“I don’t know but sounds like you’ve got the D’Angelos on the case, and if they’re as tenacious as you are, they’ll help you figure it out.”
“They’re nothing like me,” I say on reflex, but that’s not true, is it? Marco’s just as driven about owning his own small business as I’ve been pursuing medicine. Veronica’s as cutthroat a real estate agent as I was a medical school student. Vinny, Aldo, Ellio, even Aunt Patty in the Acme checkout line—they’re all as dedicated to doing what they love as I’ve been to the things I don’t. So, who has really been more successful?
And can Ifinallystop pretending that it’s me?
With the pancakes eaten and the bill paid, Eric extends a hand to me, then pulls me and BonBon in for a tight, bracing hug. “You’re doing great, kid.”
“You’re ten years older than me. Atmost.” But Eric doesn’t hear me because the hug’s somehow morphed into a headlock, and he’s too busy giving me a vigorous noogie to listen to anything I say. “E-ric!”
“Ahh…” He finally releases me with a satisfied grin. “I’ve wanted to do that forsolong.”
“That was completely unprofessional.” I fumble to straighten my glasses. “And inappropriate!”
“What can I say?” Eric grins. “You make it look fun.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NOMI
There are two main states in Crohn’s disease—being sick orfearof being sick—and they’re both disruptive to living my life. But it’s the rare third state that devastates me most. When I go long enough without a flare that I start to wonder if I’m cured.Maybe that expensive probiotic actually worked. Maybe I grew out of it. Maybe I never had Crohn’s at all.
But then some mysterious internal switch is flipped, and I realize I’ve been standing on a trapdoor the whole time. The floor opens beneath me, and I fall back into my illness, spending the next day, week, month in pain, wondering if I’ll ever crawl out again. Crohn’s is a trickster, a disruptor, a reversedeus ex machinawhere suddenly, out of nowhere, your plans blow up for no reason at all. It turns my body against me. It whisperswhy botheras it forces me to bow out of the life I’ve tried to build.
And I’m so fucking tired of it.
I roll onto my side, tears trickling over my nose, wetting my hair and pillow. I hate how I left things with Julian yesterday. But how can I make him understand that I can’t be there for him when I can’t even be here for myself? That loving me means empty seats beside him at family gatherings and plans canceled last minute. Lost deposits, late arrivals, and trips never taken. It means pain and a level of helplessness to stop it I’m not sure he can handle. He deserves someone who fits neatly intohis high-achieving world, with as much ambition as he has. Not a sick, sad stoner puffing away at her vape in the bathroom stall, broken and unfixable. As angry as his words made me yesterday, I don’t blame him for preferring the Nomi who still believed she could have whatever she wanted. I don’t miss her priorities, but do I miss her optimism.
I’ll get through this flare, and then I’ll explain everything to him. Let him down as easily as I can.My body feels like it doesn’t belong to me, I imagine saying to his disappointed face.And I didn’t tell you because I don’t want it to be true.Until then I’ll hide out here, confined to my green, velvet bedroom like a consumptive Victorian invalid with the shits.
The distinctivewhirof an expensive vehicle stops outside. I squint through the narrow sliver of window and see Julian’s Volvo parked out front.
My eyes widen as he shoulders several bags up to my door and knocks, guts clenching on cue, a warning not to engage.You belong to pain right now.
“Nomi?” He knocks again. “Can we talk?”
Fuck!I stagger to my feet, feeling a rush of lightheadedness. I haven’t eaten today and couldn’t manage much yesterday, either. Still wearing the funeral makeup, too, though it’s smeared from tears and sleep. I’m a mess, but I guess he already knows that. I reach the front door as he knocks again.
“Julian, it’s not a good time.”
“Just hear me out,” he pleads. “You don’t even need to open the door.”
This isn’t how I want to have this conversation. I close my eyes, exhaling to the ceiling, and let my body slump against the wall. “Okay.”
“I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know I’m so incredibly sorry. You don’t need to go to Yale or pharmacy school or do anything, to earn my love or respect because you already have both, just for existing, just for being you. I’m a better doctor and a better person because of you, and if I’m able to rescue my career from the ledge I pushed it to, that’s because of you, too.”
There’s a soft sound on the other side of the door, like a palm pressed flat against wood. I place my hand against it, an ache growing in my throat.
“It can be so humbling, to be understood by someone else. And terrifying, to see yourself through their eyes. But when you look at me, I think that maybe, for the first time in my life, I could learn to love myself. You teach me more about who I am and who I want to be every day. And now that I’ve experienced what it’s like to be known by you, seen by you,touchedby you, I can’t go back to my life before, Nomi. It doesn’t fit me anymore.”
His ardent words travel through the wood, around the door, through the cracks, and find me.Reachme. Pulse through my veins like blood.
“You are the smartest, funniest, most incomprehensibly beautiful woman I’ve ever known. You mean everything to me. I haven’t earned your trust yet, but I want to, Nomi. If you let me try, I’ll start right now.”
“Julian.” I rest my forehead against the door, wishing it was him. His chest. “It’s not just trust. I didn’t want to tell you about my illness because every time I tell someone, it becomes part of my identity to them. And I don’t want this to be my identity. I don’t want it to be true. And more than anything, I don’t want to be your patient, Julian, but I’m scared you’ll make me into one.”
“I understand, and I promise you that’s not why I’m here.”
I unlock the door and slowly open it a few inches. “Whyareyou here, then?”
