought of another man looking at her was enough to make my blood
boil.

And there
the books were, sitting on my kitchen counter, mocking me.

You
can't have her
, they said.
It's over
.
You're done
.

And I
guess they were right, in a way. I was just willing, pathetically and insanely,
to hold out – to hold her – for as long as I could.

Sprawling
across my bed, finally succumbing to my jealous paranoia, I called her:

“Hi,” she
answered on the first ring. “I'm sorry if I've been bothering you.”

“God,
no,” I said, fidgeting on the bedspread. “Are you at home?”

“Yeah.
Watching Bridezilla. Why?”

I
breathed a small sigh of relief. I didn't let her know my real thoughts,
though. I wasn't proud of them. This was 2015 – Mia could do what she wanted.
She wasn't my plaything.

“Just
thinking about you,” I said gently. “It's quiet here.”

“Can I
come over?” she asked, her voice rising. “To see you, I mean. Obviously.”

I thought
about the books on my kitchen counter. I thought about the scant evidence that
would eventually only accumulate. How much longer could I keep this going?

Inside my
slacks, my cock hardened.

“Not
here,” I said. “The place is a mess. Can I come and steal you?”

“Please,”
she said. “I'll wait outside for you.”

As if on
cue, droplets began to pelt and run down the window glass, like watercolor.

“It's
raining,” I told her.

“I don't
care,” she said. “I just need you.”

I didn't
bother dressing. I threw on a pair of jeans and kept my undershirt. The whole
twelve minutes that it took to reach Mia's place seemed to stretch on for an
eternity. Even my customized Night Drive playlist granted me no relief.

The
downpour fell in heavy droplets; like hot lead as they assailed the tinted
windows.

 
And as I waited, I pressed a palm against my
cock, which was already hard underneath my dark jeans.

When she
tapped on the glass, I opened the door.

I pulled
her inside, and she locked us in.

“Hello,
Dr. Greene,” Mia said, sweetly cloying.

“Hello,
little fox.”

I
couldn't suppress the subtle growl. Inside, hungry and craving, I clawed at her
drenched clothes; I could see her nipples hard through her soft T-Shirt.
Stripping the layers, I could smell the scent of vanilla and powder on her
skin.

“God,
I've missed you,” I murmured against her neck. I kissed her, pinching her neck
with my teeth, and a moan escaped her throat. “I don't think I can wait.”

We were a
mess of clashing mouths and frantic hands. I unzipped my fly, yanking my
erection out. As she slid out of her pajama pants, I squeezed my shaft, hard.

“I'm so
wet,” she exhaled. Droplets ran down her beautiful face. “What about your car?”

“I don't
give a fuck about the Porsche,” I grabbed her wrist, kissing the inside, the
soft flesh. “Come here. Now.”

I pulled
her on top of my lap. She sank down against me like the first shot Dilaudid
into the blood-stream. The most potent of painkillers.

I touched
her face as she ground her hips against mine. Skin against skin, bone against
bone, heat against heat.

“Alex,”
she gasped. “I...I...”

“Yes?” I
asked, skimming my thumb against her bottom lip. Full, ripe. “What is it?”

She
looked pained, conflicted. Instead of answering, she kissed me, hard, then
buried her face against my shoulder.

“Oh,
God...” she whispered into the fabric. “I'm going to...”

I felt
the contractions:
one, two
...

“Mia,” I
yelped. I raised my hips, driving myself deeper inside of her. Her eyes were
closed, her mouth parted, her cheeks colored crimson. “Look at me, Mia.”