Page 7 of Cava with My Colleague

“Competent, yes. Stick up his ass, also yes. But he’s not doing the presentation with me; he’s translating it. And I asked Rebecca why we would even need a translator when so many people speak English anyway, and she said that it won’t just be contemporaries there, but patients and their families too.”

“Speaking of which, how are your Spanish lessons going?” Tessa asks.

I brighten. “Wonderfully.”

“Could you do the presentation in Spanish yourself?” Emma asks.

Okay, they’ve been going well but not that well.

“No. I wish. But I’m just not that fluent yet. Too bad it’s not in Mandarin. I could probably do that. Maybe I should pitch an Asia tour to Rebecca.”

Ugh, but then I’d have to present more and fuck that noise.

“Jade,” Sara says gently. “Is this really about Carlos?”

I take another sip of wine. “What do you mean?”

“You’re fixated on traveling with a coworker you don’t like. But you love to travel. You love meeting patients.” Tessa tilts her head. “What’s really going on?”

My throat tightens. “I don’t think I can⁠—”

The overhead lights flash. Chris takes the stage and the audience crackles with recognition. I watch Sara watch Chris, her face soft with love. She’s leaning forward slightly, her whole body oriented toward him the way a plant tilts toward light. It’s unconscious. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

I reach over and squeeze her hand once. She squeezes back without looking away from the stage.

I try not to feel envious of what my friends have found.

Chris moves across the small stage like he belongs there. Comfortable. Confident. The audience is hanging on his every word.

What would that feel like? To stand in front of hundreds of people and not be terrified?

Chris plays four songs, one a duet with the previous singer, and by the end, the crowd has grown and I can feel the press of it behind us. The four of us look at each other and laugh while Chris dips into the staff area, rushing out before things get out of hand. He’ll meet us at his house later for dinner.

“Oh, my god!” Emma squeals. “That was amazing!”

“He totally wrote that first song about you,” I say.

Sara laughs. She picks up her phone, no doubt texting Chris.

Tessa leans toward me, and for a moment I feel dread that she’s going to ask about my completely unreasonable fear, but instead she asks, “So what is your schedule going to be like? Will it interfere with our weekend visits?”

Relief hits me. That’s much easier to talk about. I outline the plans and Tessa pulls up her calendar on her phone.

Sara pulls up her calendar too, Emma chimes in with her concerns. She is almost done with the fourth term of her MBA program and what happens next for her is a little up in the air—an internship, probably, but she doesn’t know where yet. Plus she’s trying to juggle a visit back to the US over the summer to see her three college-aged kids.

“All right, ladies, let’s get a move on,” Sara announces, and we abandon our table and empty mugs, weaving our way through the crowd to the exit.

Outside, we turn right. Tessa pulls out her phone—texting Luc, probably.

London is colder than Madrid, and it’s grayer to boot. Texans weren’t really made for colder weather, and since Sara moved to London we’ve all had some discussions about proper winter gear.

We walk toward Sara and Chris’s place, intending to pick up Indian food along the way, but I’m guessing we need to make another stop too. “Can we stop at a wine shop?” I ask.

“We’ve got a few bottles back at the flat,” Sara says.

Emma and I look at each other. “Back at the flat,” we echo and giggle. I can’t see Sara’s face but I’m pretty sure I feel an eye roll. Sara’s been picking up a few Britishisms since she moved here and it’s adorable. Plus, Chris uses them too, and they’re even cuter in his accent.

“I checked out what you have, but I’d like a bottle of cava.” Her wine selection was just okay. I’m not that big of a wine snob but even I was underwhelmed.