Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [93]
Or, Leah, God Provides Salvation.
That too, God. That too.
Pappasito's. A lively Mexican restaurant. Perfect. Background music loud enough to swallow conversations. Just sitting at a table is entertainment. Waitstaff carrying trays as round as manhole covers loaded with sizzling, “careful hot plate, don’t touch” aromatic entrees. Why hasn’t cilantro made its way into candles and aerosol sprays?
“Did you know cilantro is also called Chinese parsley?” I said to the menu across the table from me.
“Yes. I remember I heard that someplace. Maybe from you the last time we were here,” it answered.
“Why do we look at the menu? We order the same thing every time. I’m not complaining. I love the shrimp fajitas. Crave them,” I said, and felt the lumpy dough of the “crave” word drop between us.
“Shrimp fajitas. Extra guac, sour cream, and tortillas,” Carl said to Andy, our waiter, a striking blonde in a surfer-dude way.
I dove in the pool of discontent headfirst. “I need to make an appointment with Dr. Nolan. She's the OB. I wanted to talk to you before I scheduled it. In case you’d want to go.”
He pushed back in the chair, the one-shoulder-dropped look that radiated aggravation. “Now, when did you make this decision? What happened to Dr. Foret?”
I explained my decision had nothing to do with not liking Dr. Foret, but everything to do with not wanting to have everything about this pregnancy remind me of Alyssa. “Dr. Nolan was recommended by someone at Brookforest. I’ve already met her, and I really like her. I think you would too.”
“It seems you’ve made a lot of important decisions without me. Is this part of how you changed? You stopped asking for my opinion?”
Serenity Prayer. Serenity Prayer.
“The doctor decision I made last week. If I’d talked to you about it, well, that would’ve been strange. Wouldn’t you have wondered why I was asking you about an OB from rehab?”
“Whatever you want. If you want me to go with you, I’ll make it happen.”
Now I was on familiar turf. Artificial turf. In his veiled way, he told me he wanted me to be vulnerable first. He wanted me to say that I wanted him there, so his presence was a gift.
Is this the path, God? I step out first? This isn’t seeming like the less traveled road.
You forgot about the trust already? GPS, not LPS. Got it.
“Yes, I would very much like for you to be at Dr. Nolan's with me.” There, I told him what he wanted to hear.
Andy hovered with the tray, while Carl reorganized the table to accommodate the plates. “I’ll go. Let me know the date, so I’ll put it in my ’Berry.” He nodded to Andy, and over the sizzling confusion of sliding plates onto the table, he said, “That’ll be perfect. We can both talk to her about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.”
I mentally dumped the fajita plate in Carl's lap. I watched as Andy's eyes shifted to me and back to Carl in microseconds.
“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it for more than just the food.
The day went, as my students were apt to say, from worse to worser.
At some point during lunch, Carl remarked that I wasn’t wearing the Rolex. I told him about not being sure of the safe combination. He asked why I didn’t bother to try.
The conversation crumbled like stale cookies. I was determined to not fall apart with it. Not anymore.
“This isn’t about the watch, is it?”
He covered his plate with his napkin and pushed it to the side. “No, I guess not,” he said, and wore the weariness of his voice in his eyes.
I asked the waiter, who probably now had a clue why we hadn’t ordered wine, for a “to go” container.
“It's hard to pretend the last thirty days didn’t happen. So much changed for me. But I don’t even understand it all yet. Can you, at least now while we’re hacking through this forest, give me the benefit of the doubt? Maybe not always presume I’ve done something intentionally or have an ulterior motive?” As soon as the words coasted