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Three Months Later

MIA

The Skype
call came in while I was sitting on the outside terrace of some cafe, sipping
coffee from a pretentiously small cup and trying to tame my flurried thoughts.

I
answered. Aimee's face lit up the screen.

“I MISS
YOU SO MUCH ALREADY!” she exclaimed. “God, wherever you are looks beautiful.
Give me a look around.”

I could
spy Eric in the background, tying his shoes or something. I gave him a shy wave
as I picked my tablet up, giving it a spin around the perimeter: glittering
streets and smiles. Fashionably-clad teens and staggering buildings all under a
gauzy-gray sky.

“Glorious,”
she said, then: “You look great, by the way. You've got some color back in your
cheeks. You're glowing.”

“Oh, that's
just the ambient lighting,” I told her. “But I am feeling good. A little
chilly, but good.”

“What are
you working on there?” she asked. She pressed her nose to the camera, and I
laughed. As if that could help her see what I was writing. “Writing letters to
yours truly?”

I
smirked.

“Just
something personal I'm working on. It's...”

I
stopped. Did I want to have this conversation? When I was feeling – all things
said – at peace with everything. Surrounded by beautiful architecture and
beautiful, friendly people and currently enjoying the best cup of coffee I'd
ever tasted in my young American life.

No. No, I
didn't.

“It's
just something for class,” I said. “An essay.”

“Oh,”
Aimee said. She then shouted something to Eric in the background, and he
shouted back, but I couldn't quite understand. “Guess what? I'll be doing some
traveling soon, too.”

“Where
to?”

“Chicago.
Eric's parents are out there. We're going to pay them a visit.”

“How long
will you be staying, you think?”

She
pressed her lips together.

“Indefinitely,”
she answered. “Eric wants to go back to school. Open up his own store,
eventually. And I think I'd like a new change of pace.”

Everything's
changing
, I thought. But I guess this was to be expected at some point. A
part of growing up, a part of growing older.

So I
smiled, and she swore that we'd see each other as soon as humanly possible, and
that she loved me times infinity.

“I love
you more, Aimee.”

The video
began lagging – then, with the frame frozen on Aimee's goodbye wave –
blip
.
Call ended.

I sighed,
took a sip of coffee, and returned to my letter.

 
My mind was blank. There was nothing – no
words, not even idle small-talk – that I could summon. Even the thought of a
text or phone call was daunting.

I guess I
just had nothing left to add to the ashes. I still hurt, and I still wasn't
over him, and I still half-wished that we could see one another again. But I
was ready to start sweeping up the remains.

Rummaging
through my bag, I pulled out the envelope. It had weathered some wear over the
past few weeks after my spilling a cup of tea all over my desk, but the letter
was still in tact.

Unfolding
the paper, I reread his words:

Mia,

I've
been thinking about our first meeting, and how there was no way I could have
ever anticipated that I would have fallen in love with a patient. In all of my
schooling, treating patients kindly, considerately, and above all,
professionally, has been drilled into my head. I've spent years understanding
what never to do, and how to handle the grayer moments. Like when a patient
sends you flowers, or cookies, or a Birthday card. You know, we're not supposed
to accept these things.

I
accepted too much from you. I lost myself with you. I behaved inexcusably –
deplorably, some could say – for a man of my profession.

But when
I first saw you, Mia, I hope you know it was real. I couldn't help it. And the
first time I heard the sound of your heartbeat, I knew.

Please
understand that I get where this is going. While I hope that there is a time
and place where maybe we can talk and things won't be awkward, or painful, or
impossible, in the ten years I've had on this Earth while you were still young
and growing and probably toddling around while watching cartoons, I've become
all too aware that some things simply cease. This is another thing that you
learn as a doctor. Some files will close, and the only choice it to accept it.

I just
hope you enjoy your new chapter. I hope you spend these next few years of life
living fully. I hope you find someone new to love, and new friends, and new
stories to tell.

I also
hope you know that I mean it when I say that I loved you. And for what it's
worth, despite the shattered state of it all, I loved you the best I could.

But
above all, I just hope you know that I'm sorry. I hope you can find it within
yourself to pardon this one doctor.

And I
hope you can forgive me.

Yours,

Alex

My face
grew warm. I could feel the swelling strings in my throat. But I refused to
cry.

I folded
up the letter, slid it back into its envelope, and tucked it away in my bag.

In the
cab, the driver turned to me. He was gray-haired and had a sweet, genuine
smile:

“Is
everything alright, Miss?”

I looked
at him, tearing my eyes away from the castle-like structures. God, it was all
so beautiful.

“Yes,
thank you,” I said. “Just taking everything in.”

Sitting
on the steps of King's Chapel, my phone went off. Once, twice, three times. But
I was so preoccupied watching a cluster of students kicking around a soccer
ball that I didn't even notice.

Above,
there were a few clouds in the sky; nothing too ominous, but it looked like it
might rain.

I glanced
up, sighed, and stood. When I finally picked up my phone, I glanced at the name
across the screen:

Mom.
Three missed calls.

I smiled,
dropped it back into my purse, and began walking towards the river's edge. I
found myself thinking about how the breeze was slightly bitter, and how I
wished I'd brought a sweater, and how I was honestly feeling a little bit
lonely.

Looking
out towards the water, there were no punters, nor students rowing along in
canoes. The river was silent, shimmering.

I picked
up a stone, tossed it in. It made a delightful-sounding
plunk
.

Sigh
.

In my
purse, Little Fox poked his head out, as if watching the late-summer
outstretched over the emerald grass. Maybe it was weird, but I liked to have
him with me. It was the only thing I had left of Dr. Alex Greene.

I
wondered what he was doing, and if he was eating enough, and hoped to God his
liver wasn't completely shot.

I
sprawled back against the grass, spending awhile watching the clouds roll by. I
listened to the wind as it danced in the leaves. I listened to faraway
laughter.

I
listened again to the sound of my own sigh.

And
somewhere, in the distance, footsteps. A stone soaring through the air,
dropping into the water with a loud splash.

Startled,
I sat up, my eyes still on the rippling water.

“I think
mine went a bit farther than yours. But it's a not a contest, is it?”

I turned,
and there he was: a pressed shirt and that perfectly tousled mess of hair; the
small, wry smile and a face full of anxiety and pause.

I still
said nothing, completely frozen by shock. All I could do was watch him as he
walked towards me, as if in slow-motion, and finally we were face-to-face once
more.

Another
dream. Another impossible reality.

My lips
parted, but for a moment, I could make no sound. I could only reach out, touch
his hand, and hope this wasn't some cruel apparition.

His
fingers wrapped around mine, warm and tender. He reached out, pressed me
against him, and I could feel that tickle of stubble against my chin.

And like
a channel, like the river in front of me, the tears started flowing.

“You're
back,” I said quietly.

More soft
laughter from the King's Chapel steps, a gust of wind, and rustling branches.

“I'm
back,” he said.

Maybe a
little awkwardly, we both sat down beside the tepid current. Neither of said
anything for a good while. We just watched the river flow by, and I wiped my
face, trying to keep myself composed.

“I'm
sorry I never answered your letter,” I said. “I just – I didn't know what to
say. I didn't know what else to say.”

“I know.”

“I want
you to be happy,” I said. “I want to be happy, too.”

“Are you
happy, Mia?”

I looked
at him. Raising his glance, his eyes crinkled in the corners – and there it
was: that glimpse of bewilderment. The doctor I had first met, in that
sterile-washed room, with his white coat and face so full of unexpected wonder.

The click
of a pen, or the first time he spoke my name.

Mia
Holloway – would that be you?

And what
I had never told him, decidedly wanting to keep those feelings folded away in
the locked drawer of my own memories, was that the first time I saw him – those
green eyes, that reassuring smile – I already knew. It was the safest I had
ever felt.

Yes,
that's me.

I wiped
my face again, smiling. And after a second, I took my purse, pulled out Little
Fox, and set him down on the grass.

“I am,” I
said. “I am happy. But aren't you scared? What about your job? What about the
hospital?”

He
pressed a warm hand to my cheek, leaned in, and kissed me. When he drew away,
his fingers grazed my jaw, his bright eyes flickering.

“Do you
remember, back in my apartment, when we were watching the city lights from the
windows, and I'd told you how that view – the people, the distant colors – were
all I'd ever really wanted?”

I nodded,
and he said:

“I was
wrong,” he said. “And for a doctor, an observer, I was blind.”

Dr.
Greene pulled me into his arms, his mouth pressing against mine. We kissed in
the late-afternoon light, wrapped in the sound of breeze-tousled leaves and
water bubbling over stone, and I didn't pay much thought to the underlying
layers. Would he stay, would he go? What about the future – future job,
hospital, life?

The
present moment was perfectly fine. We'd already broken all the rules. We'd
already broken each others hearts, like bone china, and left the pieces at our
feet. But I would patiently wait for us to piece them back together.

“What are
you thinking?” he eventually asked, as we walked hand-in-hand back to my
apartment. Night had fallen, and the roads were bathed in the yellow light of
street lamps.

Standing
by the entrance, both our feet planted on stone steps, I stood on my toes – his
arms curling around my waist, pulling me into him – and kissed the corner of
his mouth.

“Do you
remember back when I had brought that copy of
The Little Prince
with
me?” I asked him. “And you'd told me how your favorite character was the fox,
and how your favorite piece was the dialogue about being tamed?”

He
nodded.

“Yes,” he
said.

“Well,” I
said. “This is it. You've tamed me. You've tamed me. And I think I've found my
Rose.”

He kissed
me again under the slanted roof, concealed by shadows and the blanketed night.

And with
that same familiar roughness,
 
he
playfully pressed my back against the door, and my heart skipped ten paces. His
whisper was hot against my ear.

“So we've
broken all the rules, Mia Holloway,” he said. “What do we do now?”

I
laughed. Reaching out, for the first time, I pressed a hand to his heartbeat. I
could feel the thick chord strum beneath my fingers, practically leaping into
my open palms.

Somewhere
in the sky, a shooting star shot across the wide expanse of night sky, and it
reminded me a little of that bright line dancing across a black screen. That
first moment.

“Whatever
we want, Dr. Greene.”

It ended
with a pulse.