“Probably?” I question in what I hope comes off as a mock shock or hurt tone.
“Okay, I will,” she concedes. “I’ll miss you terribly and will want to FaceTime you constantly. You’ll probably regret ever giving me your cell number,” she teases.
“I’ll never regret giving you my number,” I tell her as I kiss the top of her head.
“Holy crap!” She squeals and moves her feet back a few inches. “That water is cold.” She shudders as I watch the next wave approach. It comes up a little higher and closer to us.
“If you don’t want to get wet, I’d suggest we pack this party up and head up to the house. It looks like the tide is coming in.”
“Sounds good to me,” she says as I stand up. I brush the sand off my ass and legs, then squat down and lift her up in my arms. Always bridal style, as that allows me to give her just enough support, but also be steady when I need to carry her for one reason or another.
I set her feet on the deck once we make it back up there and reach around with one hand to help get rid of some of the sand, then help her sit back in her chair. “Can I get you anything?” I offer once she’s settled.
“I’m good. I’m just going to head inside and warm up some.” It’s then I notice the goose bumps that cover her arms.
“Are you cold? I can find you a blanket to use,” I offer.
“Nope, I’ll be fine once I’m inside and out of the breeze.”
“All right, well, please tell me if that changes. I’m going to go grab a quick shower. I can’t stand to smell myself much longer, and I’m sure you can’t, either.”
“Is that what that smell was?” she jokes with me.
“Who’s the jokester now?” I dish right back.
“Do you want me to start dinner while you’re in the shower?” Megan offers.
“No, we can cook together once I’m out if you’d like, though.”
“Sounds perfect,” she says as she starts heading towards the door. I follow her inside and watch as she transfers herself to one of the couches, pulling the throw that is always on the back of it over her, and then turns on the TV. I force myself to keep moving and head for the shower.
Moments later, the heat of the water running down my muscles, relaxing under the pressure of the water beating down on them, has me realizing just how tight they’ve been lately. Maybe everyone is right, and I do need some time away to relax. I’ve been go go go since entering med school years ago. As the water rolls down my back, I start to think more about Megan, about the last month or so since we’ve been together. Where I see things going. Is this what I really want with my life? Is she who I really want? Am I good enough for her? All of these questions bombard me as I scrub the soap across my skin.
I push the questions about my—our—future from my mind as I finish up my shower, getting out and quickly toweling off. I pull on a pair of boxers and then some jeans, followed by a long-sleeved shirt. I towel dry my hair off and run a quick comb through it before joining Megan out in the living room.
“Have a good shower?” she asks as I sit on the edge of the couch a few inches from her.
“Yeah, it felt good on my muscles. I could have stayed in much longer, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
“You’re all good. Did you want to start cooking?” she states.
“If you’re getting hungry, we can start,” I tell her as the questions start to ping around again in my mind. I shake my head slightly as I stand, attempting to clear my mind once again as the doubt attempts to settle in.
We both make our way into the kitchen; I pull the items for dinner from the fridge and set to seasoning the steaks.
“What can I do to help?” Megan asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Do you want to chop up the veggies and toss them into the grill basket?”
“Yep,” she says. She reaches for the veggies I pulled out and sets to chopping them. I head out to the deck and get the grill fired up. Once it’s heated, I head back inside and grab the platter the steaks are on and get them on the grill.
“How do you like your steak cooked?” I ask, sticking my head in the door to ask.
“Medium would be great,” she tells me with a small smile on her face.
The carefree way she looks in my family’s kitchen, the way she so seamlessly fits into my life, should make me feel at ease, so why I’m all of a sudden having these feelings of doubt creep in is unsettling. Why now? When we’re having such a great time away. When we’ve taken our relationship to the next level, something I know neither of us takes for granted or rushed.
“Are you ready for the veggies and potatoes?” Megan asks from the partially open patio door.
“Yes, thanks,” I say as I grab the basket from her that’s perched on her lap. I get it settled on the grill next to the steaks, then close the lid to trap in the heat so everything can cook. “Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask before I sit down.
“If you’re going to have one, I’d love one, but don’t open a bottle just for me.”
“I’ll have one with you,” I reply, then head inside and grab a bottle from the wine fridge. I grab two stemless glasses and carry both outside, along with the bottle. I set them on the table then head back inside for everything we’ll need to eat, plates and silverware, steak sauce, salt and pepper and two water glasses. I set the table once back outside and turn to tend to the food on the grill once again.
“Is everything okay?” Megan asks quietly when I turn back to the table and pour us each a glass of wine. “You’ve been kind of quiet since you got out of the shower.”
“Everything is fine,” I tell her, flashing her a smile, trying to convince her just as much as I try to convince myself.
“Okay. You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” she questions further.
“I’ve just got a lot going through my mind, but I promise, everything is fine.”
“Are you mad that I can’t go with you to Hawaii?” she pushes, obviously not believing me.
“Not at all. I get why you can’t,” I assure her. I grab her hand and hold it between both of my own. I look down at how large my hands look compared to hers. I really take the moment to look at our differences. Not the fact that she’s in a wheelchair and I’m not, or our size, but where we’re at in our lives. What life would be like for her if we continued this relationship. Is it fair to her to promise her everything, only for my job to always be the top priority? To have to drop everything to go to the hospital when I’ve got a sick patient who needs me? That can mean missed birthdays, anniversaries, parties, time together.
“Then what’s wrong, Drew?” she continues pushing, never breaking eye contact with me.
“I don’t know. I… I started having all these doubts, all these second thoughts about what we’re doing, where we’re going, how we’re going to make things work between us long-term.” I finally get it out just as the timer on my phone goes off, alerting that the steaks should be done. I squeeze her hand between mine before dropping it back in her lap. I get up and pull the food from the grill, placing it on our plates.