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"I am happy," he said and kissed me. "I have everything I could want. You're here with me. I have a teaching job and a surgical slate. I'm working with an old friend. Being able to help out here in Africa." He shook his head slowly. "You don’t have to worry about that. The only thing that would make me happier would be to know that you couldn’t be happier."
I smiled. I felt the need to say I couldn’t be happier too, but I didn't say it. There was a lingering bit of doubt inside of me about whether I could be happy here. Not with Drake – he was everything I could imagine in a man. But being here. Being thousands of miles away from my family and familiar places. Being out of school. No job. No classes.
Drake would be working twelve-hour days and being on call on the weekends. I would have to make my own life if I didn't want to feel lonely and neglected.
"You make me happy," I said finally. He nodded, but there was an expression in his face that I couldn't name – something between disappointment and acceptance.
"It's only six months," he said and kissed my chin. "Before you know it, we'll be returning to Manhattan and will start planning our wedding."
I smiled. We hadn't even found a place to live yet and he was already thinking ahead to our wedding. That tiny seed of doubt withered a bit at that and I sighed, relaxing into his warm embrace.
Later, after we showered together and dressed, we went to the restaurant for breakfast and as I sipped my second cup of coffee, Drake called our Real Estate Agent Jan about appointments to see houses.
Drake slipped his cell into a pocket. "Jan has three lined up for this afternoon. I thought we might spend the day in bed, but I'd like to jump on this, get a place as soon as possible. Michael wants me to start at the hospital on Monday. Classes start the following week and I have lots of work to do to get ready."
I sighed with contentment and watched him finish his breakfast, deciding what I'd do with myself while he was gone. In Manhattan, I had my own life to keep me busy. Here in Nairobi, I would be busy setting up our house or apartment and then thinking about my art. I knew no one except Michael and Claire but there was a local chapter of Doctors Without Borders in Nairobi that I could join. I could volunteer, do office work, work on the newsletter. I'd see what they needed. I would meet some local people that way. Claire had spoken of open studio classes at the Institute. I'd check that out as well. There'd be students my age who were busy working on their art.
It was then I felt incredibly lucky, with so much free time and absolutely no responsibilities other than making Drake happy when we were together.
He looked up at me from his food. "What are you thinking about?"
I smiled. "About the open studio courses at the Institute that Claire mentioned to me. I want to check it out, see if they have space. I
have that series of paintings to finish that I started in Manhattan. Plus, they have studio space for students. "
Drake made a face, trying to hold back a smile. "Not more nudes of me sleeping I hope."
"No," I said with a grin. "You naked in the bath. You naked sitting on the couch. You naked standing at the window, drinking a coffee…"
He laughed. "Can't I be wearing some boxers or something? Not everyone wants to see my parts."
"The collection will be for me. And maybe I'll let you wear some boxer briefs. No tighty whities for you."
"Never," he said, making a face of mock horror and holding up his fingers, crossed as if to ward off a vampire. Then he was more serious, a frown creasing his brow. "But I thought we'd find a house with space for a studio. You wouldn't have to worry about finding space anywhere or working out a schedule."
I smiled when the waiter poured more coffee, and while I stirred in some sugar, I thought about my response. "That would be nice, but part of the reason you work at a studio is to meet other artists. Be inspired by their work."
"You mean like the three stooges at the studio in Chelsea?"
"They weren't stooges!" I said, remembering my brief time at the studio. "Well, maybe Jules…"
"I must confess I really didn't feel comfortable with you being alone with three men," Drake said, his voice a bit hesitant.
"Drake," I said, a tiny bit of amusement at his jealousy building in me. "I have to have a life for myself, like you have. Maybe I should be jealous of you with all those pretty young OR nurses, not to mention young aspiring female brain surgeons…"
"Ha!" He shook his head. "Skilled OR nurses are hard to find. They tend to be very bossy. They run the OR, in case you didn't realize it. We surgeons come in when they're all ready and do our bit and then leave. As to the surgical residents, most of the time they're far too exhausted to have affairs. Don't let the television shows fool you." He took my hand. "You have no reason to be jealous."
I smiled at his descriptions. "Neither do you. I doubt there are many gorgeous brilliant talented and sexually dominant artists who could hope to hold a candle to you, Dr. Delish. You don't have to worry, either."
"Well," he said. "If you really want to explore the local artist hangouts, if you really want studio time somewhere, I won't stop you. But I reserve the right to be jealous if your fellow artists are too attractive."
"I reserve the right if the OR nurses and residents are sexy young things."
"Agreed."
He said it and I could see him trying to force a smile. I hoped he wouldn't be jealous. Couldn't he understand that I had absolutely no interest in other men at all? It was like they were neutral, not even fantasy material. Drake was everything to me. He was warm and strong, sexually experienced and skilled, intelligent and caring. He was all I needed or wanted. He had no reason to be jealous at all.
Then I realized that maybe, just maybe, that’s the way he felt about me.
