Chapter 2 – Max
"Have you seen Helen?" I ask, hating the manic desperation I can hear in my voice as it travels to meet Floyd amongst the two-way traffic quickly hustling up and down the sterile hallways outside of the third-floor operating rooms.
Without missing a step that swiftly carries him past me, he offers with a quick glance my way and a pointed finger gesturing ahead of him. "Earlier. Leaving the building."
"Oh. Did she-"
Grinning, like the cat that caught the canary, he offers, "Sorry, Max, I gotta run too! Meeting Evie and the wedding planner." Floyd answers, rushing even further away as he removes his white coat, shedding the weight of his doctor's role for the lighter casting of a man in love. One with stars dancing in eyes at the mere mention of his fiancée. He's a man with purpose, and not even his boss's questions are going to keep his feet from moving him towards the woman he loves.
Halting, stopped in my tracks, I simply see him off with a brief wave with one hand, and a frustrated nod and rush of my other hand through the strands of my tousled hair, accepting that Helen is gone for the day. I missed her.
Last night after my date we both got called in for an emergency, and after staff meetings and a busy day of board related drama, I never got a chance to catch up with her about things. About the date I had with a new friend that all but served as a vivid sign that with Luna about to turn one, and Georgia now gone for the same amount of time, moving on with just anyone is not going to work. Yes, my date and I shared similar sad stories. Dead spouses. Single parents with young babies. But that was it. I keep waiting for there to be something more. A sense that I'm with who I should be with. That this is the right move. So far nothing like that has materialized, and while I do like Alice, a lot, there is something missing with her. For that reason I spent a good chunk of the night thinking how silly it was for me to ever think that the shallow similarities she and I share would unlock my emotions from the bondage of Georgia's passing?
At every turn, over dinner, over drinks, while saying goodbye with a kiss, even the few times we have slept together, this unsettling feeling with Alice is becoming overwhelming.
Yes, I still miss Georgia. With everything in me I miss her. I planned on living the rest of my life with her. But...it wasn't that. I'm making peace with that. Every day that I see Georgia's face in my little girl, I find a way to still have her and well, that makes it easier to put to rest that part of my heart.
This though? This unrest that caused a clammy chill to creep across my skin last night when Alice asked me to stay the night with her, that is something different. Dressed in a new pair of dark wash blue jeans, a cream-colored sweater, and a new haircut to tame my overgrown hair and beard, I tapped into the Max that used to date. Every time we have been together, I pull out her chair, hold open the door, drop a few compliments. I'm the perfect gentleman. I present the representation of my best self. Laugh and smile at all of the right times, and even with all of that...polished perfection, I'm not altogether myself. Maybe that's what's missing? Me. The real me.
The missing parts of Max, the messy, complicated bits that are hidden behind the shiny veneer that takes over when I'm with Alice, those parts were firmly planted back in a posh apartment on South Street, high above the city, overlooking the Manhattan Bridge. With Luna. And with her. All night that was where I wanted to be. I didn't want to be talking about dead spouses any longer, and the weary sadness that drapes a newly minted widow or widower. I wanted to be me. Back at that apartment where I inexplicably have my own toothbrush, a pair of reading glasses, and emergency scrubs. A place where the less than perfect bits and pieces of who Max really is, are welcomed. Are littered through her space, intertwined with the décor as much as the vases and plants, decorative fixtures that she purposely made space for. Just like me. All of me. And dare I admit it? Even to myself? I wanted to be with her. I wanted...no I needed to be with her. And...maybe I'm not ready to dig through and decipher what that means, but I know that the simple thought of it made me feel so much better.
So that's what I did. The date was cut short after a quick dinner, and only one drink at a bar that looked better than the watered-down drinks they served tasted. With zero thought, once my date was safely walked to her door, I was riding the elevator up to that cool apartment with the wall of windows and went straight to my girls. My girls? Yeah, ok. I guess that's how I had unwittingly come to think of them. That's who they were though right? Luna is my daughter. My baby girl. And well, Helen is my girl, too. In a few short years she's become my best friend, my confidant, my support system, my safety net, my...everything.
It's a reality that should not be as groundbreaking of a realization for me, but I have to admit, I've somehow been moving through reality as of late, with blinders on. How obtuse I must have seemed. How willfully blind Helen must have thought me as she declared to me one night, with a hint of something soft but maybe scared in her eyes, that she had done everything for me.
For me? What did that mean? The possibility has been more than I could manage.
At work everyone else seems in on this 'thing' between Helen and I, more than I knowingly was. When Kapoor asked me about a change that should be made in regard to documenting phone correspondence with patients and suggested that I discuss it with Helen first and then get back to him. Seamlessly, I did just as he directed. I didn't question it. Even though she is no longer my deputy medical director, she is still my right hand. And when I showed up in her office, falling into the chair in front of her desk to decompress from the day, running past her all of my ideas, and issues, what did she do? Helen, in her polite British way, turned her beautiful brown eyes on me, and lifted her seductive lips into a knowing smirk, one that simply indicated that she knew I would be here, looking for her, seeking her out, then proceeded to gift me with her wisdom.
And that's exactly how our lives work. They are intertwined. I regularly pick up her dry cleaning and groceries. Commuting to work together is a normal occurrence, and I usually make sure she gets home safely in the evening. She is my constant sounding board, and with her love of children, she has effortlessly assumed a spot in Luna's life as a caregiver, almost as much as I am.
Outside of the domestic simplicity that has seemingly interwoven Helen and me, the reality is that I've been physically attracted to her probably since I met her. Of course, I was a married man then. Fully invested in saving my troubled marriage, and still quite in love with my wife. I was safe from what our kinetic attraction could mean. But over time, and with the devastating loss of Georgia, I have been somewhat hesitant to see and accept what has been developing between us. The seed of a deeper affection implanting itself in the chasm my wife's death had created. Blooming on scorched earth, my feelings for Helen were flourishing. Our connection was emotional. Physical. The very thought of her often sending my heart racing, pulse thumping. A grin to spread across my lips. My palms to itch, fingers growing restless with the idea of even the briefest skim across her arm. Her hand. Such delight was to be had in every glimpse of her smile, every knowing witticism tossed my way from her.
With the life altering crash of the steel and metal, tires, and engines that once changed the trajectory of my life forever, this epiphany has been smothering me with its truth since last night. Bearing down on me with an urgent need to present myself to her, to propose the idea of me to her. Of us as more than friends. Of her as much more than just a person I favor. As the woman I need. That I love.
I know that now. I accept that now. I'm a doctor. I'm trained to take whatever symptoms present and diagnose the underlying pathology. Why had I taken so long to do the same in my own life? Why had I been reluctant to tell the woman that I love, just that? The logic of how I've been trained to think, to solve for medical puzzles hasn't equipped me with the tools to personally fix what ails me. But last night, I had made up my mind to address that.
Which is why I need to talk to her I think, the idea that she has already left hospital grounds causing agitation to take root. I have to find her. Now. I need to make sense of whatever I overheard from the bits and pieces of her phone conversation with Akash. What did she accept from him? There seemed to be something deeply personal imbedded in their conversation, but I couldn't readily determine exactly what it could be. The question of his intent in reaching out to her after so much time has passed since they were together, has been bobbing like a fishing lure in the turbulent waves of my mind all night. It wasn't so much the words she gifted him, her ascent to something he had asked of her, as it was the nervous flit of her eyes towards me when she said them. As though she had been caught doing something. Saying something she shouldn't. Accepting something from him. But, what could it be?
There is history there between her and Dr. Panthaki. I know that. They dated. They had a thing. That thing, as far as I know, is over. Helen has only admitted to me that while he offered her everything she wanted, things just didn't work out between them. Fair enough. He's in London now. She's here with me. So why have I been so uneasy? My thoughts so consumed with untangling the puzzle of Helen's overheard conversation with her ex, that I could only provide laconic, brief retorts to even the most complex of discussions.
Before I can decide on my next move, get my body going in the opposite direction to collect Luna and go looking for Helen, I'm accosted by Brantley, rushing towards me, frantically waving a sheet of paper in her hand.
"Max! There you are. Can you explain this?" she demands, thrusting the paper towards me, forcing it to my face. As my eyes adjust and begin reading the text of Brantley's email from Helen, instantly the uneasy feeling hovering over me, crashes down, immobilizing me.
"I- I don't understand. When did you get this?"
"I just saw it, but it shows she sent it an hour ago. What's going on here? Did you know about this? Why didn't you say something?" she asks, her rapid-fire barrage of questions wounding me, each hitting their target with precision that could prove fatal. What is going on here? Why didn't I know about this?
"No. No, I didn't know." I stutter, my lips almost numb from the embarrassing sting of having to admit that to Brantley. That I was not aware that Helen, my person, my everything had decided to resign from her position at New Amsterdam.
XXXX
Bobbing Luna on my lap, during our descent into Heathrow Airport, my eyes fixed more on the cloudy cover of the lonely British island coming into view outside of my window, than on my daughter as her chubby fingers flex through the bristles of my beard, I take in on last deep breath. A futile attempt to calm myself before what I can only imagine is the oncoming storm I will meet when I finally get to Helen. An emotional storm might be putting it lightly. I'm probably willingly about to walking into a torrent of truths and realities that I may or may not be ready for. But, as I said to Iggy when he delivered to me the letter and hospital issued phone that Helen had left with him for me, I have to figure this out.
I had fallen in love. I should have let her know that when she was in New York, but I couldn't. I didn't know how. Perhaps for me, the biggest blocker to following my heart along the blazing trail of whatever the possibility of her and me could mean... has been this innate fear of rejection. Of loss. Again. There are a million reasons why Helen and I can't be. Shouldn't be. I'm her boss. I come with so much baggage. Single father, a widow. With a small child. But what has kept me from fully turning away from her, even as I fruitlessly sought a connection with another woman, was that I knew. I knew that no other woman was like Helen.
And selfishly, as Iggy carefully studied me. Probably clinically assessing the frantic anxiety that I'm sure was coming off of me in waves, as he patiently appeared to be looking for the right words to help me, eventually settling on something simple. Direct. Minimal but helpful, he offered that Helen had gone to London. Accepted a position as the director for a new medical center, and perhaps I should be happy for her and let her go. I could only stare at him, the solitary utterance, "No," leaving my mouth once. Then again, as he pushed forward, Iggy probed, asked in that Socratic way of his, if this was not for the best. If maybe, just maybe this would allow Helen to find her own happiness after too much disappointment, much the same way that I had. I know he was giving me an out. Iggy was offering me a way to give Helen what she thinks she wants.
Washing over with shame, I remember the words of the letter that is now tucked away carefully in my wallet. Its brief declaration puzzling, but laden with sadness as well as something apparent but unspoken.
Max,
I realize this will catch you off guard, and I'm sorry that I'm too much of a coward to have said this to your face, but please try to appreciate that after all we have been through as colleagues and friends, why that would have been difficult for me, even if it is what you deserved. Your friendship has meant everything to me, but therein lies the problem.
Resigning from my position at New Amsterdam is hard. Losing my position as Deputy Medical Director, and Head of the Oncology Department was hard. But what I'm doing now, what I'm leaving for, is easy. And right now, I need easy. I need a win. A something that is just for me, and I haven't had that in a very long time. Please wish me luck on this journey, and hug Luna for me.
Love,
Helen
That's how I find myself here, in a first-class seat that cost more than my monthly mortgage payment, my baby girl on my lap, and my emotions clogged in my throat as I rehearse what I want to say to Helen.
Halting my ruminations, the flight attendant places her hand lightly on my shoulder, and in a posh accent that reminds me of Helen in a way that shocks me, politely asks, "Sir, please ensure that your lap belt is secured as we begin our descent, and prepare your baby as well."
My lips don't move. They can't. My brain is short circuiting as the familiar warmth of the way her words sound, falls into my ears. Soothes my agitation and nerves. Unexplainably this woman's voice has made me feel closer to Helen but have also given me pause. Caused some tension that I can't quite account for.
Instead of answering her as she moves on to the next passenger, I just dumbly nod and fumble to try and re-clasp my seat belt. As I do so, maneuvering around as I attempt to maintain my hold on Luna as she begins to fuss in kind, the woman in the pod seating next to mine reaches her hands out to me.
With a smile to her lips, she offers, "She has been such a good baby this whole trip. I have to admit I was worried when I saw a single man and a child sitting next to me for a six-hour flight. But, she did amazing, and you were so good with her." Tilting her head a bit to the left as though she is checking to see how I have taken her observation, grinning, she squints her dark brown eyes behind her thick glasses, and the bronze cast of her smooth skin animates in a way that I have noticed with Helen when something truly intrigues or delights her. It lives in the dancing light behind her eyes, and the glow that shines a deep umber beneath her honeyed skin, a rosy blush to the apples of her cheeks. Even the tilt of this woman's head calls to mind the last night I saw Helen. Swaths of her long hair tickling a path over shoulder, resting against her delicate collarbone, while only a solitary few inched down the spine of her back. It was those few that stole my focus as I lay on her bed, feeding Luna a bottle. The fingers of my hand almost reached for her, their sinful intent to dutifully follow the path from the tip of those few braids down her spine. Past the hem of her thin, silky camisole. Down. Further still. The imagined buttery softness of her skin that my fingers would surely have found there, and further still once I might reach the curved dip at where her spine and round bottom meet. I recall blinking, slowly, lustfully seduced with my own imagination conjuring all manner of sinful thoughts. That was until she muttered those fateful words to her ex, a promise that she punctuated with a guilty glance my way, and short nod to his face beaming delightedly through the glowing screen of her phone.
In this moment, I am once again entranced, entrenched in how every sight and sound right now seems to be pulling me into thoughts of Helen. Soldering my feelings to memories of her as I move closer to where she now is.
Recapturing my attention, the passenger next to me moves her body closer. "Would you like for me to take her for a moment while you situate yourself? Get yourself together?" She asks knowingly, gesturing in a slow sweeping motion with the pointed of her index finger.
Chuckling softly, hoping that it dims what is probably a scarlet blush to my face, bolstered by thoughts of Helen, I search for the proper response, "Ah..."
"If it makes you feel better, I have four children, and twelve grandchildren of my own, I'm good with babies."
"Sure, ok. Thank you." I answer, handing Luna over to the older woman, whose eyes seem to soften as she looks her over, her smile never faltering. "You are a beautiful angel, and you've been a very good girl for your daddy." She coos, and Luna gurgles in that cute baby talk of hers, smiling in return. As I ease into my seat, allowing my back to fall into repose a bit, my nerves seem to unfurl themselves enough for me to relax in this moment. This brief respite from my thoughts, and from trying to manage a baby on a plane. Trying to manage myself.
"You know, I remember in my day, husbands weren't as involved as you young guys seem to be nowadays. My Howard wouldn't have dreamed of even leaving the house with one of our kids when they were a baby. Your wife is lucky that you are so involved."
"Ah..."
"No, don't be bashful about that, young man." Securing Luna on her lap, she holds her steady with one hand, and pats my left one with her free hand, just above my wedding ring, the glint catching my eye, holding my attention. "It is a special thing for a man to give to his partner as well has he gets. Do you know what I mean?" Turning her gaze back to mine, as I numbly allow my eyes to raise from the shiny gold band to her face, she focuses on me for a moment, and despite the general unease I feel about haunting mentions of Georgia, and the specter of my ring still resting on my finger, I'm immediately confronted with the less painful thought of Helen as my partner instead, and the recurring idea of whether or not I'm giving her what she needs.
In the silence my non-response creates, she continues, "When you have someone in your life that gives to you. Fills your life with comfort and love, support, then you have to be sure you give that in kind. My Howard was a good husband, but I would be lying if I said that I couldn't have used a bit more support, more of return of what I gave him. You though, you seem to be taking care of that in spades. Good for you." With a final pat to my arm, she centers her focus back onto Luna, and leaves me with the weight of that last thought.
Had I given to Helen as good as I got from her? Iggy mentioned something to me as I charged away from his office, something that is just now coming back to me. He said that maybe Helen wasn't running away from New Amsterdam, but maybe she was running towards something. Those words didn't resonate with me then. They couldn't. I was so upset, so hurt, so caught up in how her leaving had made me feel...so ready to do something to help this situation. To solve this new problem of why Helen had left me, that I didn't allow myself to even consider that I had not ever given her enough of me. I had never given her a reason to stay.
With the announcement over the speakers that the plane was beginning its descent into London, and as I accepted Luna back into my arms, I also accepted that Helen had easily become my something. Every day before Georgia died, and after, she had been my rock, my confidant, the one person that I had built such a strong connection to that her presence in my life meant everything.
Standing, beginning to disembark, tension again stiffens my limbs as I consider that while my mission to find Helen and bring her back to me felt noble at first, necessary, it may in reality be a fool's selfish errand. That something that she had accepted from Akash? The something that piqued my curiosity and stiffened my spine. It may have very well been the something that Helen has long needed from me.