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He kissed my cheek and left me alone in the kitchen.
I went to my room and laid on my bed, devastated that Drake felt he had to leave NY Presbyterian over this. It was my fault. I never should have agreed to see him again. That day when I sat in the storefront window and he texted me from across the street, I should have just let him go.
Elaine popped her head in the doorway.
"Katie? Are you OK?"
I rolled over away from the door. "No, I'm not."
She came in, closing the door behind her. She sat on the bed beside me and took my hand.
"What's the matter, Kate. Tell me. Is it Drake? Your father told me that he was leaving for Africa in a few days."
I nodded and then covered my face with my hands, unable to stop my tears.
She bent down and put her arms around my shoulders. "There, there… I thought you would be sad. You two seemed to be really good together. His eyes seemed so bright when he was with you in the Bahamas. I just can't believe you two broke up. What happened?"
"I had to break up with him," I said to her. "He isn't interested in anything long term, just casual. I knew that when we started out, but I fell in love with him, Elaine. There's just so much more to him than I ever thought was possible. He loves music, he is so good hearted, he's so strong and warm and smart. But I need more than he can give."
"Aw, sweetheart," she said and pulled me into her arms. "It's OK. These things have a way of working out for the best." She hugged me and just let me cry. How I wished my mother was here to comfort me, but she wasn't. I hugged Elaine tighter.
We sat like that for a while and she stroked my hair, murmured in my ear and soon, I regained control over myself.
"Have a bath and put a cold compress on your eyes. We'll have a nice dinner. I wish you would come with us to the dance, but I understand if you decide to stay here."
She left me on the bed and I lay there, deciding what I should do.
I didn't have Drake any more. I didn't have Dawn. I didn't have my own mother. I felt incredibly sorry for myself.
I slept the afternoon away, hiding from the world under the covers of my childhood bed.
Later, before dinner, I did what Elaine suggested. There was no good reason to make my father upset so I had a bath, put a cold washcloth over my eyes, and did
the best I could to look presentable, wearing that dress I wore the night I attended my father's first campaign dinner. No amount of makeup could disguise my bloodshot black eye so I decided to carry a tissue around and plead allergies if anyone asked me. I prepared a story about falling in the bathtub for when people asked about my stitches.
Finally, the time came for guests to start arriving. I went to the bar and looked for something to drink, needing alcohol to take away my sadness. The bartender was gone to the kitchen for ice, and so I bent down and checked the bar. There was every kind of scotch, some bourbon, gin, but my dad kept the vodka cold. I opened the small bar fridge under the counter for some vodka and cold soda. In the back of the fridge was a bottle with a label I recognized from Drake's apartment. Anisovaya. On a small label attached to the bottle was a note in Drake's handwriting:
"To my second father, Happy New Year, my best regards, Drake"
I picked it up and when I stood, I glanced up, thinking the bartender was back only to be looking into the clear blue eyes of Drake Morgan.
Devastatingly handsome Drake Morgan, MD. Neurosurgeon on leave from NY Presbyterian, bass player, philanthropist, Dominant. Wearing a beautiful dark grey suit with a white shirt and black tie, hands behind his back, a half-smile on his face.
He brought his hands forward and in them were the two crystal shot glasses that were rumored to have once belonged to Yelena Kuznetzova, Stalin's housekeeper at his dacha in Soviet Georgia.
"I brought these along just in case you didn't have anything quite so special."
He placed them on the bar and smiled at me.
I put the bottle on the counter and stepped back, leaning against the wall, a bit dizzy as the blood drained from my face. I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath. He came behind the bar and took me in his arms, practically holding me up because my knees went wobbly.
He took my chin in his hand and I opened my eyes, barely able to see him through my tears.
"Drake, you can't do this to me," I said, biting back a sob. "This is cruel."
"You're the one who left. You can't do this to me." Then he kissed me, his arms squeezing me against him and I could do nothing to stop him, he was so strong and determined. When he pulled away, he held my face in his hands, wiping my tears away with his fingers.
"Why are you here?" I said, my voice a whisper, barely able to speak. "You're leaving. I don't want to see you…"
