Page 132 of Mourner for Hire
“But it’d help. We could pay off the debts—give the bar a foothold on this town and then?—”
“Vada, it’s okay. The bar isn’t my dream.”
“Then what is?”
He pauses, searching my face. The only way to describe the expression in his eyes is that it absolutely cracks my heart in half. I see a lost boy in the body of a thirty-year-old man. I see a broken dream and a plan that went up in flames. I see a man who loves fiercely and breaks unintentionally.
“I’m starting my residency in the new year.”
My eyebrows shoot to the sky, unable to hide my surprise.
“I got my MD after my dad died,” he tells me.
I nod in response; I gathered this much.
“And I was entering my residency when my mom was diagnosed. I decided to come home.”
I wait for him to continue, and the tender grip of my hand on his forearm is his only encouragement.
“Mom told me not to. She wanted me to stay on the East Coast. Finish my residency. Become a doctor. She even said she might need me one day.” He chuckles humorlessly. “But I knew I would regret it if I didn’t run back to this town to be here for her the best way I knew how.”
Tears fill my eyes.
“My dad died when I was so young and so naïve. I thought he’d leave the hospital and my mom would just be yelling at him about eating too much salt and egg yolks.” He huffs. An almost laugh, but it’s really a breath of irony and regret in one exhale. “It taught me that life is rarely the best-case scenario. So when Mom got sick, I didn’t want to waste another breath on something if it meant I couldn’t be here for her.”
I hold him closer and kiss his shoulder. I have words I could say. So many words. But sometimes, in moments like these, words need to stay quiet. They can be felt in touches and understood in breaths. But the silence speaks… Always.
“I quit—both the attending and the program director were pissed. And then I bought the bar from Leonard in hopes to bring it back to life, but…”
“But what?” I ask, stupidly hopeful for a happy ending.
“But it’s a small town, Vada. Few things survive in a place like this. It’s not on the Beach Street strip. It’s on the way into town. Vacationers pass by it on the way in or the way out. We only get the occasional stranger who drank too much coffee and needs to pee.”
I laugh. “And thank God for that, right?” I tease, but there’s this lump of deflection clogging my throat.
He nods once and kisses the top of my head. I kiss his bicep inresponse, then his chest, his chin, his lips. “It ain’t over till it’s over, Dominic.”
His smile is sad in response. “Sometimes, it is, though.”
“Where is your residency?”
“Well, I still have applications out at UW Medical Center in Seattle and also Good Samaritan in Corvallis, but official Match Day isn’t until March.”
I nod, knowing one is five hours away and the other is only an hour. “You’re pretty incredible. Do you know that?”
He almost smiles. “I’m late to the game.”
“What game? It’s your life, Dominic. You get to make the rules and complete the timelines how you need to.”
He sighs and stares at the ceiling. I wish I could read him, but we haven’t reached that point in our relationship yet.
The wallowing makes me feel fiercely emotional and also extremely driven when he should be celebrating. I clear my throat and rise to my knees.
“Up,” I command.
He cocks an eyebrow.
“Seriously, get up.” I stand, grabbing his T-shirt off the floor and throwing it at him while I wrap myself in a robe. “The eclipse is days away, and I still have a lot of work to do, and I need you to stop distracting me, so get out. Go back to the bar. Smile, flirt, schmooze, and sell those Vada cocktails like your inheritance depends on it.”
