When it came to Sebastian, I required a lot of acclimation—and then one epic aha moment where I belly-flopped into the water, loud and painful and flailing, and gave up all semblance of shielding myself from the risk of vulnerability.
I had to let the aha happen, as much as I hated it, as much as I resisted it.
That was why I was sitting on the landing outside Sebastian's apartment, furiously texting all of our friends.
* * *
Sara: Can I ask you guys for help?
Alex: Always assume the answer to that is yes.
Nick: What Emmerling said.
O'Rourke: I'm not as useful as those two. I'd advise sticking with them.
Alex: Please don't make me regret being nice to you, O'Rourke.
Sara: Okay. Here goes. Stremmel should be leaving the hospital any minute now. I know Hartshorn is having everyone over tonight…and I need you to send Sebastian home. Don't let him go. Just send him straight home. I have to talk to him. It needs to be today and it needs to be away from work.
Alex: We could tell him there's going to be sleet. He hates sleet.
Nick: I want to help you, believe me, but I don't know how we're supposed to uninvite him from the pizza party at Cal and Stella's. They do this the weekend before Thanksgiving every year. It's a whole college football thing. He fucking loves it.
Alex: You just don't want to be the one to make Stremmel cry.
O'Rourke: Was I invited to this party?
Nick: Could you grab him at the hospital instead?
O'Rourke: I don't think I was invited to this party.
Sara: I don't want this to happen at the hospital. I know it probably seems ridiculous and I know I'm asking you three to jump in the middle of this for me, but I really need to separate everything from work.
Alex: It's cool, I can take responsibility for him crying. I actually don't mind that at all.
O'Rourke: Since I'm not invited, am I off the hook here?
Alex: Listen, O'Rourke. You're invited. Hartshorn is absentminded as hell. He forgets the whole thing until a day or two before when his wife asks how many pizzas to order. Then he goes around inviting everyone he sees. It happens every year. His wife sends out a big text with the details but she doesn't know you and doesn't have your number. You're invited.
Nick: Wait a second, everyone. Shap, I love and trust you, but I don't want Eeyore wandering off on his own if things don't work out. Eeyore is okay only because the group keeps him on the radar. I need you to text me if this takes a turn. My wife will kill me if I lose track of Eeyore.
Alex: I don't know whether to cackle over you calling him Eeyore or try to figure out whether I'm Tigger in this setup.
Nick: Can't go there with you until I've had at least two beers, Emmerling.
Alex: Who is Winnie the Pooh? Is that Hartshorn? Oh my god, it's Hartshorn.
Alex: Are you Piglet? No. That doesn't work. Are you Christopher Robin?
Alex: Maybe Shap is Piglet.
Alex: No, that doesn't work either.
Nick: ALEX.
O'Rourke: I guess I'm not in this universe at all. Fun discovery for a Friday evening.
Alex: Sorry. I'll take one for the team and send Stremmel home to you, babe. If anyone asks, we are playing the ear infection card tonight. We'll say Hartshorn's kid can't stay over with the grandparents because she wants mama, and dad is also a psycho when it comes to typical pediatric conditions, and we're bumping the rivalry game debate for another night.
Sara: That's perfect. Thank you.
Nick: Text me, Shap.
Sara: I will. Thank you for your help. I know I'm asking a lot.
Alex: You're not. Acevedo just likes getting into it with Stremmel over football. Big feels on both sides.
Nick: Maybe you two could come over to Hartshorn's. After your conversation or whatever you need to do.
Alex: "whatever you need to do" is cute. Very cute. I'm ordering one of those white noise machines now.
Sara: Seriously, thank you for everything.
Alex: Stop thanking me! I love schemes. Let me go pull this one off.
* * *
The aha wasn't that I was finally ready to talk to Sebastian. I'd been ready since landing in Boston last weekend, though I'd needed time to make that ready right. The aha came this morning, when I overheard the worst conversation I could've ever stumbled into. The Chief went ahead and undermined the fuck out of my skills, my performance, my outcomes. He did the thing I feared the most—he asked whether I was good enough. He asked as bold as could be, right there in the hall with anyone walking by, and he asked a surgeon who knew nothing of my practice.
Except that last part wasn't completely true.
Sebastian could've blown off the question. At first, I'd thought he was doing that. But then he'd leaned into it. He'd answered the shit out of that question. Once again, he'd stood up for me—and he did it while I was holding him at a cold, silent distance. He did it without knowing I was standing on the other side of that corner and he did it without doubt.
That was the aha. The wild-limbed belly flop that slapped so hard, I'd nearly missed my chance to duck into a supply room and panic in private. Although it wasn't real panic. It was the kind of panic where my heart was pounding in my throat and I was ready to run a mile while screaming at the top of my lungs, but I wasn't afraid of anything.
Maybe it hadn't been panic at all. Maybe that was how it felt to watch someone love you out loud.
An unmistakable stomp sounded three floors below, followed by a muttered, "What even the fuck?"
I shoved my phone in my bag and smoothed my hands over my jeans. I didn't have time to futz with my hair or fix my face or anything. All I could do was sit here, just as I was, and hope it was enough.
He spotted me several steps from the landing, his confusion evident in the blink, the pause. Then, "Please tell me you're ready. I've had the worst fucking day and now Hartshorn's kid is sick so we can't have pizza and I really wanted pizza. And why are you sitting there? You let yourself in the other night and then let yourself the fuck out, but you're sitting on the floor like you're not a misguided little criminal? If you're not ready, Sara, I can't—"
"I heard what you said today. To the Chief, I heard."
He arched a brow. "From who?"
"From you. I was around the corner." I ran my hands down my legs again. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Not for that."
"That's a mean way to torture a people-pleaser," I said with a laugh.
"Recovering people-pleaser." He glanced down the staircase, then back at me. "If that's why you're here—"
"It's not," I said. "I had to break the cycle."
He dropped a hand to the banister. "You—what?"
"I had to break the cycle," I repeated. "The Thursday cycle. I had to stop it."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"We had a cycle, Sebastian. We'd avoid each other until Thursday. Until we got to go crazy on each other. But then it ended and we'd start it up all over again. Sometimes we'd get a weekend day, but mostly it was us bottling up everything we had and exploding on each other come Thursday."