Sammy’s dangling off my back like an orangutan as I walk into the kitchen. She smells like peanut butter—the whole house does—and there’s nail polish all over her hands and wrists like she was accosted by a deranged manicurist.
“Hey,” Devon says from behind a pile of sandwiches.
She looks like a pop-star Medusa from the eighties. I want to tease her. To laugh and tell her the good news, that I got my dream position at Chicago Central. That the sudden nature of the vacancy allowed me to negotiate my contract like I was onShark Tank. That the signing bonus for starting sooner than I’d planned and leaving my fellowship without my specialty covered the entire mortgage debt, the new therapy equipment, and then some. That my attending was so happy to have me back, he gave me every weekend off in January and February to adjust andvisit Devon. Everything is going to be ok. Better than ok. But I can tell immediately from the set of her mouth and the way she looks down at the bread in her hand that something isn’t right.
I look to Jenny who gives me a sad smile and a nod to confirm what I already know.
Devon knows that I was interviewing. And she’s not happy that I didn’t tell her.
It’s a lame excuse to say that I didn’t lie—that it really was a financial mission after accepting the job and taking my mother straight to the bank. At this point, I know that the conversation we are about to have is so far overdue that the library would have just made me pay for the book. I untangle Sammy’s arms from my neck and kiss her on the cheek, place her back on her own two feet.
“You wanna do a trail ride in a little?” I ask.
She lights up. The insanely bushy Christmas tree that sits behind her has nothing on that smile.
“That’s a great idea, J.J. We’ll get the horses tacked up. You two join us when you’re ready.” My mom lifts on her toes and kisses my temple then heads straight for Devon and puts her hands on each of her shoulders. “You will ride Athena. You share a spirit.”
I half expect Devon to decline—spout off some rule about horseback riding—but she just tilts her head and smiles.
“Sounds like fun,” she says. And my mom folds her in a hug then motions for Jenny to get the hell out of dodge.
“I gotta talk to Devon and then we can go,” I tell Sammy.
Three of the four women of my life scatter from the kitchen and I’m left to face the conversation I’ve been dreading for so long. Devon loves me. And I love her. Now that we know, we can handle a little distance.
I walk around the island and wrap my arms around her hips, kiss the side of her neck. She doesn’t tilt her head the way she usually does.
“I’m sorry,” I start.
Devon keeps swiping at the bread.
“What are you sorry for, Jeff?” she says.
I put my hands on top of her arms, stilling her movement.
“We have enough sandwiches. Can you look at me?”
Her shoulders drop as she lets go of her butter knife.
“I don’t know if I can look at you.” Her voice is thick. “I’m scared to see something I think I should’ve seen a while ago.”
I spin her around and twine my fingers in hers, noticing that her hands are spattered with color like she was shot with paintballs. I hold them up between us.
“No future in cosmetology,” I whisper. But Devon doesn’t laugh. And the absence of that sound is what scares me the most.
“You took the job, didn’t you?” she asks.
Shit. We are doing this.
“Devon,” I tilt her face up toward mine and a tear leaks out of the corner of her left eye, streams back toward her ear. “This was always the plan. My family needs?—”
She nods and her fifteen ponytails all swing in different directions.
“I think I knew. I always knew. I just hoped. I let myself hope. When? How long?”
She’s biting her lip so hard that I think she might be breaking skin. I try to brush my thumb against her lip and she turns her face.
“Right away. After the new year—” Her eyes shut slowly, blocking me out. “We can make this work. I’ll fly out to Philly the first eight weekends then twice a month and you can fly here the weekends I’m on call,” I say. It’s not unreasonable. Until we can come up with a better solution.
