When I was twenty, I thought I’d have my own family by the time I was thirty-two. Instead, I don’t even have a partner in life yet. I have the busy rotational schedule of a trauma doctor keeping me busy, a beautiful, yet lonely condo overlooking the Charles River, and friends who I rarely see any more.
A small pang of regret arrows through my heart as I think back over the path I chose to navigate. The decisions I made along the way and how I allowed my relationship to disintegrate with Elise before I returned home.
Elise Davies was the beautiful and brilliant British doctor I’d met while on assignment in Ghana. We spent two years together, working side-by-side, operating together and providing medical care to an indigenous people who had no other options. And then we fell into bed together – as two people would – when the adrenaline of life-saving efforts became so intense it required a way to extricate our lust through sex.
I fell in love with Elise. Why wouldn’t I? She was tall and willowy with a short, cropped blonde hairstyle that made her look like Kate Hudson (with the short hair). She radiated natural beauty, a zest for life and a bright spirit. The sexy, British accent didn’t hurt, either.
For two years everything seemed perfect. I was in love with a woman who shared my ideals and interests and wanted the same things I did in life. It seemed only natural to do what any man would do in that situation. A way to ensure his love didn’t walk away. I proposed.
Without even knowing what Elise might want or considering the realities and complications of living on different continents would have on our future relationship. I asked her to marry me under a star-filled night out in the wilderness of Ghana.
And she turned me down flat.
In fact, she laughed in my face.
She apologized immediately afterward but admitted that I caught her off guard. It was humiliating and devastating. My man-card was shot to hell, as was my ego. She gave me her reasons for declining my proposal – which was, she never planned on marrying and couldn’t stand the idea of settling down – and she said she still cared deeply for me.
Like that was supposed to ease the blow of rejection.
A month later, I left Ghana broken hearted and wounded by a woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.
Looking back, I realize now that I’d never really known Elise. If I had, it would have been clear to me that she wasn’t the One.
Scrubbing a hand through my windblown hair, I saunter up to the bar where I find Sloane and Dylan laughing together conspiratorially. Judging from the way he’s smiling at her, there’s an intimacy in their laughter and part of me hates to disturb the moment.
But the other part of me needs a drink. And well, they are the bartenders.
“Hey D. Hey Sloane. I hate to interrupt you two,” I say with a smirk and a head nod. “But I’m in need of a drink.”
Dylan slaps his hand down on the bar. “What’ll it be, old man?”
I scoff at the word old. “If memory serves me correctly, we’re the same age,oldfriend. And I think I’ll start things off with a nice dry martini, three olives.”
Dylan is Rylie’s older brother and they couldn’t look different if they tried. She’s relatively tall and thin by female standards and has dark, auburn hair. While Dylan shares the height trait, he’s broad with a mop of sandy-blond head of hair. When Rylie and I first met in school, Dylan was over in Afghanistan doing a tour with the Marines.
The way I see it, Dylan and Sloane, a bright, sunny transplant from California, couldn’t be more different if they tried. Then again, I guess that holds true for most couples. Opposites attract and it’s the differences that pull them together. Like magnets, the connection is a strange, invisible force that brings two people together.
Dylan nods and begins working on my drink. “Sounds good, Mark. Bet you couldn’t get those over in the jungles of Africa.”
I laugh. “You mean Sahara. Not jungle. I was over in Ghana, which is in the Northern part of the country. But to answer your question, no, I certainly couldn’t. I’d be lucky if I could get a bottle of Smirnoff on ice.”
There were many creature comforts I went without while over in Africa and it was nothing like the area I grew up in here in the wealthy, prestigious Boston neighborhood of Beacon Hill.
Precisely the reason why I signed up for Doctors-Without-Borders. I was so sickened by the lifestyle my parents raised me in. The distain that grew within me of those with money and what they have and the diminished lifestyles of those have-nots. And the healthcare reform only made it worse. It made me sick to my stomach and I wanted to do something to counteract all the shit.
Yet here I am, right back where I started from.
Dylan sets the fancy martini glass in front of me and gives me a nod.
“Glad you made it back safe and sound, though. I know Ry and Sash missed the hell out of you. And pretty soon we’ll both be uncles. How trippy is that, bro?”
“Yeah,” I lamely agree. I hadn’t even considered myself as potential uncle material. I may have taken care of children out in the field, I knew nothing about rearing them or being a role model to one.
I run a finger around the rim of the glass, the idea now growing in its appeal. “Can’t wait for a little one to play around with.”
We talk for a few more moments until Sloane calls for his help in the back storeroom. The lascivious grin that accompanies his agreement is a pretty good indicator that it is just a ploy to get him back there for some privacy. I smile at his departure, wondering what it would be like to be in that kind of relationship, with all the secret glances and touches that come with the package deal.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I barely notice the movement to my left.
