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Agreeing to meet at this bar had been a bad idea.
Samira wasn't new to this particular dive. Jacob's neighborhood was one she was intimately familiar with, despite the fact that she and Jacob had only been on two dates. She knew which coffeeshop made a decent chai and which pizza place stayed open until 3 am. But she was pretending she didn't. Jacob didn't need the details of why she was so familiar with the area–details of the six months she spent more nights at a little blue craftsman down the road than she did in her own apartment. There were a lot of details Jacob didn't need.
Jacob had suggested the bar for their third date, and Samira couldn't think of a reason to say no. Well, she could. But not one she was willing to share with Jacob. And he was always so agreeable. Samira wanted to believe she could be agreeable too. So she said yes and found herself leaning against a familiar bar, waiting for the bartender to make eye contact with her.
"Dave, can I get a double Johnny Black and a whiskey ginger with a cherry?" a man called out from behind her. Samira hated the way her breath caught at the gruff, familiar voice ordering her favorite drink.
"Sure thing, Dr. Jack," the bartender answered, easily.
Samira steeled herself, keeping her face as neutral as possible as she turned to look at Jack. His curls were a little frazzled, as though he had been running his fingers through them, the way he did when his thoughts got the better of him. Purple shadows darkened his under eyes, and stubble covered his jaw. It did nothing to detract from how handsome he was. Samira had always loved him a little unkempt, knew there was defiance in allowing himself some measure of scruffy disarray after years where order was so tightly regimented.
"You didn't need to do that, Abbot," Samira said, trying for detached but not quite managing it.
"You know as well as I do you would have been standing here forever before you got his attention," Jack replied.
"Well. You certainly are more his type than I am," she countered.
"I don't know about that. I think you may be everyone's type, Mohan." She could hear the flirt in his voice, but it was tempered by something heavier than exhaustion. Samira hadn’t been the recipient of Jack’s flirting in almost three months, and she was loath to admit that being at the center of Jack Abbot’s attention still made her feel warm and a touch giddy.
“Not everyone’s, apparently,” she muttered, more to herself than to Jack.
“Oh come on, Mira. You know that’s not why–”
And truly she did. When Jack ended things between them, that night on the roof after shift, he had been very clear. He assured her that it was simply for the best. He was too old for her. Too broken. That it was inappropriate for them to have started up together in the first place. He was certain he would only hold her back. Her objections–that none of that mattered, that she loved him enough that all of that seemed inconsequential–had fallen on deaf ears.
Jack had insisted that there was someone out there young and whole and appropriate that she should be building her future with, and it felt like a punch to the gut. She had been daydreaming about a future with Jack for their entire six month relationship. Longer even, if she was being honest.
“It’s good to see you, Jack,” she cut him off. And it wasn’t even a lie. Not totally anyway. She had been dodging him for a while, only picking up doubles when she knew Shen was the attending. She had feared that being around him would feel like she had swallowed lead, heavy and dense in her stomach, something not quite grief, but close. And she wasn’t entirely wrong. Seeing him, knowing he was no longer hers, felt like a loss. Even so, simply sharing space with him made her feel more like herself than she had in months.
“You too. What brings you to my neck of the woods? Hoping to run into me?” His tone seemed to be an attempt at teasing, but the spark of mischief in his eyes Samira knew should ordinarily accompany it was notably absent.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I am actually meeting someone. You know Dr. Temple, right? He’s the new Ophthalmology attending?”
“Opthamoligst. Interesting. First date?” Abbot asked.
“Third date. And what’s wrong with Opthamologists? He’s a doctor.”
“Yeah. And I bet he has a stellar work-life balance and comes home in clean scrubs to boot,” Abbot replied. The words seemed complimentary, but Samira knew better. For people like Jack, boring was a mortal sin.
“He does, actually. He’s on a softball team, and he sees his mom every other week,” Samira countered, prickly. She tried not to cringe internally, realizing those things only would only further paint a very specific picture of Jacob.
“Sounds well adjusted and age appropriate.”
“Those were your hang-ups, not mine, Abbot,” she reminded him, coolly.
He ignored that. “Third date, huh?” He asked, suggestively.
“That’s not really any of your business anymore, is it? And besides, we didn’t even make it to the first date,” Samira jabbed.
Abbot’s eyes darkened, no doubt remembering her dragging him into her apartment after he drove her home and walked her to her door after a shift, the tension that had been building between them finally coming to a head. Their first date had been lunch at a diner two blocks from here later that morning, after he had made her cum three times.
“You’re right. Not my business,” Jack swallowed.
Jacob appeared at her side at that moment, tall and put together, handsome in a way Samira pretended wasn’t generic, his blonde hair combed and moussed into place, skin tanned in a way that said he had plenty of free time spent in the sun. Seeing him side by side with Jack was jarring. It became clear to her that she had unconsciously chosen someone to go out with who bore absolutely no resemblance to Abbot.
She couldn’t help but compare them beyond their appearance and realize that, other than both being physicians, they had absolutely nothing in common. Jacob had hobbies outside of work, didn’t chase adrenaline like a drug, probably slept through the night. His parents were even still married and living in a big house together in Connecticut that he had grown up in, for god’s sake.
“Hey, Babe,” He greeted her, placing his hand at the small of her back and pressing a kiss to her cheek. For some reason, she found herself having to fight the urge to flinch away. She was being ridiculous. He was nice. Handsome. Easy.
“Dr. Abbot. It’s nice to see you, Sir,” Jacob said, turning to Jack, seemingly oblivious to the thick tension radiating between her and Abbot.
“No need to call me, Sir, Temple. Nice to see you as well,” Abbot said, reaching out a hand to shake Jacob’s, judging by the corded muscles of his forearms, perhaps a touch firmer than was necessary.
“What brings you here? Don’t you work nights?” Jacob asked.
“Sure do. But Walsh and I both have the night off which doesn’t happen often, and I owe her about 4 beers,” said Abbot, nodding his head towards a booth at the back where Samira saw Emery sitting, staring at her phone looking disinterested.
“I have to be honest. Dr. Walsh scares me a little,” Jacob admitted. This did not surprise Samira, but she swallowed a chuckle anyway.
“Oh. Em’s all bark and no bite,” Jack said, lightly. Samira furrowed her brows at him in a look of disbelief. In the sixth months that she and Jack had dated, she had spent enough time around Emery Walsh to know that her bite was, in fact, much worse than her bark.
“Really?” Jacob asked, surprised.
“No. Not really,” Abbot replied. “Mira tells me they made you an attending. Congrats. Are you enjoying the benefits of an attending’s schedule?”
This made Samira roll her eyes, seeing the question for the dig that it was. Jack had been an attending for almost two decades and she knew his schedule rivaled any resident's, that he preferred it that way.
Jacob gave her a questioning look, but Samira avoided his eyes. She knew it was Jack’s casual ‘Mira’ that did it. She had asked him not to call her that the first time he had tried it on. She said she wasn’t a fan of nicknames, but truthfully, the thought of any man but Jack using that particular name turned her stomach, made her feel disloyal even though she knew he had no right to her loyalty anymore.
“Yeah. It’s been great. I have time for my hobbies again. I play on an all-physicians softball team, and it’s been so long since I could consistently make all the practices. I’m hoping to get Samira, here, to one of our games soon,” Jacob answered, enthusiastically, bumping shoulders with her as he said her name.
“That’s great, man. Shouldn’t take too much convincing. I’m sure she’d have a lot of fun. Mira loves sports,” Abbot answered, cheerfully. Samira glared at him as his eyes met hers. Anyone that didn’t know him would think the smile on his face was genuine, but Samira could see the taunt in the lilt of his lips. Jack knew she hated sports, particularly long ones that took place outside. Jack knew her in her bones. All the details.
“I didn’t know that babe,” Jacob said, turning to her.
“Yeah, they’re… great!” she replied, forcing a smile. Agreeable. She could be agreeable.
“Well, I don’t wanna keep you kids from your date,” Abbot said. “Hey, Dave,” Jack called, flagging down the bartender, who immediately redirected his attention. God. Dave really did have a thing for Jack, not that she could blame him. “Put their next round on my tab, please.”
“You bet, Doc,” he answered, before turning back to wipe down the bar.
“That’s so cool of you, man. Thanks,” Jacob said. Samira knew Jack well enough to know that what Jacob naively accepted as a gesture of friendliness was actually Jack staking a claim. Jack was the one buying Samira’s drinks, not Jacob. Paying for Jacob's as well was merely collateral.
“No problem at all. You two have a good night,” Jack said, dropping his head, voice tight, before heading towards the booth at the back. Even after everything, Samira could hear the hurt in his voice and couldn’t help but want to make it all okay.
—
“What was all of that about,” Walsh asked, eyebrows raised as Jack slid into the booth across from her.
“Samira is here on a date with Dr. Temple. I was just saying hello,” Jack said as evenly as he could muster. Jealousy burned hot in his chest, bile climbing up his throat. He needed something to do with his hands besides clenching and unclenching them into fists.
“Oh please. If I know you, and I know you, you were pissing all over the fire hydrant,” Walsh replied.
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words, Em?” Jack sighed, gazing back to the bar.
The guy had his hand settled on Samira’s lower back again, and Jack wanted to pull his arm out of its socket. So he shook out his head and turned his attention back to his friend.
“You’ve been a miserable son of a bitch since you broke up with her. You do know that, right?” Walsh asked.
“I’m aware that I’ve been less than congenial,” Jack allowed. The truth was, he had spent the last three months absolutely miserable. And he had no one to blame but himself, but until he saw Samira here with that fucking ophthalmologist, he had been sure he had made the right decision.
She was too beautiful and too smart with too much future ahead of her to be burdened by all his shit. On his best days, he was still a mess of trauma and grief. He’d told her she deserved someone whole, young, who wouldn’t hold her back. But seeing her here, plastering fake smiles on her face for just some fucking guy was the seventh circle of hell. Jack knew he didn’t deserve her but that guy sure as hell didn’t either. If he were being honest with himself, he didn’t think there was a man alive who really did.
“For what it’s worth, there’s no way that goes anywhere,” Walsh said, bringing him out of his thoughts.
“What do you mean,” Jack asked, hoping that he didn’t sound too hopeful that Emery was right. “He’s a doctor. He’s handsome. He’s close to her age. That’s exactly the kind of guy she should be dating.”
“Please,” Walsh scoffed. “That girl is too smart and too damaged not to be bored out of her fucking mind by that human stock photo of a dermatologist.”
“He’s an ophthalmologist,” Jack corrected.
“Same fucking thing,” Emery said, taking a swig from her beer.
And god. Some days, he remembered why he loved Emery Walsh, prickly exterior notwithstanding.
Even still.
“She’s moving on, Em,” Jack said simply.
“Bullshit. You may not be up to my standards, Abbot, but you’re not the kind of person someone just moves on from. Are you moving on from her?” She asked pointedly.
“Don’t be stupid. Of course not. But–”
“All I’m saying is you’re the one who made yourself miserable. And there’s an obvious solution to your self-created misery. And it’s walking towards the bathroom by herself,” she said, nodding towards Samira, who had left Nelson at the bar.
“You sure?” Jack asked, turning his head between the two women.
“No. Of course not. But you won’t know if you don’t try,” she said.
“I think you might be right,” Jack admitted.
“I’m always right,” Emery replied, brows pulled together as though indicating it was obvious.
Jack pulled himself to his feet and made his way to the dark hallway that preceded the bathrooms.
He leaned against the wall, waiting. He didn’t know exactly what to say. He knew it wasn’t reasonable, but he just couldn’t stomach the thought of her, eyes sad and softening her edges to appeal to some Ken doll.
She emerged from the restroom and even in the dingy light of the dive bar, she took his breath away. Those curls hanging to her shoulders that he knew were so soft to the touch. The gentle curve of her collar bones under dark, smooth skin. Eyes that turned doe-like when they saw him standing there.
“Mira…” he began.
“Don’t fucking start, Abbot,” she replied, sounding annoyed, but with the same hollowness to her voice that he had noticed earlier. He hated himself in that moment, knowing that he had been the cause of her sadness.
“I didn’t–”
“You think I don’t know what you look like marking your territory, Jack?” She leveled at him.
“Look. I didn’t mean to be so– I just– You can’t be serious about him. That guy is the human equivalent of a manilla envelope.”
Something flashed in her eyes before her scowl returned. They had always shared a sense of humor.
“You don’t get to be mad at me for doing exactly what you told me to do! You broke up with me, remember? You told me to find someone more appropriate,” she spat the word at him.
“I know. And I fucked up. I know I did. And I’m not being fair. I know that. But, God, Samira. I do love you. And I know you.”
“Stop. Just fucking stop. What? Are we just going to get back together? Act like you never broke my fucking heart? Like you didn’t break your own fucking heart in the process? I know you, too, Jack. I know you self-sabotaged because that’s what you do. Because you may think I deserve the world, but you don’t think you deserve anything good. And what we had was good, Jack. So fucking good.”
“I know. And I’m working on it. I really am,” Jack pleaded.
“I’m glad you’re working on it. I am. But what happens in a couple of months when you remember all the reasons you ended us in the first place. I can’t lose you over and over and over again, Jack. That’s not–” Her voice caught and Jack couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and touching her face needing to comfort her in any small way. “That’s not survivable for me, Jack. It’s just not.”
She was right. Not about him changing his mind. It was clear to him now that she was it for him. Having lost her once, even if it was his own doing, he would never make the mistake of letting her go again if by some miracle he got her back. But he couldn’t be a source of pain for her. He wouldn’t do that.
“I understand, Mira,” he managed. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to have everything you wanted. Everything you deserve.”
And because he was a weak man, he leaned forward and brushed his lips to her cheek one last time. “You know where to find me if you ever need me. If you ever need anything at all. I mean it, Mira” he said, before turning and making his way back into the bar.
—
Samira was a mixture of furious and hopeful she had never experienced before as she stomped down the four blocks between Jacob’s apartment and Jack’s house.
She had gone home with Jacob. She had had every intention of sleeping with Jacob. It was their third date. It was what was appropriate.
But from the second they made their way into his apartment, it hadn’t been right. She tried to be present as Jacob kissed her but the way he slid his tongue into her mouth had made her cringe as she thought of the way Jack always pulled her lower lip between his teeth.
Jacob had slid his hands up her shirt and fumbled for a hook at the back of her bra. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know she preferred bras that clasped in the front, but it didn’t stop her from comparing it to the way Jack had always unhooked her bra with practiced ease, always so eager to get to her tits, knowing exactly how to make her back arch, how to pull soft whimpers from her mouth.
She tried to lose herself in making out with Jacob, but her thoughts wandered to Jack’s words in the dark hallway earlier. Manilla envelope. She was loath to admit it, but Jack had been right. She had been furious that he could make her laugh even when she was so pissed at him, but it was just so fitting. The human equivalent of a manilla envelope. Practical. Useful even. But so goddamn boring.
She knew that Jacob would never see her the way Jack saw her. Flawed. Maybe a little wounded. Complicated and stubborn. Certainly not the amenable character she had been playing on their three dates together.
Jack was so many things. But he was never boring. He made her feel alive in a way no one had before and no one had since.
So she pulled away from Jacob.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t do this,” she said, pulling herself off his couch to her feet.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, sitting up, smoothing down his shirt.
“No. You’re great. It’s been great. It’s just–”
“Abbot, right?” He asked, to her surprise.
“What? No it’s–”
“It’s fine, Samira. I saw the way he looked at you and the way you looked back. I’m not sure I’ve ever had that kind of electricity with someone before,” He admitted, chuckling softly.
“I’m so sorry,” Samira apologized, sincerely.
“Don’t sweat it. It was three dates. You’re very smart and very beautiful, but I’m not exactly heartbroken,” He replied, easily.
And so Samira found herself trekking down the street. She monologued in her head as she trudged, coming up with all the things she needed to say to the stubborn shithead she was indelibly in love with.
When she reached his house, porch light on, lamp glowing from the living room that she knew he turned on to read journals when he couldn’t sleep, she pounded on his door with more force than necessary. She knew it would take him a minute to answer, could picture him attaching his prosthetic. Vigilant and unwilling to open the door on one foot, especially at night when he wasn’t expecting anyone.
Jack answered the door, looking confused. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair damp from a shower. Samira tried not to get distracted by corded forearms covered in freckles. She was here for a reason. Jack visibly exhaled when he saw that it was Samira standing on his front steps.
“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Here’s the thing,” she began, not acknowledging his question. “You said that all you wanted was for me to have what I want. What I deserve. But those are two separate things. And you don’t get to decide either of them. I do.
“I get a say in what I want and what I deserve. You say you’re too old for me, but you treated me like I’m too young for you. You made the decision for me because you assumed you know what’s best and that’s bullshit. I’m smarter than you, Jack. You tell me that all the time, so let me make my own decisions.”
“Mira–” Jack started, but Samira cut him off.
“Shut up, Abbot.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replied, bringing his lips together in a tight line, like he was swallowing a smile.
“I deserve someone who sees me. Who laughs at the same things I do. Someone who gets all the messy pieces of me and has messy pieces to match. I deserve someone who makes me feel alive. Someone I love.”
“Of course you do, honey. I’m so sorry I acted like you didn’t,” Jack said, and his heart was in his eyes.
“Okay. Then we’re in agreement,” she said, smiling a real smile for the first time in months. “I’m yours and you’re mine.”
“Baby,” he said, soft and slow. He stroked two fingers so gently across her cheek. “Even when we weren’t together, I was still yours. I’m always gonna be yours. Me being an idiot and trying to run you off for your own good didn’t change that,” Jack replied sincerely, putting his hand at the small of her back and pulling her into the house, shutting the door behind her.
“I was still yours too, you know,” she said sheepishly. “I did try. But three dates was just three dates too many with anyone but you. It never felt right.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t…” he trailed off.
“Really? You’re asking me that?” She said, her tone was one of disbelief, but truly, she didn’t mind.
“Sorry. You’re right,” he shook his head.
“No, Jack. I didn’t. He wasn’t you. Nobody is,” she admitted.
“God. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced jealousy so acutely before. The way he put his hands on you and called you ‘babe,’ I thought I was gonna lose my mind. I don’t think I’m ever gonna get that image out of my brain.”
“Good,” she replied, a little snarky, but still affectionate. “It can be a reminder not to push me away again. Not to leave me.”
“Mira, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here as long as you’ll have me,” he said. He brought his hand to tangle in her curls and pulled her flush against him. The warmth of his body, so solid against her, enveloped her. His lips pressed to hers, soft and firm, and something slotted back into place, a missing piece returned, and she felt whole again for the first time in three months.
“Forever, then,” she nodded, solemnly.
“Forever sounds like a start.”