25
Sebastian
Georgina and Luciano sat across from me in the vet’s waiting room gaping as if I’d just flown in on a pig. “How’s Bruno?” I asked when they didn’t respond to my earlier question.
Georgina flinched. “What are you doing here?”
I’d been leaving the office when I’d decided to try Georgina one last time. Twenty-four hours earlier, I’d been buried in her in more ways than one, and now I couldn’t even get her to take my calls. “Luciano told me what happened. Or at least, the gist of it.”
Luciano put a hand to his chest and feigned innocence to Georgina. “I only gave him the name of the hospital and the cross streets,” he told her, “but I didn’t tell him to come, I swear.”
I couldn’t muster an ounce of offense that she didn’t want me there. Knowing what Bruno meant to her, she had to be in a world of pain. Dark circles under her eyes and goosebumps on her knees and arms told me all I needed to know. Why wasn’t she wearing a coat?
“You’re dripping . . .” Georgina said.
I glanced down between my feet. I’d bought the bouquet in a hurry from a bodega on the way over, and the wet stems had made a puddle. I didn’t even know if she liked roses, but it seemed like the right thing to do. “These are for you,” I said, passing them to her. “So, is there any news?”
“Not yet,” she said, resting the bouquet in her lap. “One minute I was petting Bruno, and the next—” Her voice caught. “He . . .”
“It’s okay, just relax,” I said, standing up. My intent wasn’t to make her cry but to comfort however I could. I pulled a bag of gummy bears from my suit jacket, my other last-minute grab from the corner store. “You must be hungry,” I said. “You haven’t changed since the office?”
She took the candy with wide eyes. “I didn’t get a chance.”
I removed my jacket and handed it to her. “Put that on,” I said, then went to reception for paper towels and a blanket.
Once I had what I needed, I made my way back to them. Georgina, in my oversized blazer, frantically chewed gummy bears and looked as if she was having a whispered argument with Luciano. They went silent the moment I was in hearing distance.
I unfolded a royal blue blanket and shook it out. “This should work for now,” I said, handing it to her. “I can go to your place and get you a change of clothes if you like.”
“It’s okay,” she said almost cautiously as she covered her lap.
“How about a mocha latte?”
“I’ll handle that,” Luciano said, getting up. “There’s a twenty-four-hour deli a couple blocks from here. Sebastian?”
“Black coffee is fine. My treat,” I added, getting my wallet from my back pocket. I didn’t think I’d ever live down the fact that Georgina’s best friend had seen me snap at her in the café. I sighed, thinking he’d probably volunteer to contribute to my next exposé, and gave him a twenty. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Luciano said before walking off.
I dragged my chair forward to sit facing Georgina. “Are you okay?” I asked.
She swallowed audibly, then relayed the details of her evening as remotely as she seemed able. Through a series of staccato hiccups, she attempted to hold back tears when she got to the part about how terrified Bruno had looked. “I almost couldn’t help him,” she said.
I put my hand over her blanketed knee. “It sounds like you did everything right.”
“He had too much activity yesterday. I should’ve known better. And when it was time to act, my mind went completely blank. I almost fucked it all up, Sebastian.”
“But you didn’t.”
She shook her head, her gaze distant. I could practically read the what-ifs running through her head.
“Don’t,” I said sternly, my eyes darting between her gold-flecked ones. “If yesterday was anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I practically forced you to go out with me.”
“No,” she said vehemently. “I didn’t mean it like that. Everything you did for us was p-perfect . . .” Her chin wobbled. “I’m the one who should’ve realized.”
“Georgina, look at me.” She instantly turned her gaze to me the way she had at my demand the night before. She’d needed to know I was there with her then, and I’d make damn sure she knew it now. I wasn’t going to abandon her when things got tough. “Bruno had fun. What was the point of saving his life if he can’t enjoy it? Because you did save him. You are, and always have been, Bruno’s hero.”
She swallowed in a way that looked painful. “I keep picturing him lying on a cold metal slab, possibly fighting for his life back there. We don’t know what . . . or if he’s even going to . . .”
I took her chin in my thumb and forefinger. “Are you ready to give up on him?”
“No,” she choked out.
“Then I demand that you stop thinking of the worst-case scenarios. It isn’t helping anything.”
“Demand?” she asked.
“And I request that you stop trying to be strong and let me take over for a few minutes.”
After a few silent seconds, she nodded, whispering, “Sebastian.”
“It’s okay. Let it out.” I thumbed the corner of her mouth. “Nobody’s looking.”
“You’re looking.”
“I don’t count. Not only have I seen you cry, but I’ve been the cause of it.” I fucking hated that. I wished I could do that whole morning over again. It was the only thing I’d change about our time together so far. I moved to the seat next to hers and pulled her into my arms, against my chest.
Her entire body shook as she inhaled a breath and exhaled a sob. And then another. “I miss him.”
“He’s not going anywhere.” I squeezed her even more tightly, my mouth pressed into her hair. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
Eventually, she lifted her head, touching my collar. “I’m ruining your suit.”
“It was too clean anyway,” I said.
“Did you come from the office?”
“Yeah.”
“Why were you there so late?”
“Screwing around.” I cleared my throat. “Working on my résumé.”
She glanced up at me, her brows drawn. “Vance said he wasn’t planning to replace you. You don’t believe him?”
“Would you?” I shrugged. “I figure it’s good to have it on hand anyway.”
“That doesn’t sound like screwing around.”
“Once I started researching résumés, I went down a virtual black hole and ended up on Google Earth looking up my mom’s house.”
She inhaled sharply, shifting in my arms to see me better. That gasp meant more to me than she knew. She realized the magnitude of such a seemingly small thing. “How come?”
“The possibility of losing my job has spurred me into action.” I paused, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “Ever since you came along, I’ve been thinking more about the future.”
Was her heart hammering or mine? I read the fear in her eyes, but it didn’t scare me.
“How’d the house look?” she asked.
“I stared at it for about five seconds, trying to convince myself it wasn’t that scary. That I could go back, fix it up, and finally sell it.” The rundown neighborhood I’d grown up in was gentrifying. I’d been torn between a vivid image of a new family putting down roots, making memories and height charts—and my mom’s cold, dim final days. The faded memories of Libby and me fighting over the TV clicker while the aroma of tamales filled the house. Of my visits as an adult when I’d updated the television set, installed a bookshelf in the living room, or replaced her fifteen-year-old mattress with a Tempur-Pedic. “I closed the tab. I can’t do it. Not yet.”
Her limbs loosened. Maybe she’d thought I’d want to go back to Boston, and that was the fear I’d seen. If she didn’t want me to go, then she still had hope for us.