Page 55 of Between Then and Now
The door opens and Ryan bursts in. He looks at me and stops in his tracks. “Who are you and what have you done to Bonbon?” His smile is tentative, searching for reassurance. I manage a weak smile in return but say nothing, my mind swirling with too many thoughts.
“Okay, Bon, what’s happening?” He puts his medical bag on his bed and approaches me. “You’ve been ignoring me all day.” Okay, so he did notice.
“I’m not,” I lie, trying to sound as normal as possible, but my voice betrays me with a slight tremor.
“Yes, you are. What’s wrong?” he says as he approaches me. “Just yesterday, we shared this moment by the beach and–”
“Exactly, Ryan,” I say, unable to control myself. I stand up and look at him. “We shared that moment. We shared a kiss. We even shared a near-death experience.” I sigh, wondering if I should continue. “We… we shared moments where we looked into each other’s eyes with so many unspoken emotions that I deluded myself into thinking they were unspoken promises. That maybe we’re not done yet. That we’re only starting to figure it out.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, unable to stop the flood of words. “I even went so far as to ask my mom for advice because…” My voice breaks, and I swallow hard, fighting back tears. “Because my mind and my heart are a jumble of feelings, and I haven’t felt this way before. I feel like my whole world is spinning out of control, and the only thing that makes sense is what I feel about you. And it sounds absurd because how can something so confusing make the most sense?”
Ryan’s expression shifts from confusion to a mix of guilt and sadness. He takes a step closer, but I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I just… I just thought we had something special,” I continue, my voice cracking. “And I know it’s stupid. I know we set our boundaries, and we set clear lines, and that I’m the one in the wrong here. But I can’t help how I feel.”
Tears start to well up in my eyes, and I can feel my resolve crumbling. “I may have mistaken your affection to be directed at me. But I heard you talking to Alexa by the car last night, and I saw you hugging her when we arrived. And it felt like a punch to the gut. Like everything I thought we had was just in my head.”
“Bon,” Ryan says softly, his voice thick with emotion. He stands up and reaches out to me, his eyes pleading. He puts a hand on my cheek but I back away.
“No,” I say, shaking my head as tears spill over my cheeks. “I’m sorry if I took it out on you. It’s not your fault. I brought this upon myself, I know that. But it hurts. And I don’t know how to deal with it. And I thought it would go away if I ignored you for a while.”
Ryan’s face is a mask of anguish as he steps closer, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to reach out or not. “Bon, please, let me explain. It’s not what you think.”
But before he can say more, there’s a knock on the door. I turn, wiping my eyes quickly, trying to pull myself together. “You don’t have to explain. And I have to go,” I say.
I walk over to the door and take a deep breath. I open it to see John standing outside.
“Wow, you’re stunning, Bon,” he says. “Ready to go?”
“Give me five minutes,” I say and I go straight to the bathroom.
Inside, I lean against the sink and stare at the mirror. Geez, what did I do? Did I just really confess my feelings to my friendby getting mad at him? Is that the kind of monster I’ve become? And to add insult to injury, I’m going on a date with his friend. I sigh. Nothing about this evening is going well. I wish I could just stay locked up in here and sob to my heart’s content. But instead, I power through. I’ve been doing a lot of powering through lately, what’s one more night?
I reapply my eye makeup and take one last look in the mirror to practice my smile. It looks terrible, but it will have to do for now. I get out and see Ryan and John waiting for me. John looks cheerful, like he always does. His face is lit with an easygoing grin that I normally have on mine but can’t seem to produce today.
Ryan is standing a foot behind John. His expression is a complex mask of anguish and restraint. He’s trying to smile, but it’s strained, like a rubber band stretched too thin. I want to go over there and say sorry for what I said.
Instead, I smile at John and say, “Let’s go.”
I’m not a fan of Italian cuisine, but I appreciate the authenticity they tried to display here. The rustic décor, with its checkered tablecloths and vintage posters, gives the restaurant a cozy, welcoming atmosphere.
I try to pull myself together. After that episode with Ryan, I don’t know what to make of my day. All I can think about is what’s going to happen when I return. I’m thinking about bunking with the others. Even Dr. Fernandez seems like a better option right now. Hell, even bunking with Puppy under the front desk sounds more sensible.
I look at John, and he’s smiling at me. “Are you always this quiet, Bon?” he asks gently.
“What? No. No, I’m actually quite the opposite,” I say, managing a small smile. Inside, I feel a twinge of guilt for not being my usual self. John is being so nice, and I feel like a terrible person for not reciprocating the energy. I clear my throat, determined to be a better date. “Sorry, I’ll try to be more present. It’s just—since the accident, so much has happened to me,” I add, my voice softening. It's true, though I don’t mention that much of it revolves around our friend Ryan.
John’s expression shifts to one of understanding. “I get it. It must have been awful,” he says, his tone sincere.
The rest of our evening is filled with conversations about his medical work, my career, our friends, and families. Ryan is mentioned a few times in passing, and I try to be indifferent about it, though each mention feels like a small jab. We talk about a multitude of things—his recent missions, my favorite films, the quirks of small-town life—but none of it is making me return to my animated self. I feel like an unlit match trying to light itself and failing repeatedly.
Right after dinner, and after John pays for the bill (I ate pizza the conventional way, so nothing was memorable about that meal), I glance at the next table and notice Tom–one of the volunteers. I wave a hand to him, and he returns it. John follows my gaze, and they exchange greetings. Tom stands up and motions that he’s going to have a cigarette break. Ironic. Doctors who smoke.
“Hey, Bon, do you mind if I take a few minutes out with Tom? I’m just so full,” he says. I’m still finishing my drink, anyway, so I nod in agreement.
As I sip my drink, I try to shake off the unease that’s been nagging at me all evening. The restaurant is bustling, filled with laughter and conversation, but I feel strangely disconnected. Iwatch John and Tom step outside, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights.
When I’m done, I slowly open the door to go outside but stop short at the mention of my name. I linger in the doorway, hidden by the shadows.
