The skin between my eyebrows forms a bewildered “v.” Very fashionable, but not mine, I respond, adding the thinking emoji.
She writes back immediately: What? If it's not yours, who does it belong to?
Your mom's secret lover... I hit send and smile at my joke.
Very funny, she says, and I imagine her holding the end of the word funny for an extra beat to drive home her point.
Autumn doesn't say anything more, so I put my phone back on the desk and pick up my fork. I'm in between patients right now, and I'm using the time to eat lunch. The first half of my day, I usually have appointments with my patients, and the second half I do rounds on patients who were admitted to the hospital for whatever reason. I love that working at the hospital as a staff oncologist with an office affords me the ability to do both. My next patient is new to me, so I'm in my office reading his history when Ace walks in without knocking. He sits in one of the two chairs in front of my desk and pulls a foil-wrapped sandwich from a white bag.
"How's it going?" he asks, unwrapping a Cuban sandwich and takes a big bite.
"Great," I answer, chewing a piece of the grilled chicken I brought from home. For the record, Ace's lunch looks better.
"Bet I know what's putting you in such a great mood these days." Ace's eyebrows pull up and begin moving in a way that can only be described as waggling.
I haven't told Ace about Autumn not taking the pill or that Autumn and I are so serious. Truth is, I don't know what exactly to call it. We've been enjoying being together so much that we haven't labeled it, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn’t starting to bother me.
I haven’t told my dad either. I probably should. The news would make him beyond happy, but I’m afraid he’d use it as a cause to celebrate. Which means get shitfaced. Not that he needs a reason. He’s made that abundantly clear, but I’m avoiding him altogether as much as possible right now.
My dad is a puzzle I don't know how to solve. He's supposed to be a parent. Why am I the one parenting him? It's amazing how a person can get older but always expect their parent to stay in their role. I never expected my dad to lose his shit and completely give up at adulting.
He's called me four times since Autumn and I started back up. He never calls unless he's drunk, and I'm so afraid each time is going to be the time—the time he has crashed his car and needs help—the time he's in the hospital because he got hurt. The possibilities are endless for someone who gets as drunk as he does.
I just don’t want to deal with it.
"Just in a good mood," I tell Ace, who's sitting there, waiting for me to answer.
He raises one eyebrow. "And a person whose name rhymes with bottom but is spelled totally different doesn't have anything to do with it?"
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. "It's possible," I concede, pushing away my nearly empty container.
"That's what I thought." He smirks and sticks his pointer finger into a circle he’s made with his hand in a crude gesture.
“Knock it off,” I growl playfully.
Ace can only go so long without thinking of sex.
I don't want to keep talking about it, mostly because I don't want to have to tell him that I don't know what's really going on between me and Autumn. It's hard enough admitting that to myself every day.
"Grow a pair and ask her to be your girlfriend,” he mumbles through his food.
I blink, surprised.
He swallows and takes a swig of seltzer water. "I've been your best friend for a long time, Owen. I don't need to know why you look all doe-eyed at the mention of Autumn, and then dopey when you think too hard." He finishes off his sandwich, sucking leftover sauce from the pad of his thumb.
"I don’t want to rush her."
Ace shrugs. "Just calling it like I see it. You need to have the talk with her before she thinks this is just some temporary fling and moves back to New York to marry some rich stockbroker."
At the mention of her moving back to New York and marrying someone else, my entire body clenches.
"This advice coming from a guy whose bed is a revolving door?"
"I wouldn't say revolving. More like an open-door policy." He winks.
I snatch my balled-up napkin and toss it at his chest. It doesn’t reach, falling ineffectually near the edge of my desk.
“You’ll change your mind one day. One day, a woman will come along and tame Ace Drakos, and I hope I’m there to see it."
Ace shakes his head, a sliver of sadness creeping into his voice. "No way, man. I learned my lesson. The hard way, remember?"
Unfortunately, I do.
Ace still hasn't recovered from the lashing his heart took at the hands of his college sweetheart. His open-door policy is proof. Miranda was a cheating whore and we don’t speak her name.
There's a knock and we both swivel toward my door.
"Come in," I call.
Nurse Theresa steps in, papers clutched to her chest. When I see that her eyes hold fear and anguish, my face falls.
"What is it?" I ask, my stomach knotting, the chicken threatening reentry. Theresa doesn't get affected by much and she never bothers me during my lunch.
"The lab sent over Faith Cummings' latest bloodwork. I emailed them to you, but…" She hurries forward, thrusting the papers in her hand at me. "I printed them out too."
I don't look at the papers first. I look to Ace. My best friend's gaze is on me, his lips pursed, eyes wide. His chin dips slightly, urging me on, telling me I can do this.
When I read the results, something inside me breaks.
With a shaky hand, I pick up the phone and call Faith.
This moment has been coming for hours, and now that it's here, I don't know if I can do it.
I don't know if I can open the door and invite Faith into my office. How can I tell her I've failed her? Failed Autumn? Myself, even?
Wooden feet carry me across the tiled floor and to my office door, where a soft, hesitant knock comes through.
Breathe, just fucking breathe.
I take a deep breath and open the door. Faith stands there, her face arranged into a peaceful expression. She is resigned and it guts me like a fish.
She knows.
"Hello, Faith," I say, listening to my voice as if it is not my own. It's clunky, stilted.
"Owen," she greets me. Her voice is the opposite of mine. Serene, accepting.
I step back from the door, ushering her in with an open arm. She strides, head high, to the seat Ace sat in just hours ago. I choose the chair beside her, needing to be closer to her as I deliver the bad news. I haven’t told her why she needs to come in, just that it’s to discuss some bloodwork.
She ducks her head a fraction. "So, is it as bad as I think? You're sitting on this side of the desk."
I exhale loudly, heavily. Gathering her hand in mine, I open my mouth to speak but find there are no words. Faith started out a long time ago as my girlfriend's mom but she has become so much more than that: a friend, a mentor, an ear to listen, a giver of advice when my dad began down his destructive path—a mother of my own.
Reaching out, she cups my cheek. “It’s okay, Owen. Just tell me.”