Page 63 of Deeply Examined

We’re in love.

Jessica

The next thing I know, it’s Christmas. West gets out suture. We use it to string popcorn that we’ve popped in the microwave. We loop it over the branches of our tree, which rests against the window. The lights of the Navy Pier shine almost as brightly as the lights on the tree.

Christmas morning, we sit on the floor with our legs crossed to open our gifts. West gives me diamond earrings the size of blueberries. I protest that they’re too much, but he just laughs and says there’s never going to be any “too much” when it comes to me.

I give him a stethoscope I had custom made, only to be used in our special room. The entire thing is black, even the metal parts, and I had his initials engraved on the back,A.W., in curling cursive script.

When West opens the gift, he stares at it for so long that I start to worry.

“Do you not like it?”

He presses the box to his chest and in a fierce whisper says, “It’s perfect.” I’m shocked when I see his eyes have a sheen to them, like he’s holding back tears. “It’s just—it’s—no one’s given me anything like this before.”

“You mean something custom made?”

“I mean a gift, like a real gift.” His head droops. “We didn’t have money when I was young. Mom said Santa couldn’t make it to every single house and that’s why he skipped ours. I thought it was because I’d done something bad, something naughty. That it was my fault we had no tree. No presents.”

A hush settles between us. This is the first time he’s mentioned his childhood or his mother. I’ve gotten the feeling before that he had it rough growing up. It’s in the way he hoards food in the pantry, stocking up on cans of soup that he never eats, and how he takes such painstaking care of his shoes, polishing them himself, so he doesn’t have to buy a new pair.

“But you grew up, and I’m sure you got gifts then, right?” I ask, my composure slipping as I wait for his answer. Tears build in the back of my throat.

A shrug. The corners of his mouth pull down. “A bottle of wine from a colleague. Cookies from a patient. Stuff like that. Never something likethis—with my name on it.” He crawls to me, buries his face in the crook of my neck, and whispers, “Thank you.” I lift my hands and let my fingers sift slowly through his hair. When he finally pulls away, neither of us mentions the single tear that he leaves behind, but I feel it slide down the skin of my throat.

“Tonight, when I make you come, I’m going to listen to your heart,” West says, holding up his gift. “I want to hear what it sounds like.”

That’s what he does. He listens to my heart as I orgasm.

He says it sounds like a symphony.

Chapter fifteen

Jessica

Spring appears out of nowhere. Petals unfurl, sending their sweet perfume into the air. At school, a sparrow makes its nest outside of my classroom window. The students and I carefully monitor the eggs that lie in their bed of twigs and feathers. Even the hardest of my kids cheer on the day when they hatch and three baby birds emerge, blind and bumbling.

My principal, Kent Wilson, remains an ever-present thorn in my side, a fact that I carefully hide from West. I still haven’t forgotten his expression, twisted with rage, when he saw Dylan’s hand on my arm at the gala or the fact that Dylan mysteriously disappeared from the hospital after that night. When I asked West if he had anything to do with Dylan’s sudden decision to transfer to a hospital in Alabama, he’d spread his hands wide and said innocently, “Who? Me?”

Yeah, right.

I didn’t buy that for a second.

If West was incensed by a man touching me once, I can only imagine his response if he knew how Kent breathes down my neck every time we work together. How he comes up with one preposterous excuse after another to keep me on campus. He’s always been weird with me, even back when we were in school together, but it’s grown worse since he found out I have a boyfriend.

A few months ago, I was at the copy machine, gushing to Julie about West, when Kent barged in. With a stormy expression, he’d interrupted our conversation and told us to get back to class. For a minute, I thought he’d confused us with the students, that’s how condescending he sounded.

Now, I clean the top of my desk, neatly stacking papers and logging off my school-issued computer. I stifle a yawn. It’s been a long day. West kept me up late last night with his “examination.” Then I had a 7:00 a.m. staff meeting, followed by six periods of teaching quadratic equations, material my students can’t seem to grasp.

I don’t blame them. That shit is hard.

Kent’s cologne announces his arrival before I see him. Its musky, pungent smell makes me wrinkle my nose.

“Jessica,” he says, sweeping into the room, bringing his stench along with him. “Richardson is sick. I need you to chaperone the dance this Saturday.”

“No,” I say calmly, not looking up from the drawer while I put away my favorite pen for grading. I worked through lunch to make sure all my papers are done. West is taking me to a bed and breakfast in Traverse City, Michigan, this weekend. It will be our first vacation together. I’m hoping there will be more “bed” than “breakfast.”

“No?” Kent sputters. “But we need at least three chaperones to run the dance.”

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