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“Such as?”
“Practicing medicine.”
“Like an EMT? You could talk to Sean. He’s the best one we’ve got working with us.”
“I was thinking more like becoming a doctor.”
“A doctor? They’ve got to go to school and get all kinds of training. It’s like getting two college degrees. Who’s gonna pay for that?”
“I think I could get a scholarship. I’m at the top of my class and won the regional prize in biology two years in a row.”
His father made a fart sound. “An egghead. That is not going to make you better than the rest of your family, ya know.”
“I never said it would.”
“The money those doctor dudes make. That’s what you want? You’re not satisfied with what your parents give you?”
His chest tightened. “It’s not about the money. And not all doctors are rich.”
“Ones I’ve seen are. You give me the name of any doctor we ever saw who didn’t have more bucks than I ever made.”
“I can’t answer that. And who cares? You’ve always taken care of our family and that is all that matters. Most important, you’ve managed to stay alive and in one piece
in a highly dangerous occupation.”
“Is that it? You’re scared?” His father gave him a look of disgust. “Don’t you dare say that in front of any of my buddies.”
Noah heaved an exasperated sigh. “Dad, I just think I’m better suited to being a doctor. It’s where I fit better and—”
“Ahh, you want to hang out with a bunch of rich hot shots. You think your fancy grades mean you’re better than me.”
“You missed what I just said. I have tremendous respect for you and what you do.”
“Good. Because you’re the son of Dan Taylor and I’m going to make a great firefighter out of you. End of story.”
6
October turned into November and, being a college junior, Julie knew she should be taking a serious interest in this display showing the senior projects of interior design students who were a year ahead of her and would be graduating this year.
She wandered through the open gallery space at NYU trying to make herself focus on the projects. Some were 3-D models, a lot of blueprints for public spaces or corporate studios, a children’s activity center…
How was she ever going to pull off something like this?
She couldn’t force herself to pretend she liked this stuff and instead kept looking around to see of Noah would show up. He’d said he had a meeting with one of his professors today, so maybe it went on longer than he thought it would. They had gotten into the habit of meeting each day, either for food or to share some activity in the city, like going to a bookstore or art gallery or ice cream shop or hitting the jogging path in Central Park.
Of course, when Mariel came to the apartment each week they would have a great meal and lots of laughs.
One day Julie took Noah to her father’s penthouse. It was strange to see it through his eyes. He’d said he had never seen anything like it before. She knew the luxury and artistic design of it was something only the rich experienced, but to Julie, all those rooms were mostly about her lonely, unhappy childhood.
Yes, the view was outrageous, but after they looked out over the city, she took him to her favorite place in the penthouse. A small room with a sewing machine and a long work table and a cabinet with drawers where Mariel stored things like threads and different kinds of scissors or zippers, buttons, seam rippers. They had been magical fun things to her as a little girl. Sitting close to Mariel as she made things for her niece and nephew and showed Julie how to sew was her fondest memory of living there. And when she told Noah that, he did not think she was crazy like most people would.
He believed her. And understood.
Noah somehow was able to get her in a way no one else ever had.
Just as Julie thought that, the man himself appeared in the doorway of the gallery. Wow, could he knock her socks off. Dressed in a hoodie and jeans, he looked like he had been rushing, probably got off a crowded subway, and yet he managed to be the sexiest, handsomest guy here. She saw some other female students eyeing him and hurried over to make sure they knew he was hers.
“You made it,” she said, giving him a quick hug. She liked how touchable he was, that he did not shy away or make a big deal out of every time her hand or shoulder met his. Sometimes she wished he would.
