Mel stood in the kitchen, at a total loss. It was huge, but she was getting used to that. She’d been in a mansion for less than eight hours and it was already becoming kind of familiar. But the kitchen could easily have been an industrial-grade kitchen from the back of a designer restaurant.
It had been a rough meeting from the sounds of it. The anger still burned from it. Mel thought the least she could do was to make him something to eat since he’d never gotten so much as a bite of that delicious soup. Surely, she could handle a simple domestic chore she’d not done for anyone but herself in years. But where to start?
She looked at the brushed steel wall that earlier she’d discovered to be a refrigerator, and tentatively tried to pry it open. How had she done it when she’d put away the leftovers? No, Maria had handled that part of things, hadn’t she? It took some doing to figure out how the thing came apart, and then only to discover it opened outer doors and then inner doors and then there was a separate freezer next to that…
She pulled out the leftover chicken and then thought better of it. The microwave looked way too intimidating even from here. But he’d need more than leftover soup, wouldn’t he? In the end, there was a package of hot dogs sitting in the drawer that she scooped up in a reflex of recognition. They were some ultra-healthy, chicken and no filler…whatever. It seemed to her that Alice did the shopping and Brant just ate whatever was put in front of him. More likely, Brant didn’t eat at home much. Doctors tended to grab whatever they could find when they had a moment to eat.
At least the range was remotely familiar. But then there were only so many ways to make a gas burner confusing. She soon had a pan of water bubbling along and slipped the hot dogs under the bubbles. She scrounged around but couldn’t find any buns, but there were frozen tater-tots and she laughed at the thought that a multi-millionaire would have something so usual. At least it was more filling than the soup which she’d finally relegated to the back of the fridge. Reheating leftovers didn’t feel as…special…as putting together the meal herself.
And she wanted this meal to be special.
With the oven baking them, the wieners on to boil, she had a mad impulse to run into the bedroom, find one of his dress shirts, and wear only that when he came back. It was an enticing thought, and had it not been for Maria…
Mel laughed at herself. Already losing out on a sex life because of the kids? Not even their kid. And they’d only just used the “L” word.
That sobered her.
He’d said it first. That was supposed to make a difference. All the romance novels, films, and teenagers said it mattered who said the “L” word first. It didn’t. Did it? He’d said love. Maybe it should be in capital letters: “LOVE.” But somehow, “love” fit better. A quiet, unassuming love between two adults. Love for grown-ups.
She’d said it, too. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried at it. She’d said she loved him. And she did. A few weeks in the jungle, a few nights in the local resort, months of internet chat and phone calls…
Love wasn’t the fire that so many expected. It wasn’t all-consuming flames that erupt into sex and then magically live happy forever after.
It was imagining life without him and failing. It was looking forward, thinking “us” and not “me.”
Mel sighed. As terrible as the reasons were, there was part of her that would be relieved when Maria was safely in the hospital—and not strictly for the girl’s sake. A very selfish part wanted to be the woman in Brant’s shirt, waiting for the water to boil, waiting for him to come home. A part of her thought about playing house for a while.
For a while.
“Don’t go back,” he’d said. “Ever.”
He’d been referring to spiders, but had meant a lot more. She’d spent years of her life in the jungle. She’d beaten back the brush to build a clinic. She’d fought generational distrust of western medicine, gotten thick-headed, stubborn, wonderful people to come to her with their medical problems. She was proud and possessive and loyal to the world she’d created.
Don’t go back. Ever.
Mel started when the water boiled over onto the stove. She reached over and turned the burner down, somehow vaguely surprised that she wasn’t wearing his shirt and nothing else.
It would be an easy life to slip into. It would be so…
What? Wonderful? Fulfilling? Natural? Yes. All that. So was being a doctor on the edge of civilization. So was building a clinic, saving lives.
Don’t go back. It echoed in her head. Don’t go back.
“Dr. Mel?” a groggy voice called out.
“I’m in the kitchen, Maria!”
There was a long moment of silence. Then, from a greater distance away, “Where’s the kitchen, Dr. Mel? I can’t find it.”
“Look for the dining room. Keep listening to the sound of my voice; just follow where you think the voice is. I’ll keep talking till you…get here.”
“Dr. Mel?” Maria asked, peering at her intently as she came into the room. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “I mean, yes. Listen, Maria, I know we talked about things to do and see here in L.A., and I want you to be able to do them, but I was talking with Brant, I mean Dr. Layton—”
“It’s okay, Dr. Mel; I know his name’s Brant. I call him that, just like I call you Dr. Mel.”
“Right. I always forget. I spoke to him and we think it would be better if we got you into the hospital a little early.”
“Is there something wrong?” Maria held a hand up to her bandages.
“No!” Mel hesitated. “Not with you. Maria, listen. You know Doctors International? They financed the clinic.”
“Sí. I have heard you speak of them. I had to look up some of the words you used to describe them, but I think I understand most of them.”
“Right.” Mel cleared her throat. “Well, they’re my boss, and they did a lot to get you here. Brant paid for your ticket and your procedure but DI made it possible for you to get your visa, and cleared the way for me to be your escort and—”
Mel’s phone rang. The caller ID said UNAVAILABLE. That was a lot of help. Kenneth came up with a number at least, and he was the only one she didn’t want to talk to. “Hello?”
“Hello?” a tiny female voice said from the end of a long metal tube. “I have a collect call to Maria from her mother. Will you accept the charges?”
Mel stared at the phone for a moment. The phone belonged to DI; it would appear on their bill. They wouldn’t get the bill until Maria was back home. “Of course.” She handed it to the girl. “Maria, your mother is calling; she must’ve gone to the clinic to talk to you. Take for as long as you like—the call is free. Tell her I said ‘hello.’”
“Mama!” Maria shouted eagerly into the phone and ran off in the general direction of the living room, tripping over her tongue as she chatted happily with her mother.
“SHIT!” Mel flung open the oven and a great cloud of black smoke bellowed out. That kicked off the smoke detector. She was about a foot too short to reach it so she grabbed a chair, slid it over and climbed on it, spilling the water and strewing the hot dogs over the floor.
“I’m home!” Brant called from somewhere in the house.
Of course, he’d have to walk in at that very moment. Could she never get anything right? Even with the chair Mel was too short to reach the alarm, which persisted in alerting the world that dinner was burned. As if everyone in the neighborhood hadn’t figured it out yet.
Brant came in as she was waving a broom at the alarm while balancing on the chair, desperate to hit the button that would make it stop squealing and do that funny little chirrup thing that it was supposed to. So far, she’d managed to break the light figure and smash her thumb. The alarm was still screaming.
Charcoal in the oven. Hot dogs and water and broken glass on the floor. Mel in tears. He took it in with a sort of stunned look on his face. Poleaxed. He finally had an image of what poleaxed looked like.
“What happened?”
“I thought I was in 9½ Weeks,” Mel said, not looking at him. “But I ended up being Lucille Ball.”
If Brant was trying not to smile, it wasn’t working. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as he reached his arms up, plucking her off the chair as if she weighed nothing at all. She slid down his arms until she was standing on the floor again, in his embrace. They both ignored the hot dog that squished under her shoe. It would have been a mood-killer anyway.
“Lucy was sexy as hell,” he whispered, and kissed her. “Besides, I stopped for Chinese on the way home.”
Yeah. Mel thought. Love.