Death doesn't discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints
It takes and it takes and it takes
We keep living anyway
We rise and we fall and we break
And we make our mistakes
And if there's a reason I'm still alive
When everyone who loves me has died
I'm willing to wait for it
I'm willing to wait for it
"Wait for It", Hamilton
September 11, 2020
Nathaniel's glowing. From the top of his perfectly-coiffed hair to the tips of his shiny, chestnut dress shoes. He strides confidently out of the lobby elevator mid-morning with pep in his step and a smile as bright as sunshine. Rebecca's chest tightens with pride at the sight of him.
The day of Melissa's hearing couldn't have come soon enough. The process dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Once he returned from Guatemala, Nathaniel took over as lead counsel on a handful of Paula's cases to lighten her load. Rejuvenated from his time away, he hit the ground running, driving Melissa's case forward to this, hopefully, satisfying conclusion. The evidence is airtight and, in roughly an hour, Melissa should be freed from prison. Rebecca wishes she could play hooky to watch it all unfold in person.
"I can't wait to see her face," he says when he approaches the Rebetzel's counter, not needing to provide any context.
"I know," she replies, beaming, and hands him a takeaway coffee cup. "This is a big day. Long time coming."
He accepts the coffee with a grateful smile and continues, "That moment when the judge grants her release . . . that's the moment I live for."
Rebecca can't help but grin – all toothy and goofy – at his infectious, joyous legal euphoria.
AJ emerges from the back room with a tray of Rebecca's newest creation. "Peanut butter and jelly pretzel," he announces as he sets the tray down on the counter, "The monstrosity literally no one asked for."
Rebecca ignores his jab, not breaking eye contact with Nathaniel.
"I want you to know I'm really proud of you," she says with sincerity.
He stops mid-sip of his coffee to gawk at her, surprised. Maybe those are words he hasn't heard in a long time. Maybe those are words he's never heard.
"I never see you as happy as when you're in court standing up for these women. You really shine up there, Nathaniel," she says, echoing the same sentiment he said to her so many months ago at her first open mic. She pauses for effect, hoping he remembers. Those words meant everything to her in that moment and she hopes they carry the same weight for him.
"Wow," he rasps, "Thank you."
"Lord, get a room," AJ mutters under his breath.
Nathaniel's phone chirps in his pocket, piercing the bubble of their tender moment. Setting down his coffee on the counter, he rummages through his pocket to find his phone. "Might be for the case," he explains.
"Of course. Take it."
"Actually, it's my father," he says, his eyebrows squishing in confusion as he reads his phone screen. "That's weird. He's on a business trip in Arizona." He swipes his thumb across the screen to accept the call. "Dad, hi."
His father's voice muffled on the other end, Rebecca can't make out exactly what he's saying. His tone is characteristically gruff and matter-of-fact sounding. Whatever he's saying, it makes Nathaniel's eyes whip to hers then go wide.
"Oh. Oh my god," he gasps. His face goes pale. His mouth gapes open.
"What?" Rebecca stage-whispers.
"Of course. I'll go right now. See you there," he says, his voice shaky as he ends the call.
"What is it?"
He rubs his forehead, then states in an almost robotic tone, "My mom was in a car accident. She's at Cedars-Sinai in the ICU."
Rebecca scurries out from behind the counter to be by his side. "Oh my god. Is she OK?"
AJ goes still and watches on with interest, pausing his restocking efforts.
"I don't know. He's, um, he's taking the next flight in," Nathaniel says, disbelieving. He scrubs his hand over his face. Then with a sudden stroke of realization, he groans, "Shit, Melissa."
The excruciating turmoil of indecision is written all over his face. Paralyzed, stricken, he stands frozen in place, like all four of his limbs simultaneously gave up on him and refuse to budge. Whatever tiny shred of protective, maternal instinct she has kicks into high gear as she watches him wrestle with this flood of emotions. She tries to muster the most calm, commanding version of herself to overcompensate for his utter devastation.
"Nathaniel," she says to get his attention, snapping her fingers in front of his face, "listen to me. Here's what we're going to do."
He blinks several times in quick succession and tries to focus on her face, clearly prepared to follow any instructions she gives him.
Thinking on her feet, she spouts off, "You are going to drive to the hospital. You're going to give me your case notes and I am going to call Paula and she and I will figure something out, OK? Got it?"
He takes a deep, unsteady breath. "OK," he exhales.
He shrugs his messenger bag off his shoulder and she takes charge, grabbing the bag and plunking it on the closest table. She unzips it and removes a thin, professional-looking folio stuffed to the brim with papers.
"This it?"
He nods blankly.
"OK, you go," she insists, handing him the bag and giving him a gentle push on the arm.
Without another word, he turns on his heels and exits the building. She stares down at the black folder, unsure what to do next.
"Wow, that was intense," AJ remarks. His voice is devoid of its usual snark, holding only genuine concern. "You should go. Go call Paula. I got this," he says with a reassuring half-smile.
"Thank you. Truly."
"Maybe clean that crusted pot from your mac and cheese that's been sitting in the sink for three days?"
"Done!" she yells over her shoulder as she rushes to the door.
As she walks to the parking lot, she frantically scrolls through her phone for Paula's name. She presses with force on her name and listens while it rings. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer.
"Come on. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up," she chants as she approaches her car. The call goes to voicemail as she plops down in the driver's seat.
She calls again. And again it goes to voicemail.
"Fuck!" she shouts, hitting both her hands hard against the steering wheel in frustration.
The clock taunts her from the dashboard and she drums her hands over the wheel, a hot panic coursing through her veins. She doesn't have time to waste sitting in the parking lot waiting for Paula to take her call. Making a split second decision, she slams the car into reverse. There's no choice, really.
Traffic is light mid-day, but Rebecca fully deploys her lead foot anyway and cruises across town in record time. As each minute passes, she mentally recalculates how much time she has to convince Paula to represent Melissa and then drive to the courthouse. Thirty minutes. Twenty-five minutes. Her parking job is so haphazard, she somehow manages to cross not one but two yellow lines in the process.
She stumbles in the door and immediately barks at the receptionist, out-of-breath, "I need to see Paula Proctor!"
The young man sitting behind the desk in a slick navy suit arches an eyebrow at her. No matter how many times she visits Paula's office, Rebecca is struck by how sleek and professional it is compared to Mountaintop.
"Do you have an appointment?" he asks with an air of arrogance, like he already knows the answer.
"No, but it's an emergency. Please!"
"Let me see if she's available," he says far too slowly for the urgency of the situation. He picks up the phone receiver and dials an extension. Eyeing her from head to toe, he says, "Hi Paula, there is a . . . fast food worker here to see you."
The last thing she needs is to embarrass Paula at her place of work, so she quickly unties and removes her apron, smoothes out her blouse.
"Rebecca. My name is Rebecca. I'm her best friend."
She bounces on her toes while tapping her fingers furiously against her palm.
"Rebecca. She says it's an emergency," he says in a flat monotone, "OK, I'll send her in." He hangs up the phone and adds, deadpan, "Follow me."
Practically about to jump out of her own skin, she trails the receptionist a little too closely until she spots Paula through the window of her office. She's seated at a small table with an older gentleman in a pale blue polo and khakis. Once she's in sight, Rebecca pushes past the receptionist and Paula's eyes go wide when she sees the distress on Rebecca's face.
"This will just take one moment," Paula says to the man as she steps into the hallway.
Closing the door gently behind her, Paula asked in a hushed tone, "Sweetie, what's going on? I'm with a client."
"I am so sorry, but I really need your help. You need to fill in for Nathaniel at Melissa's hearing. His mother was in a car accident and he had to go to LA," she says in a whoosh.
Paula checks her watch. "That hearing is in thirty minutes."
"Please," Rebecca begs, folding her hands together in prayer, "Please, Paula. I haven't asked for a favor in a super long time. You know how hard it was for Nathaniel to get this date. Who knows how long it would take to get another hearing. Please. Please. Please."
Paula glances into her office at her client, then back to Rebecca.
"Jacob," she addresses the receptionist, "reschedule my appointment with Mr. Martinez for next week."
"Oh Paula," Rebecca gushes, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
Paula returns to her office and offers a rushed apology to her client, grabbing her purse on the way out.
"Let's roll."
The two make it to the courthouse with only seven minutes to spare. Melissa is visibly relieved when Paula walks into the courtroom, expelling a deep breath. Rebecca takes a seat in the first row just behind counsel while Paula confers with Melissa and explains the situation.
With the evidence so clear-cut, the case is a slam dunk and Paula easily argues for Melissa's release with no hiccups. As always, Paula is impressive and commanding in the courtroom, even with such short notice to fill in, further bolstering Rebecca's belief that Paula was made for this line of work.
As the judge announces the terms of Melissa's release, Rebecca pays close attention to Melissa's reaction. She cups both her hands over her mouth, her entire face crumbling with relief. Tears instantly begin to flow down her cheeks and Paula grabs her hand and whispers something encouraging to her with a smile.
This is the moment, she thinks. This is the moment Nathaniel lives for. And he's missing it.
After they both stand, Melissa gathers Paula into a crushing hug and says through her tears, "Thank you. Thank you. You and Nathaniel are my guardian angels."
Rebecca swallows a lump in her throat. If only he could witness this first-hand.
"Please tell Nathaniel thank you for everything he did," she says to Paula when she pulls away, insistent, tightly holding both her hands, "Make sure he knows."
"Of course. I will," Paula says, "I promise."
Finally able to breathe, Rebecca excuses herself from the courtroom to call Nathaniel. She's itching to know if he made it to the hospital and wants to at least give him this small bit of good news.
The phone rings and rings and rings with no answer.
"Why is no one answering their phones today?!" she cries with frustration.
"Honey, what's wrong?" Paula asks and Rebecca jumps. She hadn't even noticed Paula leave the courtroom she was so wrapped up in trying to reach Nathaniel. "We did it! You should be happy. Justice has been served."
"Nathaniel's not answering his phone."
"It's OK. We can catch up with him later."
Rebecca chews at her bottom lip, white-knuckling the phone.
"You're worried about him," Paula states, matter-of-fact.
"ICU means it's bad, right? That's bad? Really bad?"
"Well, it's not good."
Rebecca stares down at the drab carpet and pulls nervously on her ear.
"Why don't you just go to the hospital?"
"You think I should?"
"If this is serious, he could probably use the support. I mean, who else does he have? His garbage father?"
Rebecca wrings her fingers together, indecisive. "You really think I should just show up?"
"Showing up is just about the most romantic thing you can do for someone."
Rebecca sighs, "You know it's not like that."
Paula holds Rebecca's eyes steady for a beat, then cups her shoulder. "Honey, I want to say something to you. I know you'll probably tell me I'm wrong, but I want you to just listen for a second."
"OK . . ." Rebecca says warily.
"If you love Nathaniel, that is a wonderful thing," she says earnestly, rubbing her shoulder.
"Paula, no –" she rasps, her throat tightening.
"I know that people around here are very opinionated about your love life, but you have to do what's right for you. You wouldn't be letting anyone down. You know that, right? It's OK to let yourself have this."
Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, fighting the overwhelming urge to say: No, I don't deserve this. I'm not allowed to have this. I'm broken and stupid and I'll screw it all up.
"Munchkin," Paula says softly, beseeching, "do you love him? Don't you lie to me."
Her chin quivers and the words catch in her throat, "Of course I do."
"Oh sweetie," Paula coos and wraps her arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a fierce hug.
"I love him. I want to be with him," Rebecca whimpers into her shoulder. It fills her with a warm rush of relief to be able to vocalize it after bottling up her feelings for so long.
"I know. I know it's hard."
"It doesn't matter," Rebecca says forlornly as she pulls away, wiping at her nose, "It doesn't matter how I feel."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't love me back," she says with a pathetic sniffle.
"What?! Oh please," Paula scoffs.
"No no, you don't understand. I know he doesn't. There have been so many opportunities for things to happen between us. And, nothing. He never acts on it. One time he was even on top of me – long story – and he jumped off of me like I had the plague."
Paula steeples her fingers together and purses her lips. "Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we? V's wedding. I walked in on the two of you dancing on the stairs. In the moonlight. Cheek-to-cheek. Hips-to-hips. He was singing softly in your ear. You were swooning."
Rebecca rolls her eyes. "We were dancing. So what? He was my platonic date. Dancing is pretty much part of the deal."
"Fine. What about your shows?"
"What about them?"
"All I know is every month I sit next to that boy while he gives you these big, dopey, emoji heart eyes the entire time you're singing."
"Yeah, so?"
"Aaand the way he kisses you at the end of the night . . ." she starts, her eyebrows raising.
"Kisses me?"
"On the cheek, but still! There is lingering. Major lingering. That means he doesn't want it to end! He loves you! Face it!"
Rebecca's stomach does a somersault. God, she wants so badly for it to be true but is too afraid to let herself believe it.
"Alright, alright, calm down. I get your point."
"If you love him, you should go to him. Whether he's willing to admit it or not, he needs you. All you have to do is be there. Even if it means sitting in silence with him. It helps. It's a comfort just knowing someone is there."
"You're right," Rebecca says, suddenly resolute, "There are so many times my friends have been there for me. I want to be there for him. It's my turn."
"That's my cookie," Paula says with pride, touching the side of her face affectionately.
Rebecca is all nerves and jitters as she drives to LA, all the unknowns swirling like a tornado in her head. With the complete radio silence from Nathaniel, she has no idea what she's walking into, except that it can't be good. She has no plan for what she will do or say or even how to get into the ICU when she gets there, but Paula's words propel her forward despite all these uncertainties.
When the hospital receptionist in purple scrubs asks for the name of the person she's visiting, Rebecca realizes she doesn't even know his mother's first name.
"Last name is Plimpton. I think she's in the ICU. I'm her, uh, niece."
"Uh huh. And first name?"
Rebecca tries to conjure every WASP-y, rich-sounding name she can imagine. "Oh, you know, we always call her by nicknames. Kitty. Bitsy. But I'm sure she's under her full name."
"Elizabeth?" the receptionist offers.
"Yes, of course. That's it."
She confidently sticks the visitor name badge on her chest, pretending she belongs. With every tentative step through the hospital on her way to the ICU, she second-guesses her decision to come. She figures it could go one of two ways. He could be grateful for her support. After all, she's his best friend – he's said as much to her out loud. However, in moments of emotional vulnerability, his reactions can be hit-or-miss at best. He's lashed out when he's felt weak or hurt in the past and he could do it again. It's an impulse she understands all too well. Consequently, she's not sure which Nathaniel she'll find at the end of the long series of corridors.
She finally spots him standing just outside of a curtained area, speaking with a woman in a white coat.
". . . and the impact of the collision caused her to go into a coma. However, the CT scan doesn't show any evidence of a brain injury, which is a good sign. Usually the likelihood of a patient waking up from a coma is, sadly, fifty-fifty. But from what we've seen, we're optimistic she could come out of it. We'll monitor her closely, but we can't operate on her leg until her vitals improve. It would be too risky. All we can do at this point is wait."
"Understood. Thank you, doctor."
Rebecca hovers nearby and waits for the doctor to disappear down the hall before approaching him.
"Nathaniel."
Nathaniel turns at the sound of her voice. His face is drawn with a dull pallor, his eyes glassy. At the sight of her standing beside him, his muscles tense and he stretches to full height. Without saying a word, she knows exactly which Nathaniel she's getting.
"What are you doing here?"
Her stomach drops. This may be the worst idea she's ever had.
"You weren't answering your phone," she says timidly.
"So you just show up here?"
"I just . . . wanted to make sure you were OK."
Nathaniel's never felt taller, she thinks, as he towers over her like a cold, unfeeling skyscraper.
"I heard what the doctor said," she murmurs.
His stoic facade cracks and he glances toward the curtain, where his mother is barely concealed behind its paper-thin fabric.
"What kind of surgery does she need?" she asks softly.
"Um," he swallows, "both her tibia and fibula are broken in her left leg. She needs reconstructive surgery, but they have to wait until she wakes up. If she wakes up." He doesn't look her in the eyes – he can't – and he tightly clenches his fist at his side.
"Will she walk again?"
"They don't know."
She shifts her weight from one leg to another, unsure what to say.
Tension rolls off his body in waves, compelling her to smooth it away. "I'm sorry," she whispers, reaching out and touching his bicep.
He jerks his arm away and glances frantically down the hall. "My father's going to be here any second," he snaps.
Anger surges through her and she fires back without thinking, "I thought you didn't care what your precious daddy thinks. Now, what, you don't want to be seen with the Rooftop Killer?"
The regret is instantaneous. She's made a fatal error, further fueling his instinct to push her away. What a perfect moment to backslide, she thinks.
"First of all, I am not with you. You are not my girlfriend, so stop acting like it."
She sucks in a sharp breath at his words, her chest clenching in pain. They're on a one-way speeding train toward a tunnel of self-destruction, courtesy of her complete inability to regulate her emotional reactions. At least he has an excuse for his outburst. An excuse lying a few feet away in a hospital bed. She has none.
"Go home," he says dismissively, turning his back to her. Stiff as a board. With each step he takes away from her, she feels the emotional distance widening like an endless, vast chasm.
She panics.
"Melissa is free," she calls after him.
That stops him in his tracks. The muscles in his neck flex, ripple with tension.
"What?" he whispers as he spins around to face her.
"After you left, I rushed over to Paula's office – I went about a billion miles an hour. Probably should have gotten a ticket. Anyway, I begged her to take your place and she did! She filled in for you and Melissa is being released. You did it, Nathaniel."
He clears his throat and his jaw tightens. He's funneling every ounce of energy into not showing any emotion, into keeping up this futile fight against her support.
"I watched Melissa's face for you when the judge announced the verdict. I wanted to be able to tell you how she looked. She, um, her face did this scrunchy thing and she cried. She hugged Paula. She said you're her guardian angel. So, that's what happened. I'm sorry you missed that moment."
His lips part and a shaky, quavering breath escapes his lips. His words are harsh, but his voice completely betrays him, faltering and cracking over the syllables, "What, you want an award for not being selfish for once?"
She smiles tenderly up at him, seeing straight through his feeble, final attempt to push her away.
Confidently, she says, "Here's what I'm going to do. You don't want your uptight dad to see me? Fine. Since you're obviously going to stay here overnight, I'm going to book a hotel room across the street. Which you will pay me back for later, of course. I will be there all night. So you can choose to join me or not. Either way, I am not leaving you here alone."
Nathaniel's eyes dart to the ceiling, still fighting. "Your show is tonight," he croaks.
"I'll skip it."
"It's important to you."
"You're important to me."
He finally meets her eyes and he rubs his hand absently over his chest. Over his heart.
"The shows will always be there. You need me now. Whether or not your stubborn self wants to admit it."
He says nothing, stunned speechless. And that's how she knows she's right.
"I'll make sure they have a key for you at the front desk."
He nods once, curt, and doesn't stop her when she walks away.
The entertainment options at the hotel leave a lot to be desired. Before heading up to the room, Rebecca gets a glass of wine at the bar adjacent to the lobby. Much to her chagrin, the bartender doesn't seem keen on holding a conversation. Loitering alone at the bar only brings back cursed memories of Marco and the tragic butt-dial that caused her to make one of the worst mistakes of her life. She vacates her barstool and crosses to a tiny gift shop with touristy knick-knacks. She buys an oversized I LOVE LA t-shirt so she has something to sleep in that's not her unforgiving jeans and button-up blouse. Opting for the comforting combination of a gourmet burger and parmesan garlic fries, she settles in on one of the two queen-sized beds and watches a mindless Hallmark romantic comedy. As always, there's a marathon in progress.
At ten o'clock, she starts to wonder if he's not coming. She's received zero notifications. No calls. No texts. Not even in response to her sending the room number. She can't help but worry that maybe his anger wasn't a front. Maybe he is truly mad at her for showing up at the hospital.
Eventually the combination of heavy food, wine, and the predictably dull movie start to lull her. Her eyelids droop and she floats lazily toward the precipice of sleep, still fully dressed with all the lights in the room still on. The moment she drifts off, she hears a faint beep from the hallway. Then, the click of the door unlocking. Nathaniel's tall, slim outline is unmistakable in the doorway. In one of his hands, he's holding a grey duffel bag.
Rebecca stirs and unfolds her hands where they lay across her stomach. "Hey," she says groggily, "is she awake?"
"No," he replies quietly.
She rubs at her eyes, then throws her legs over the side of the bed.
"Do you need something to eat or –?"
"No."
He stands just inside the doorway like a statue, silent and unmoving, staring vacantly into the middle distance. Shock. He's in shock, she thinks.
She drags herself out of bed and crosses to him, gingerly taking the gym bag out of his clenched hand.
"Alright buddy, you clearly need some sleep so let's get you into these clothes, huh?" she says casually, trying to put him at ease.
She takes his hand and tugs him gently toward the bed, setting the bag down on top of it. Unzipping the bag, she finds a grey t-shirt and cobalt blue athletic shorts. Well, she reasons, it's not like she hasn't undressed him a million times before. What's one more time?
First, the suit jacket. She pushes at the lapels until his brain gets the message and he shrugs his shoulders to help her ease it off. She tosses it unceremoniously over the nearby armchair. Next, the tie. As she expertly tugs at the knot, his hands come to rest warmly on either side of her waist. The knot slips loose after a few pulls, all while he watches her with a chillingly blank expression. The tie joins the pile with his suit jacket.
Next, his dress shirt. Oh, she has a very specific muscle memory for undoing these buttons. God knows how many times she's unbuttoned this exact crisp, white shirt. The first three buttons pop open with ease and reveal the upper part of his tanned chest. Resolved to not be distracted by his smooth skin, she doesn't linger or ogle and grabs at the bottom of his shirt to untuck it from his pants. She's determined to finish the job, no matter how overwhelming the urge to run her tongue over his breastbone is.
The moment her hands find his waistband, something clicks inside him. His hands leave her waist and fumble at the top button of her blouse. Apparently, he also has a specific muscle memory for undressing her. He easily unhooks the top two buttons, exposing the tops of her breasts to his icy blue gaze. With only a minimal amount of hesitancy, he slips his hand underneath her blouse. His fingertips run softly over her shoulder while his thumb reverently traces her collarbone. Her eyes slide shut for a moment, savoring his touch. She's ninety-nine percent sure he doesn't consciously realize what he's doing, but, lord, she doesn't want him to stop. It's been so long. So long since his elegant fingers danced over her skin like this.
As much as she wants to give in and let him take what he needs, she can't let it happen. She's waited too patiently for this to be something they regret later. There's no choice, really.
"Hey," she whispers softly, "What are you doing?"
His eyes snap up to hers, like he's come out of a trance. "I . . . I don't know."
She swallows hard, mustering the modicum of will power she has. "We can't," she whispers, "Not like this."
He nods, licks his lips. "Sorry. I'm sorry," he whispers, running his hand nervously through his hair.
"Can you do the rest?"
"Yeah."
In slow motion, he undresses the rest of the way and puts on his gym clothes. Rebecca turns away for modesty's sake and sheds her jeans and blouse, throwing on the t-shirt she found at the gift shop. After folding his clothes meticulously on top of the dresser, he lies down in the unoccupied bed opposite hers. Rebecca returns to her spot in the other bed and switches off the light. She watches his silhouette in the darkness as he stares at the ceiling, hands folded tightly over his stomach.
"Will you be able to sleep?" she asks softly, piercing the silence.
"I don't know. Don't worry about me."
She vigilantly watches the outline of his chest rise and fall until she can't keep her eyes open any longer.
"Rebecca."
When he whispers her name, rousing her from sleep, it takes a minute for her brain to catch up with her unfamiliar surroundings. No, she's not at home wrapped in the comfort of her own soft blankets. She's in a mediocre, cold hotel room wrapped in an itchy comforter. And she's not alone.
"Hmm?" she hums.
She squints at the nightstand to read the green glowing numbers on the alarm clock but her vision is too hazy to register the shapes.
"Are you awake?"
She chuckles, "I am now."
"Sorry. Can I, um, can I lie with you for a while?"
"Yeah, 'course," she mumbles, scooting away from the edge to make room.
Tentatively he pulls back the sheets and slides into the bed beside her. Still teetering on the delicate edge of sleep, she almost slips right back into unconsciousness once he settles. That is, until his nose nudges at her neck and his arm hints at her waist. His neediness for her is so palpable, so achingly transparent. She eases her arm under him and around his shoulders, beckoning him. With that slightest provocation, he readily buries his face in her neck. His hot tears sting her skin. Though he's made no sound and she can't see his face in the dark, her neck is bathed in the evidence that he's been crying for quite some time. She presses a compassionate kiss to his forehead and his arm tightens around her in response, his fingers clutching desperately at her thin t-shirt.
"I'm scared," he whispers, barely audible.
She combs her fingers through his hair. "I know, I know," she soothes.
"Any time I love someone," he cries, his voice breaking, "I lose them."
She's never seen him like this – so violently hopeless. Hooking her leg around his torso, she wraps him up in a full-body hug the best she can with her limited wingspan.
"I was a dick to you," he sobs, his breath puffing against her neck.
He was.
"Please don't leave."
She won't.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispers, "I'm here. I'm right here."
She strokes his back over all his muscles pulled taut as violin strings. He's gulping down every strangled breath, straining to contain the hurricane of emotions stored airtight within his chest.
"Just let go," she murmurs, pulling him even closer, "Let it out."
A loud sob wracks his entire body, the intensity of it knocking the wind out of her and causing tears to spring to her own eyes in an empathic response. He cries unabashedly in her arms, uncorking his entire backlog of repressed grief. There's nothing she can do but hold him, envelop him as tightly as she can in her arms and hope it's enough.
He quiets after some elusive amount of time. After the collar of her shirt is soaked with a mix of tears and sweat and desperation. As she rhythmically strokes his hair, hoping it will eventually calm him to sleep, she realizes that this is what it means to truly love someone. Love doesn't make everything into sunshine and rainbows and giant flying pretzels. Life doesn't stop throwing punches – and those punches don't get any less painful – just because you're in love. She's never wanted to take a punch for another person more than she does in this very moment. She wonders if this is how Nathaniel felt when he held her in the bathroom stall. Did he want to take away her pain like this? Is that why he keeps trying to rescue Rebetzel's?
Loving him makes her want to be like this – to be the person doing the holding, to be the person he can show all his insecurities to, unafraid. For someone who's so skilled at building walls around his feelings, she's never witnessed a more raw, real, intense display of emotion.
When his breathing finally evens out, she silently prays for him to find relief in sleep.
Early. It feels so damn early when Nathaniel's phone loudly vibrates on top of the night table.
The first thing she registers is his smell. His detergent and his skin and his sweat and his deodorant all mixed together spreading through her nostrils. Her nose is nuzzled in his t-shirt, nestled in the vast plane of his back. The second thing she notices is the heat radiating from his body, warming every place their bodies touch. The entire length of her is curled around him — her bare knees tucked into the backs of his, her arm protectively snug around his middle, her hand tucked in his palm somewhere near his stomach. The littlest big spoon.
Nathaniel releases her hand and clumsily feels around for his phone.
"Hello," he says, his voice raspy with sleep. Then, his voice suddenly becomes alert, "She is? OK, I'll come right now."
Nathaniel quickly springs up from bed, leaving her arms cold and empty.
"She's awake?"
"Yeah," he says with a tiny smile, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I'm, uh, I gotta go. She's going into surgery."
She sits up against the headboard, unsure how to proceed. Without missing a beat, he strips off his gym clothes and changes back into his pants and dress shirt from the previous day. Once dressed, he stares at himself disapprovingly in the mirror. His eyes are rimmed in red, tired. His face, pale. He tousles his hair to try to smooth away his bed head, straightens his collar, tucks his shirt into his pants.
Moving at a much slower pace, Rebecca rises from bed and finds her own clothes on the dresser. She pulls on her jeans, then turns away to remove her t-shirt and slip on her bra and button-up blouse. When she turns back, he's openly staring at her. She sidles up beside him and shares the mirror, throwing her hair into a messy ponytail as he watches.
"You don't have to, um, if you need to go home . . ."
"I don't need to go home. Do you want me to go home?"
He pauses and scrubs his hand over his face. His brow furrows, conflicted. This is still difficult for him. The middle of the night under a cloak of darkness is much different than the harsh light of morning where she can see his every expression, hear his words crystal clear. He lets out a shaky breath.
"There's nobody else but the two of us here," she reassures him.
His eyes stray, focus on the top button of her blouse, afraid to meet hers.
"Nathaniel," she says gently.
When his gaze finds her, it's naked, pleading. His words are caught somewhere in his chest, unable to escape.
"Ask me," she whispers.
A hint of a tiny smile flits across his lips. "Ask you what?"
"Ask me to stay. Ask me to come with you. If you need me, just ask."
He blinks hard, his emotions still so dangerously near the surface. "Please come with me," he says, "I need you."
"OK," she says, grabbing her purse from the dresser, "let's go."
At the hospital, Rebecca tries to keep in step with Nathaniel's long strides as he rushes through the hospital corridors to the operating rooms. She spots Nathaniel Sr. before he sees her, so she's able to watch his utter surprise at seeing her alongside his son. Like Nathaniel, he's in slacks and a white dress shirt, which must be the official Plimpton uniform.
"Any update?" Nathaniel asks as soon as they approach.
His father's eyes look from Nathaniel to Rebecca and back. "She woke up at about four in the morning and she stabilized enough to go into surgery. Depending on what they find, it could last up to four or five hours. They're putting in a rod and some screws in her ankle. Other than her leg, she doesn't appear to have sustained any other injuries."
"It's good news then," he replies with relief.
"They said, with what her car looked like, she's lucky to be alive."
Nathaniel nods and puts a hand on Rebecca's back. "Um, you know Rebecca?"
"Yes, I know who you are," he says with skepticism.
Rebecca shifts awkwardly and says, "I'm very sorry about your wife."
"Yes, well, let's sit down, I guess," Nathaniel Sr. offers, gesturing to the waiting room.
Nathaniel and his father sit across from one another and Rebecca takes a seat directly next to Nathaniel.
This is going to be a long five hours, she thinks, as she meets Nathaniel Sr.'s intimidating eyes. What is she allowed to say and do in front of his father? Just yesterday, Nathaniel didn't even want him to see her, let alone spend five hours in full view of his judgmental stare.
Nathaniel Sr. immediately opens his laptop and begins typing away at something. Something work-related, she assumes. Nathaniel, by contrast, seems too off-kilter to focus on much of anything. He scrolls through his phone for a bit, flipping through headlines. His leg bounces up and down restlessly on his heel.
Eager for a distraction, Rebecca picks up an old People magazine on a nearby side table and thumbs through it.
"Look, celebrities are just like us," she jokes softly, leaning in toward Nathaniel, "There's Matt Damon picking up his kid from school. Justin Timberlake in sweatpants getting Starbucks. Oh! And look, here's Emily Blunt after yoga in her effortlessly stylish athleisure. Didn't you say you have a crush on her?"
For the first time in hours, Nathaniel cracks a smile. He nods.
"Well, there's your girl. Probably works out just as much as you. Match made in heaven," she quips. She flips the page. "OK," she says excitedly, pressing the magazine to her chest, "I'm going to show you this page and you have to choose who wore it best. But you can't think about it. You have to go by instinct."
Nathaniel's smile gets wider and Rebecca notices Nathaniel Sr. watching them out of the corner of her eye.
"One, two, three," she says, then reveals the page to him. The magazine is comparing Julia Roberts against Katie Holmes who are both wearing the same stunning crimson red dress.
He points to Katie Holmes.
"What?! I completely disagree," she says, "You have terrible taste."
Nathaniel chuckles. "You're right, women's special event formalwear has always been my Achilles' heel."
"Actually, I disagree with this whole notion of pitting women against each other like this. Can't we agree they are both gorgeous?" she asks rhetorically. She turns the page. "Oh my god, listen to this: Hero Firefighter Protects Evacuees from California Wildfire. Let's read this. Sounds harrowing."
"Sure."
As she softly reads out loud to him, he relaxes, leaning back and resting his head against the wall. He closes his eyes, listens intently to the sound of her voice.
Once she reaches the third paragraph, his fingers nudge at hers. She stops reading for a moment and meets his eyes. His expression is tender, grateful, full of affection for her. A lump forms in her throat as he threads his trembling fingers with hers and squeezes.
I love you, she thinks. God, I hope you know how much I love you.
She chances a quick glance over at Nathaniel Sr. and he's attentively watching the entire silent exchange. She clears her throat and returns to reading the article as if nothing happened.
She loses track of how long they hold hands as she reads article after article to him.
The surgery doesn't last as long as the doctor initially estimated, wrapping up in less than four hours. A nurse leads the three of them to the recovery room, but policy allows only one visitor at a time.
"You go," Nathaniel Sr. says, "I saw her before she went into surgery."
Nathaniel nods and enters the room, leaving Rebecca alone with his father.
As the door is closing, Elizabeth reaches for Nathaniel and affectionately coos, "Oh, my sweet pea."
Left unchaperoned in the hallway across from Nathaniel Sr., Rebecca has not one clue what to say.
"Um –"
"You own that Rebetzel's now, right? In the lobby?"
"That's me. I'm Rebetzel's."
"I thought so," he says.
Evidently, that's the extent of the available small talk.
He clears his throat. "Listen, I know I gave Nathaniel a hard time about you, but I know what you did. You saved his life that day on the roof."
It's the last thing she expected to hear from him and a memory she's buried for quite some time.
"Oh. Oh, wow. Yeah, that was, uh, a really scary day."
She glances into the room and Nathaniel is sitting on the edge of his mother's bed, relief and happiness written all over his face.
"I know I've been tough on him," Nathaniel Sr. says wistfully, also watching the two through the glass. "My father was the same with me. I always thought it was my job as a parent to prepare him for the harsh reality of the real world."
Rebecca says nothing, curious as to where his monologue is going and, frankly, shocked that he's speaking openly with her at all.
He continues, "I never let him see my weakness. I thought it was my job to put on a brave face, no matter what."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Elizabeth," he says, nodding towards his wife. "She's my soft spot. She's the one person I can't hide anything from. She's the one person I don't want to hide anything from. And today, I saw that that's who you are to my son." He turns to face her and his expression is gentler, almost vulnerable. "I'm trying to say that I'm glad he has you, despite your . . . criminal record."
It's a sentiment she never in a million years expected to hear out of the mouth of Nathaniel Sr. Though, considering the circumstances, and especially if she reminds him of his wife in some small way, she supposes that emotional upheaval can glean a little kindness even out of the most stoic of people.
"Thank you, sir," she says and means it.
Nathaniel Sr. signals the end to their conversation with a nod she recognizes as so quintessentially Nathaniel, it makes her want to give him a chance. Maybe somewhere within him there's kindness and a heart, in the same way that Nathaniel's heart used to be so deeply buried under layers of protective tissue.
Nathaniel returns to the hallway and Nathaniel Sr. switches places with him, joining his wife in the recovery room.
"How is she?"
"She seems good, all things considered. She's on morphine, so she's a little loopy," he says with a half-grin.
"Will she walk?"
"She needs a lot of physical therapy, but she should be able to walk again if she sticks to it."
"That's great."
He rubs at the back of his neck. "Listen, I know it's been a long twenty-four hours. You can go. She's going to be discharged sometime tomorrow."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
She squints up at him, searching for any signs that he's lying and really does need her there. She finds none. He's telling the truth.
"OK then."
"So —"
"I guess I'll just —"
She sticks both her thumbs out and awkwardly gestures behind her before turning and walking away. She could use a shower, a decent meal, and a triple shot of espresso right about now. But she would have stayed another day if he had asked. It almost feels like leaving a piece of her heart behind, leaving him here after such a traumatic event.
When she's about to breach the double-doors to the next hallway, heavy footfalls get louder and louder behind her, speeding up as they get close.
"Rebecca, wait," Nathaniel calls out.
She whips around, assuming the worst. "What? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I, um, I didn't even . . . I don't know how to thank you. For everything you did. I should – I wanted to thank you," he says, stumbling over his words. "You covered my hearing and you missed your show and you sat here with me for hours. And last night . . ."
And there it is. The glimmer. The one she told Dr. Akopian about. That flicker of love for her in his eyes. She waits a beat for him to say something, as he inevitably does, that will make her doubt she ever saw it.
"Rebecca," he says, his voice becoming reverent and quiet. "Sorry, I'm so bad at this."
He wets his lips and his eyes turn soft and adoring. Full of an emotion she's too afraid to name.
He gives you these big, dopey, emoji heart eyes.
Unable to form the words, he ducks low and gathers her into his arms. She wraps hers securely around his shoulders, melting her body to his. Tucking his face into her neck, his nose tickles a sensitive patch of skin that sends a tiny shiver through her. His hold on her is tight, so tight. For a brief moment, her toes leave the ground and she's tempted to abandon all semblance of decorum and hike her legs around his waist. Cling to him like a needy little barnacle. The time and place couldn't be worse, so she tamps down that urge and saves it for later.
"See, you're not so bad at this," she says with a joking lilt.
He laughs, the vibrations of it rumbling through her chest.
"Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He kisses her in the crook of her neck and she strokes her fingers through his hair, applying the tiniest bit of pressure.
There is lingering. Major lingering. That means he doesn't want it to end!
When he finally releases her, he has the same expression as before he hugged her. The glimmer is still there, even stronger, in his eyes.
Is it possible . . . is it too much to hope that he's having a moment? (There's always a moment.)
How long can they stare at each other like this before she spontaneously combusts? Because she doesn't know what to say or do next, she takes both his hands in hers.
"Call me if anything changes or if you need anything, OK?"
His breathing is shallow and staccato and unsure, like there's a million things on the tip of his tongue but he can't quite articulate any of it. He swallows and gives her a nervous smile. Finally, he simply says, "OK. I will."
She gives his hands a final squeeze and resumes her walk down the corridor. When she gets to the doors at the end, she glances back over her shoulder and he's still watching her, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Maybe, just maybe, Paula is right.
He gives her a tiny wave and mouths Bye.