The Queen of Hearts(74)
I threw back my drink. I was normally very careful about what I ate and drank. I had no background in oncology, or even internal medicine, beyond what we had all learned in medical school, but I believed modern processed diets were chock-full of poorly understood carcinogens, in addition to all the usual artery-clogging fat-bombs. And alcohol: half the interpersonal problems in the world could be attributed to alcohol. Besides, it was in my nature to be disciplined.
But tonight I was scarfing down everything they handed to me.
I glanced across the table at Wyatt. I could hear his voice over the din. Flushed and animated, eyebrows raised and both palms extended, he was telling some story from his workweek. He was seated between Caroline Cooper and Tricia Inman, who both tended to be humorless dullards, but even they were unable to resist Wyatt’s charm. He was slaying them. Both of them had thrown their heads back in full-on helpless laughter.
It was miserable to think of a Wyatt-less world. Right away I would regress back into an uptight iCalendar slave, responding to its pings like a well-programmed fembot. There would be no one to force me to unwind with a glass of wine and a dinner full of bright, charming witticisms having nothing to do with the medical world. There would be no one to stroke my head and listen when things were bad, no one to break into my narrative of woe with outraged denunciations of my enemies. And Henry! The thought of never again seeing his urgent, ecstatic waddle to the mudroom every afternoon at the sound of his father’s car was heartbreaking. How long would it be until he forgot he ever had a parent who changed his voice for every character in a book, who pretended every morning that he’d forgotten how to get dressed without Henry’s help? How long would it be before he forgot a parent could be fun?
I helped myself to another drink, watching the women at the table as they watched Wyatt.
The servers were clearing the salad plates. On my other side, the men were leaning toward one another, embroiled in a heated discussion about somebody’s golf score.
“Drew,” I interrupted, leaning in his direction. “Do you know where Zadie is?”
“I think I saw her talking to some guy outside,” he said.
“Oh?” I asked, forcing a casual note into my voice. “What does he look like?”
Drew shrugged. “He’s tall?” he offered. “Light hair. Kind of intense.” He returned his attention to Buzzy’s booming, boorish voice.
I pushed back my chair without a word and hurried to the atrium, trying not to feel Wyatt’s perceptive gaze at my back. She wasn’t there. Ditto for the coat check area, the bar, and the hotel lobby. I finally found them outside, standing near a bench in an enclosed and deserted courtyard beyond the atrium.
—
“Zadie,” I said, and nearly lost my balance as I shuddered to a stop.
“Oho,” said Nick, his handsome face rendered almost ugly as he caught sight of me. “It’s the trauma queen.” He’d abandoned his initial attempts at reconciliation in the face of my hostility; this was an expression I’d grown used to, as he’d evidently begun to wonder why my enmity toward him had not lessened.
My self-possession kicked in. “Hello, Nick,” I said coolly. I turned my back to him, and lied. “Zadie, Drew was wondering where you are.”
“I’m comin—”
“She’s going to be busy for a few minutes more, Emma. Can you make an excuse for her?” Nick smiled at me, but his eyes were furious. It took me a minute to remember how hard I’d had to work to stop him from going to Zadie’s office last week. I’d ultimately had to pull a weapon from my arsenal of the past: e-mail. I hated impersonating her. But Nick was mistaken if he thought he’d coast into my world and threaten my most treasured friendship without me fighting back. I had to separate them.
“I’m not making excuses for Zadie, as she’s coming with me. Nice seeing you, Nick.”
“You really don’t want to get into a pissing contest with me here, Emma,” Nick growled, abandoning his fake smile. “Once you’ve crossed the Rubicon, you can’t ever turn back.”
I faltered, taken aback by Nick’s use of the esoteric metaphor I often reserved in my mind for our initial encounter in med school. But then I forged ahead. I’d already crossed that river, more than a decade ago.
“Fuck you, Nick,” I said. “We’re leaving.”
“Fuck me? Fuck me? Why don’t—”
“What is going on?” exclaimed Zadie, startling us both. She placed a restraining hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Em. This is ancient history. Why are you cursing at each other?”
“Because we are standing here talking to fucking Lucifer,” I hissed, “and I’m trying to protect you.”
“Well, there’s an interesting concept, you protecting Zadie,” Nick drawled.
Maybe it was the alcohol; maybe it was the unaccustomed release I’d felt by hurling the f-bomb at this man I hated, but every molecule of my being was consumed by a sudden incandescent fury. “Stay the hell away from her, Nick,” I said, when I could form words again. I forced myself to speak slowly. “Stay away from me, too. You are a despicable human being.” I turned to Zadie. “Come on, let’s go.”
I extended my hand to her, and like a bewildered child, she took it. We started for the door.