Chapter 5: Cruel Winter with You: Chapter 5

It happened four months ago.

On my last birthday.

After the worst week of my career.

It wasn’t the first time I’d lost a patient. It was, however, the most unexpected. I probably should have seen it coming, but I’d been so certain that it would all work out. Then it hadn’t, and even though my attending physician insisted that nothing more could have been done, I wasn’t so sure that I could easily forgive myself. It had been a rough shift in a series of rough shifts, with lots of questioning my life choices and wondering whether I was cut out for keeping alive anything more complex than a San Pedro cactus. But when I stepped out of the hospital, Marc was standing there, tall and handsome and so real, for a second I thought, It’s going to be okay.

I’d seen him several times in the previous five years. Back at home, of course, whenever our visits overlapped, but also here in the Bay Area. We didn’t hang out every week, or even every month. But once in a while he’d contact me, ask how I was doing, and take me out for lunch or dinner.

It was an interesting, meticulously arranged dynamic. Other people were always present—his friends and colleagues, for the most part, who all seemed to already know me and what I did for a living, and probably thought my role in Marc’s life was much larger than it really was. We’d have a nice meal together as a group, laugh for a couple of hours, keep each other updated on what was going on in our lives, and then Marc would make sure I was delivered back home.

We were never alone, not even once. And he’d never brought up any of the things he’d said to me before dropping out of college. He’s changed his mind on me, I thought, and told myself I was too busy with work to be disappointed. He made it big and met new, more successful, more interesting people. Plus, I don’t care. I’m with Shane.

But when Marc showed up for my birthday, Shane and I were no longer together.

And he’d come alone—just him and a bouquet of sunflowers, my favorite.

And my happiness at seeing him was so bright, I felt more unstable than a supernova.

“Happy birthday, Butt Paper.”

I snorted out a laugh, at once wanting to throw myself at him and afraid to overstep. “Thanks, Marky.”

“Glad we got the mandatory insult exchange over already. That way, I can focus on feeding you.”

I didn’t ask why he was there, how long he’d been waiting, how he knew that I was hungry. I just got in his car and let myself be driven to a ramen place a short distance away, one I’d never tried before.

“Remember how last time we met up, you told me that I needed new hobbies?” I asked as we walked up to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Yup.”

“Well, my quest in the past few months has been to find the perfect ramen.”

“I know.”

“Oh. How?”

“I follow you on Instagram.”

“You do?” I gave him a puzzled look. “Do I follow you back?”

“Nope. Which is very cruel of you.”

We sat outside, where Marc bought me a lot of food; gently reminded me of every embarrassing thing I’d said, done, and worn in the first sixteen years of my life; and made fun of me for being terrible at using chopsticks—“Thank God you didn’t decide to become a surgeon.”

He was relaxed. And solid. Self-assured. Marc was—and had been, for a while—a man. There were traces of the boy I’d adored (and detested) for years, sure, but I could no longer picture him eating my egg baby or smearing peanut butter under his sister’s pillow. And yet, he knew me. All the little tender bits, the building blocks that added up and made me who I was.

“Did your father remember your birthday?” he asked, like he already knew the answer, and I just shrugged. “Jamie. You should tell him when he fucks up. Otherwise, he’ll never learn.”

“It’s okay. He has a new girlfriend, so he’s been really busy. I just hope it lasts this time.”

He pursed his lips. “You know you deserve better, right?”

I wasn’t so sure. But being alone with Marc was at once soothing and thrilling, and it was all I wanted to focus on. Once I was full and the sun was setting, we went on a walk down the shore, and I asked him how work was going.

“Good.” There was a subtle shift in his presence. “Great, actually.”

I already knew that—everyone in the world knew that. Still, I grinned, proud and happy for him.

“You know . . .” Marc stopped and turned to me. “A while ago—five years, give or take—I gave myself a benchmark.”

“A benchmark for . . . ?”

“Success.”

“Ah. Like . . . a gross profit margin of sixty-five percent?”

“Jamie, do you know what a gross profit margin is?”

“Nope.”

He laughed. “It’s okay. You’re good at other things.”

Am I? I wondered darkly, glancing at my toes in the sand.

“The point is, I did it. I made it. I hit my KPIs. The things I wanted to achieve for the company, for myself . . . I ticked them off.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It is. Not the success, necessarily, but . . . in the past few years, I’ve worked much harder than I thought myself capable of. And all along, I was thinking about you.”

I blinked at him, sure that I had misheard.

“You remember what I told you last time we were alone, don’t you?”

Blinking stars and bitter night air. His kiss on my cheek. That dimpled grin. The outside of his thigh pressed warmly against mine.

Once I’m worthy of it, I’ll ask you for another chance.

He hadn’t been serious, though. Or if he had, those intentions had long dissolved. It was a crush, that’s all. Or the lingering traces of one. But Marc had a whole new life now, a company, girlfriends. I surprised him at his place and there was a girl, Jamie—a fucking knockout, Tabitha had texted me last year. Nice and smart, too. Forever amazed by the women my baby brother pulls. It’s gotta be the money, right?

But now he was looking at me, and the things he was saying . . .

“Are you having a slow week?” I asked, forcing out a laugh. It was an unkind thing to say, and I regretted it right away, even as I continued. “Because if you’re just looking to get laid, I’m probably—”

He bent toward me.

Instantly shut me up.

His kiss was sudden, deep and open mouthed, nothing to everything, and in less than a second, I felt lightheaded, vibrating, ready to burst. His hands closed around my waist, pulled me to him, and a wave of simmering heat swept over me. I reached up to hold on to something and found his shoulders and his nape, letting my nails drag through the short hair there. When a deep, guttural moan rose from the back of his throat, I thought, I’m ruined.

Marc kept pressing me into his warm, solid body. He tasted like he smelled, he felt like home, and in that moment I would have done anything for him.

But then he stopped. “Jamie.” After a short hesitation, with some difficulty, he pulled back. “I fucking adore you.” His forehead dipped to lean against mine. “I was in love with you when I was fifteen, and . . . if I’m honest, not much has changed. Just . . . come home with me. Let me take care of you. Let me make you happy. I can tell that you’re lonely, and . . . honestly, so am I. I’ll never not be until we’re together.”

His words hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water. I took a step back, then another when his hands twitched as he instinctively reached to pull me back. “Are you . . . No, Marc. Are you crazy?”

His chest rose and fell rapidly. “Come on, Jamie. This cannot be a surprise. I’ve been in love with you since forever.”

“Puppy love! You had a crush on me when we were teenagers, but that was ages ago. It’s been years, and—”

“It’s been years, and I’ve met a lot of people in the meantime, and not a single one has measured up. There hasn’t been a single person I’ve liked as much as I like you.”

Laughter huffed bitterly out of me. “That’s just because I’m the one who got away, Marc. At this point, you don’t even know how much of a mess I am. I cry all the time. I cried last night, for hours. I’m a . . . a disaster. A doctor who cries when her patients are sick!”

His grin was lopsided. “Well, this changes things. I did not know you were capable of basic empathy for your fellow humans.”

“I’m serious. I thought you were over this. For the last few years you—”

“For the last few years I forced myself to be patient, and since I knew that I’d never be able to keep my promise if you and I ended up alone, I avoided it altogether. But this is it. I’ve done something I can be proud of. I’ve proven to myself that I can be reliable and get shit done. And now I want to prove it to you, too. I can provide for you. I can give you what you need. I can—” His jaw shifted. “I’m not over you. And I never will be.”

“You—you clearly have an idealized concept of me that—”

“Idealized?” He laughed. His hands came up to my cheeks. “Jamie, if anyone is aware of your flaws, it’s me. You have the worst taste in TV shows. When you get angry, you get quiet instead of communicating. You care way too much about pleasing the people around you, especially your dad, who absolutely takes advantage of it. You become sleepy and basically useless past nine thirty at night. You have this odd belief that you cannot tell people how you really feel, or you’ll be saddling them with the weight of the world and they’ll leave you. But it’s okay. I see these things. I’ve always seen them, and I love you because of, not despite, them. Because they’re what makes you you. And I love who you are—I love how thoughtful, and observant, and compassionate you are. I love that you never form an opinion before gathering all the available information. I love that your sense of humor is so dry, I never know if you’re joking. I love how gorgeous you are when you laugh, and I love the way your brain never stops working. I love you.”

I was about to break down in tears. Because, okay—maybe he did know me. Better than most. Better than anyone.

But it still meant nothing. “Marc, I’m basically your older sister.”

“There is absolutely nothing brotherly about the way I feel right now or have ever felt in your presence, ever. I wanted to marry you when I was six, and I wanted to do very, very rude things to you at eighteen.”

“Still! You are rich and handsome—you can do so much better than me!”

His eyes were incredulous. “You are delusional. There is no one better. And if there were, I wouldn’t want them.” His hand tilted my jaw, as if to make sure I was paying attention to him and him only. “Do you think I’m not a mess? Do you think I’m not constantly terrified of letting down the people around me? Of not being enough for you? Do you think ‘rich and handsome’ matters when I feel lost and alone all the fucking time except when I’m with you? Come on, Jamie. You know me. That’s the reason you and I have always understood each other so well—how alike we are. You’ve been with me at my lowest and at my shittiest, and always managed to hold me accountable while never judging me. You’re the only one who saw me not just for who I really was but also for what I could be, and . . . I want you. I want everything with you. I want to go to work in the morning knowing that I’ll see you at home every night. I want to be there when you have a terrible day at the hospital, and be the one who reminds you that you are a fantastic doctor. I want to introduce you to every single person I’ve ever met as my wife. I want to travel back to Illinois with you for the holidays. I want the two of us to be on the same team when we play Pictionary with our families, and—” He pressed a firm kiss against my lips. “I want to give you the world, Jamie. Let me. Just let me, please.”

“No. No, you don’t. Marc, I . . . I’m a mess. I’m too busy for a relationship.”

“Are you really too busy, Jamie? Or are you just fucking terrified?”

“You don’t get it. I honestly . . . At this point, I’m not even sure I can be in a relationship. There is probably something wrong with me, and . . .”

But Marc was already shaking his head, and at that moment it occurred to me: he didn’t get it. He didn’t get how impossible this was. He didn’t get that he needed someone better than me.

He was going to push back, again and again, until my defenses collapsed and I selfishly accepted everything he was offering. I was going to gobble him up, and two, five, ten years from now he was going to tire of me and leave.

Just like so many others had.

So I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, and coldly said what I had to say. “It’s like you once told me: you’re just stuck at some weird stage of development.”

“Oh, come on. I was sixteen and mad at my sister for spilling my secrets. I never really thought—”

“I do, though. Marc, you’re immature, childish, and I’m just . . . I’m not really attracted to you.” I hid my trembling hands behind my back. “I’m sorry, but to me you’ll always be the annoying little boy I had to tolerate because of my best friend.” My heart hurt like it had been punched, but I forced myself to continue. “Romantically, I don’t want anything to do with you. Not now and not ever.”