Mr. Gutierrez smiles. “But all of those Nomis deserve to be loved. Even Nomi who shits fire.”
“No, shedoesn’t.” I drop his hands suddenly, standing up. His brows draw together, and I sigh. “I’m sorry. This hospital is getting to me. I’ve… had a hard time here before.”
“I understand, dear,” Mr. Gutierrez says, though his voice is pained. I hate that I did that, but I hate being here even more. Part of me is terrified that I belong here, too. Not as the doctor I once wanted to be, or a visiting friend, but as a patient. A sick person who’s getting sicker. If not now, soon. Someday. When I can no longer pretend I have my health under control, which feels imminent since I’ve barely eaten for weeks now. And when that happens, when I finally break down and submit to the testing and specialists, what then? What will they find?
I’m not ready for my name to be on the door.
I glance back, but Julian’s no longer in view. “I’m going to see what the neurologist had to say. Be right back.”
With effort, Mr. G gives me a thumbs-up. I find Julian at the end of the hall, chatting with a short woman in a doctor’s coat talking with big, exaggerated gestures, who claps him on the back, then leaves.
“Who was that?”
“Dr. Riveras, the hospital director.”
My eyebrows rise. “The one who put you on probation?”
“The very same.”
“She doesn’t seem like she hates you at all.”
“Right?” Julian shakes his head in wonder. “It’s not even a full moon.”
I struggle to smile.
“Listen, visiting hours are over. We should say goodbye for the night.”
We start to go back in, but a quick glance through the window shows Mr. G out cold, snoring. I pause there, my hand on the glass, watching. He looks so frail in that bed, surrounded by machines.
“He’s going to be okay, Nomi. They’re taking great care of him, I promise.” Julian takes my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles. “I’d like to take care ofyoutonight, if you’re up for it.” He smiles tentatively. “Take you back to my place, grab some dinner, maybe? You could stay the night since it’s already so late.”
“Oh, I ate before I came.” The lie comes easily, though all I’ve had is a handful of chubby pretzel sticks. But I’m feeling okay, for now, the carbs having done me some good. And despite the strange brand of melancholy being in Julian’s world provokes, I want to see more. I’m not ready to leave it quite yet, or him.
I’vemissedhim.
“But I’d love to see your place. For a bit.”
“Yeah?” His face lights up, and he squeezes my hand.
“Yeah.”
The smile he gives me stays put as we head out, leaving a trail of surprised doctors, nurses, and staff in his wake. It’s weird, seeing him in this environment that knows him so well. Or the old Julian, anyway. It slips onto him like a well-tailored blazer, dressing up the man I know in a professional persona I don’t. He’s more important here, grudgingly respected even if openly disliked, like a crown of prestige appeared on his head the second he walked in. Even in his disgrace, he’s more important here than I’ve ever been anywhere.
We walk in the bronze glow of Rittenhouse Square’s quaint streetlamps, down the park’s main path to his building. His condo has more square feet than mine and Eve’s apartments put together. From the outside, the building’s architecture is vaguely European, with balconettes and intricate scrollwork flanking the large windows, but inside, it’s allsleek and modern lofts. Exposed brick and matte-black framing the glass. Julian’s bed is a massive feather-duvet affair in soft neutral tones that lies across from a wall of windows.
He sees me looking and steps behind me, gathering me into his arms. “It’s beautiful in winter, when they light up the square. They hang these colored balls of light from the trees, and it paints my entire studio in rainbow.” He kisses the top of my head. “It’s probably the only thing I like about this place.”
“What?” I turn in his arms. “It’s beautiful here.”
“No. It’s empty here. But it’s beautiful now, with you in it.”
My hands drape across his neck, finding the warm stripe of skin between his button-down and slightly over-grown curls. How I’ve missed touching him this week, being touchedbyhim. He looks as relieved as I feel to be standing here, in his arms. He holds me closer.
“Thank you.” The softness in my voice reflects the softness in his gaze.
“For what?”
“For listening. For getting Mr. Gutierrez the help he needs. For saving the day.” I smile ruefully as his fingers tighten against my hips.
