“Are you guys hot?” Meredith and Kevin are looking down at their laps like they are performing surgery down there. “Why didn’t you tell me—before—when you met him?” I ask and she presses her lips together and waits for me to reflect.
Alright, so I’m not the person you’d call when you want to hear “go for it.” I get it, I’m reserved. Cautious. She of the rules and what ifs. But I’m still a little hurt that she’s hidden something that’s earth-shattering enough to make her pick-up and move across the world and leave the city she loves—and me—in the dust. Though at this point I’m used to the dust. Don’t even need my inhaler anymore.
I go through the motions—take a sip of cab—put down the glass. Pretend to listen as Kevin asks her a question. But I can’t hear much beneath the ringing in my ears as I total up the distance between Italy and my mom’s house, all four thousand of the miles bouncing around my skull like a bowling ball between bumpers. New York had been far enough. Hopping on the train was a task reserved more for Tara than it had been for me, with her ability to travel light and on a moment’s notice, without the anxiety that clawed at my ribcage and the thoughts that stormed my brain every time I had to leave my comfort zone. But there is no trip home from Milan on a whim. This trip requires planning. This trip requires a jet. Breathe in for four. Hold. Breathe in—wait.
A dark-haired man pushes through the door and my heart jumps then falls when I realize it’s a stranger. Where the hell is Dr. Dick?
“Your job?” I ask finally, sneaking another glance at the door. I check my phone screen again to see if he’s texted. My throat feels swollen. Jeff is usually annoyingly early.
“Will be in Milan. Michael’s already set me up there.”
God damn it, Michael. Why do you have to be such a good boss? Why can’t you be more like Principal Ass-stache?
“That’s great,” Kevin says beside me. His eyes meet mine and I nod. It is great. Great. Great. Great. “Devon, are you alright?”
My chest is constricting, squeezing my heart like a sponge, and I let out a breath to give my insides more room. I just need to breathe. But the oxygen—where the fuck is all the oxygen? Meredith’s hand finds my shoulder and I turn slowly so I don’t get any dizzier than I already am.
“Dev, I think you need some air. Come on, let’s get you outside?—”
Her fingers twine through mine and I’m being towed around the tables of happy, oblivious diners by Mer, like a little girl dragging her doll behind her. Tara stands to follow and Mer points back to the seat. She obeys.
When we push through the glass doors, the humid night air does nothing to ease my chest.
“What’s going on? I can’t remember last time this happened,” Meredith demands, looking me over.
I put my hands on my knees and stare down at my bootless calf. It’s like half the size of the other calf. I hate that Jeff was right. I should have done my exercises. I hate it more that he isn’t here right now and that my heart is bursting out of my chest with the need to know he’s ok. I hate most that if I just stuck to my gut, avoiding him at all costs, I wouldn’t be hyperventilatingon Broad Street ruining my little sister’s life news. Even if that news has another family member leaving me.
“She’s moving to Italy,” I murmur to the curb beneath my feet, pulling in sharp breaths between words. I lift my watery gaze up to Mer’s. “Has Jeff.” Breath. “Texted you?” Breath.
Her face changes. Realization hits. She reaches for her phone in her back pocket, checks her messages, and shakes her head. Then she presses a button and holds the screen up to her ear.
“I’ll call the hospital,” she says to me, rubbing my back with one hand while I focus on my breathing. She’s so stunningly calm. Part of her training, I’m sure. No freaking out when your scalpel is hovering over someone’s aorta. She watches me out of the corner of her eye as she speaks, “Shelly, it’s Meredith Brown. Can you page Dr. Harrison for me and have him call me immediately? Yup. Ok. Perfect. Thank you.”
She turns to me. Looks me over again and shakes her head with a small smile.
“I’m sure he’s fine. He will call us, Dev.” She pats my head like I’m a tiny child.
Meredith is calm but not so great with the warm and fuzzy.
“I knew you were freaking out about T, but,” she pauses, wrinkling up her nose. “I didn’t know you were thinking of—you know—your?—”
I put my hand up so she stops. No need to go there. Why would she realize something like that? It’s not like talking about it will fix a damn thing, and it barely ever affects me like this. Anymore, at least. But tonight was different somehow, with Tara at the table and Jeff’s empty seat. Then the heart wrenching news that my sister is moving across the world. It triggered something. Somehow it took me straight back to that night, sitting at the table with mydad’sempty seat.
“It’s no big deal. This is Tara’s night. Let’s get back inside,” I say softly, now that I can breathe again.
Meredith nods, but her lips turn down and she looks me over, diagnosing like I’m a patient.
“Fine, but just give me a signal if you need to get out again. Touch your nose or rub your nippl?—”
“Alright. Alright. Let’s go.”
The moment we push through the doors, Tara’s almond shaped eyes lock onto mine, worried and confused. She has the same amber flecks as me and right now they are catching the light from the low-hanging lanterns dangling over our table. I sit down slowly and work up the strength to do the right thing despite the dagger twisting in my chest. It was hard enough to watch her go two hours north. This will be hell.
“To love in Milan,” I offer, my voice as shaky as my hand lifting the wine glass.
“You’ll really love him, Devon,” Tara tells me, and I look up from the knot in my napkin and nod as we clink our glasses together and sip (chug) our drinks.
“Of course, I will!” I sound unconvinced. Unconvincing. Un-convincable.
