Page 30 of That's Not a Thing

“Hey,” I say as I bring the phone cautiously to my ear. “You’re finished already?” I wonder if I somehow tipped my hand, alerted him to my fraudulent behavior, my questionable intentions.

“In and out in less than an hour, and everything went off without a hitch, like it was no sweat.” I can hear the enthusiasm in his voice, his joy at a job well done, a baby’s life improved.

“I thought this was supposed to be a long one,” I say.

“Nope. It was endoscopic. That’s what made the whole thing so amazing—minimally invasive,” he prods. “Remember?”

But I don’t remember. Not even a little. Maybe this wasn’t even the experimental surgery, except it’s way too late for me to ask. I wonder how I’ve allowed myself to tune him out, to lose myself so completely to the distraction of Wesley’s condition.

“Did you see my email?” I want to take it back, my subterfuge, my disloyalty.

“I have an idea,” he answers easily. “Meet me for a quick dinner near your office so I get to see your face today, and then I’ll drive you home to do your work.”

“But then you just have to drive all the way back downtown,” I protest, feeling even worse as he continues to be kind, chivalrous.

Nicola walks back into the office with three large folders and dumps them loudly on her desk.

“No worries,” he says. “I want to see you, and I can use the drive uptown to call my folks, maybe talk through the pros and cons of buying that house.”

Aaron’s parents recently decided they want to sell their home on Long Island and move to the Berkshires, where they had a summer home when he was a kid. If they don’t buy the country house, their other idea is to relocate to Manhattan, and that is Aaron’s preference. He likes getting to spend time with them, doesn’t feel suffocated by their presence like I so often do near my own parents.

“Okay, fine,” I say, thinking that I could actually use a little time with Aaron to remind myself why he is important me. A couple of months ago, he was my whole world, and now two run-ins with Wesley have made me loosen my grip on everything I thought I wanted. I cannot allow myself to undermine the life I am building just because I’m upset about Wesley’s health.

“Come get me at seven,” I suggest. “I’ll make us a reservation at the Thai place.”

After I hang up, I close my eyes, like I’m trying to disengage my brain, prevent it from running all the possible scenarios in my head about the mess that I am creating. I let out a breath and turn back to the country conditions report I was working on for Moe’s case. It occurs to me as I’m rereading the report that I don’t know enough yet about Moe’s personal family history. There might be more details that could help his case. I’m thinking that we should set up another in-person meeting before I file the I-589 so I can review the details with him, confirm I have everything right, and make sure I haven’t left out anything that could help him. I reach for the folder that has his phone number written on the outside just as my office phone rings, an in-house number flashing on the screen.

“This is Meredith,” I say, as Nicola huffs into the brief she’s been paging through, likely annoyed by the continued nuisance I am making of myself by existing in her space.

“Hey. It’s Ilana,” says the administrative assistant to Ellen Short, one of the firm’s senior partners. “Ellen asked me to call. She has a copy of the Dole brief almost ready, and she wanted you to cite check it.”

“The Dole case?” I ask, and Nicola glances at me, now interested. “I’m not on that case.” I don’t add that cite checking is a job for first-years, or even paralegals.

“She knows, but Noah and Arnie are both at depositions today and she said she wants someone competent to do it. It’s a big case, Meredith.” The woman tells me this like I should feel pleased, puffed up, even, that I’ve been selected to do the grunt work on this case. “I’m emailing over the document now.”

I hang up with Ilana on a sigh. Canceling the movie with Aaron seems to have been the right call, as I’m not going to have a moment for the pro bono case before the end of the day anyway. Having time to do work at home tonight will actually be a plus. That said, I don’t feel any less guilty. In my heart, I still know I am doing something contemptible. It’s low and staggeringly reckless, but I am charging onward toward Wesley just the same.

Chapter Fourteen

March 2017

It’s 10:12 p.m., and Wesley hasn’t called yet. I try to stop looking at my phone every five seconds, to focus more on the stack of articles about Myanmar that I finally, finally have an opportunity to review. The instructions for the I-598 form include a lengthy list of documentation that an applicant is permitted to submit, in addition to a country conditions report, to bolster his petition, from affidavits of witnesses to photos, periodicals, and medical or psychological reports. I begin highlighting and underlining, jotting down notes as thoughts occur to me, but my eyes keep straying disobediently back toward the phone, which is pointedly silent beside my laptop. I guess it makes sense that Wesley still doesn’t want me in his life. If he made that decision when were so close to getting married, why would he change his position now, when we are basically strangers? Any thoughts I entertained about his attitude toward me having evolved with time were clearly delusional.

When Aaron and I were out for dinner earlier, each disentangling noodles from plates full of pad Thai, I tried to curb the preoccupation, the sense of urgency, that has become a constant since I learned of Wesley’s illness. I patted myself on the back for noticing how handsome Aaron looked in his white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He told me more about the endoscopic procedure he performed earlier today, about how the baby will barely have a scar, how the child’s skull had expanded almost immediately, and how his head is now round rather than elongated and deformed like it was yesterday and all the days before. I’m fairly certain that Aaron could tell I was distracted, not acting quite like myself. Now that I’ve woken up to the thought, I realize he’s got to know something is going on in my head, and I imagine he’s going to connect the dots to Wesley in short order. If he hasn’t already.

Aaron told me he was going to hit the sheets early tonight and not pass up this opportunity to recoup the sleep that he misses so frequently. As I picture his large frame sprawled across his bed, without me, I pick up my phone and wonder if I should just power down the whole thing for the night. I can’t make myself do it, though. I have fallen right into the same pattern, ending up back in that place that I crawled out of years ago. Here I sit, staring at my phone, waiting to hear from Wesley, who isn’t calling.

Except that now the phone suddenly rings in my hand, showing a number I’ve not seen before. I let it ring a second time before I answer so I don’t pick up sounding desperate, definitely not like I’ve been holding the phone, waiting for him to call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Wesley. I’m just leaving the restaurant.” If that’s supposed to be an apology for calling later than he said he would, I guess it will do.

“Thanks for calling,” I start, leaning back in my swivel chair and hating how stilted I sound. “I just wanted to touch base, to see ... I don’t know,” I stumble. “You kind of dropped a bomb at the soup kitchen the other day, and I just wanted to talk a little more ... if you don’t mind.”

“No, I know,” he says, sounding ever so slightly out of breath, like he’s walking as we talk. “I’m glad we’re getting to talk. I’ve missed having you as a sounding board.”

At his words, I feel as if a million tiny rock doves have been released from my heart at once and are now flying forth in celebration. Knowing he’s missed me relieves me of a pressure I didn’t realize I still felt. It also pisses me off.