She shot me a sharp look but didn’t argue.
“For you, sir?”
“Pappardelle with veal ragù,” I said.
“And to drink?”
“Can I get a mocktail?” I asked. “Something citrusy or refreshing, but non-alcoholic.”
“Of course, sir,” the waiter said.
I turned to her, “Elena?”
“Acqua Panna,” she replied. Short and cold.
When the waiter left, we were alone again, or as alone as two people can be while sitting together and feeling miles apart.
She still wouldn’t look at me, her gaze fixed on anything but my face. I watched her quietly, wishing I knew how to bridge a distance I had caused with my own hands. Wishing I knew how to reach her again.
Flashback
(Boston project site. 09:00 a.m.)
The meeting wasn’t mine to run.
I sat at the head of the long folding table because that was where the board representative belonged—not because I needed to assert it. My hard hat rested beside my tablet, its screen dark, untouched. Temporary walls boxed us in. Fine dust clung to the air no matter how often the place was cleaned. Outside, Boston’s early-morning cold pressed against concrete and steel, generators humming steadily like the site’s pulse.
The site director led the briefing—schedule drift, labor compression, cost exposure if winter delays stretched another two weeks. I listened and intervened only when necessary.
“What’s the float after the resequencing?”
“Show me the actual mitigation, not the optimistic version.”
At 09:30 a.m. sharp, my phone vibrated once against my thigh.
I didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it. Didn’t glance down.
The site director kept talking. Something about extended shifts and temporary crew overlap. I nodded once, fingers loosely interlaced on the table, face unreadable.
This was a skill you learned the hard way—how to keep your body still when something inside you shifted. How to stay present when the stakes changed silently.
“Any objections from the board?” he asked.
“No,” I said evenly. “Proceed. I want daily updates until the schedule stabilizes. No surprises.”
“Understood.”
The meeting wrapped quickly after that. Chairs scraped back. Boots hit concrete. Everyone dispersed, already moving toward the next problem waiting outside these walls.
I stayed seated.
When the door closed, the silence pressed heavier than the noise ever had. Only then did I take my phone out.
Clinic email.
Boston Medical Center.
For a moment, I didn’t open it. Because this wasn’t just about me anymore.
