Amity and Jane

 

Sitting across from Jane in the hotel’s impeccable dining room, with a large, old-fashioned clock counting down to midnight in the center of the room and a band playing old standards, Amity should have felt cheerful. Instead, he felt frustrated and distracted, trying to figure out how to talk to Jane about choosing St. Jude’s over CHOP without further alienating her.

She seemed to withdraw from him even more as the minutes ticked by—her manners perfect but reserved now with all traces of warmth and easiness gone—and Amity couldn’t help but feel a little desperate. Until he cleared the air between him and Jane and figured out a way to recapture the easiness they’d enjoyed earlier today, he had no space for merriment in his heart.

“How’s your steak?” she asked politely, her low voice cultured and bland. “Prepared well?”

“Yes. Fine,” said Amity, though he’d barely had more than a few bites.

He didn’t feel hungry. He felt…heartsick.

Enough is enough.

“Jane…can we speak frankly?”

She sighed, her eyebrows knitting together as she looked back at him, and he was sorry to see it, but he needed answers—any answers she was willing to give.

“About what?”

“Let me just ask you something.”

She didn’t say anything, but she placed her fork and knife on the side of her plate and looked up at him expectantly.

He smiled at her—she was so beautiful, and he was so happy to be with her. His voice was gentle when he said, “Actually, I want to tell you something, I suppose.”

Jane drew her champagne flute to her lips, waiting for him to continue but offering no encouragement.

“For the longest time, Jane, I’ve thought of you as—” He held her eyes, hoping that his words would find their mark and stick. “Well, as ‘the one who got away.’”

The flute froze at her lips, and she blinked at him over the narrow rim. “What?”

He nodded, pushing his half-eaten steak aside and propping his elbows on the table so he could lean closer to her. “Am I crazy or…?”

“Or what?” she asked, finally taking a sip of her bubbly before replacing the glass. Two spots of pink appeared on her cheeks, the only indication she was affected by what he was saying.

“Back then…four years ago…we got together just about every night. We studied. We had dinner. We studied some more. We talked. We got to know each other. Sometimes…” He didn’t want to embarrass her, or himself, but this was his chance to say what he needed to say, so he plunged forth. “Sometimes I’d catch you staring at me. And I’m sure you caught me doing the same. It felt like—I don’t know, like maybe we were on the precipice of something. And—not to be presumptuous—but I felt like we were there again today. On the brink of something more. Something amazing.”

Though her face betrayed nothing, the pulse in her throat was beating visibly, and her eyes were dark and wide. She placed her palms on the table like she was about to stand up. Damn it, he didn’t want to initiate a flight instinct! Was there a way he could make her more comfortable so they could speak freely?

Hmm. His eyes darted to the dance floor, where a few couples swayed to an old Frank Sinatra waltz about “frosted windowpanes and candy canes on the tree.” Maybe this would go better if they weren’t staring at each other across a table?

He turned back to Jane and asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“Do you want to finish what you were saying?”

“I can say it just as well while we’re dancing,” he said, plucking his napkin from his lap and placing it on the table.

“It’s been a long time since I waltzed,” she said.

“Well, I haven’t waltzed since Mr. Caldwell’s fourth-grade ballroom class, but I promise not to step on your toes.”

“How can I say no to that?”

She grinned at him for the first time in hours, and his heart soared. Please give me a chance, Jane. Please.

Amity pushed his chair back and stood, circling the table to help Jane from her chair. As she rose, he admired her. With her honey-gold hair tumbling loose around her bare shoulders, she was so beautiful, he wondered how she was still single. It felt impossible that someone as pretty and sweet as Jane should be available. It reminded him that tonight was special and fleeting, and he worried that he wouldn’t get another chance with her if he blew this one.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”

“You did,” she said, her eyes sparkling as he led her to the dance floor. “But thank you again.”

“How come you’re not dating anyone, Jane?”

“I was. Then I wasn’t. Then I was. Then…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess work makes it tough.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, putting one hand on her waist and raising the other so she could clasp it. “I haven’t dated anyone seriously since”—Simone—“school.”

He saw her eyes flash briefly with understanding before she forced a kind smile, letting him lead her through several boxes and a reverse turn.

“We’re not so bad at waltzing for both being out of practice,” she offered.

“Mr. Caldwell would be proud,” said Amity.

After another circle around the floor, Jane lifted her eyes to his. “What were you saying? Back at the table?”

“CHOP is a wonderful hospital,” he blurted out earnestly.

“I know,” she said, a sudden smile brightening up her sweet face. “I work there.”

“I respect the hell out of it, Jane.”

“Me too,” she said.

He was staring closely at her face but could discern no grudge or insult in its lines. Was she just being polite? He pressed on, desperate to make amends and set things right between them.

“Jane, it’s important to me that you know…I mean, I didn’t—that is, I didn’t mean any disrespect to CHOP by choosing the program at St. Jude’s.”

“I would never think that,” she said gently. “And St. Jude’s will be amazing, Amity. I know it.”

For a moment, they locked eyes, and either she was being honest or she was the best actress known to man, because he sensed no deception in her manner. After a moment, she smiled politely, then shifted her glance over his shoulder, watching the other couples on the dance floor.

Amity was left utterly perplexed and increasingly frantic. If it wasn’t his choice of St. Jude’s over CHOP, then what in the world had so affected her mood this afternoon? Was it possible that he’d misread everything between them? Was it possible that she hadn’t been interested in him romantically either three years ago or today? Hmm. Come to think of it, he realized with a tinge of horror, she hadn’t said anything at the table when he’d mentioned them moving beyond friendship at Harvard…and today.

He’d done all the talking. She hadn’t said a word.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

“What?” asked Jane, leaning back to look into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

She flinched. “What do you mean?”

His eyes skated to the clock—to the hands counting down the seconds until midnight. He was running out of time.

“Did you feel it too?” he asked in a rush. “Back at Harvard…today…did you feel like we were on the brink of something more than friendship? Of something—”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jane quickly, her jaw flexing.

“It matters to me,” he pressed on.

“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted, her eyes wide, her fingers squeezing his. “You’re going away again.”

Going away? Again? “What do you mean?”

“First Africa. Now Tennessee.” She dropped his gaze, but not before he caught the flash of pain in them.

“Oh, my God,” he murmured, his mouth hanging open as he stared at her. “That’s why you friend-zoned me today? Because I’m moving to Memphis?”

She looked up, blinking rapidly like she might be holding back tears, and Amity pulled her closer so that she could rest her cheek on his shoulder and speak freely without the added intensity of staring at each other.

“Did you have feelings for me at Harvard,” he asked softly, “other than friendship?”

“Of course.” Her voice was low and deep, raspy with emotion. “I was falling for you hard, but you left.”

“Jane,” he said tenderly, “I was a mess. It would have been wrong to start something with you.”

“I know that,” she answered, adjusting her hand in his. “But it still hurt.” She gulped softly. “I’m a realist, Amity. I live in Philly. My life’s there. I don’t want to get attached to someone who lives in Tennessee. Seeing you once a month wouldn’t be enough for me.”

“I could come and see you in Philly over the next two weeks before I go,” he offered, knowing it wasn’t enough, feeling her slip through his fingers even though he was holding her in his arms.

“Don’t you see?” She shrugged helplessly as the song changed to a “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.” “It would just be history repeating itself. It would be me falling for you all over again…and you leaving. I already did that once. I don’t want to do it again. It hurt enough the first time.”

“I was falling for you too,” he said, not that it made any difference now that they were deadlocked.

She took a deep breath and forced a cheerful smile. “I want you to do great things in Memphis…I know you will. And we can be friends. We can be friends forever, Amity. Friends is good.”

“Friends is not good,” he snapped. “Not when I want a lot more than that.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jane. “I can’t.”

“Can’t.” Right up there with “friends.” What terrible goddamned words, thought Amity, frustration making his jaw clench and lungs tighten.

“You know what we’re the best at?” asked Jane, distracting him.

He tilted his head to the side and issued a warning: “If you say ‘being friends,’ I’ll—”

“Bad timing,” she said. “We’re really great at terrible timing.”

She caught him off guard, and he chuckled softly, holding her closer as they swayed back and forth to the poignant Christmas song.

Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow…

“You’re right. We’re awesome at bad timing.”

“But we’re not bad at dancing,” said Jane, dropping her cheek to his shoulder again.

Amity released the hand he was holding and guided it around his neck before putting his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest. Clasping each other tightly, with her linked fingers tickling the short hairs on the back of his neck, they finished the dance. But when the music ended, Amity still held on to Jane, and when the band started playing another ballad, he was grateful for more time with her in his arms.

“What would it take, Jane?” he asked impulsively, his heart beating out of his chest. He bent his head forward so that his lips brushed the shell of her ear as he spoke. “What would it take for you to give us a chance?”

***

Jane had modest expectations of the world around her and always had. She didn’t ask more of her sisters than they could give. She got along passably well with her father because she didn’t expect him to lavish praise and attention on her. Jane didn’t make demands of people. Although she often knew what she wanted, it made her uncomfortable to articulate it if it placed a demand on someone else by virtue of its nature.

So Amity’s question made a knot form in her stomach.

Because what she wanted was diametrically opposed to important decisions he’d already made for his life. And it felt wrong to tell him, because telling him would show him exactly how selfish and greedy she was.

“Let it go, Amity,” she said gently.

“No.” He took a deep breath. “Jane,” he said softly, clearly sensing her reluctance to be honest, “please talk to me. I need to know. If we mess up this time, love, I don’t know if we’ll ever get a third chance to figure this out. Just tell me.”

She nodded against his jacket, gathering her courage like the bleeding woman.

“I don’t want a long-distance relationship. How could I build something meaningful with someone a thousand miles away?”

“Planes?” he suggested with a teasing smile. “Phone calls? Texts? E-mails?”

“I know it can work for some people,” she said seriously, “but I know myself. I know how much it hurt when you went to Africa, and we weren’t even in a relationship. If you belonged to me—if I fell in love with you but couldn’t see you, couldn’t touch you, couldn’t reach for you…it wouldn’t work for me.”

She knew her words were forward, but she was past the point of worrying about scaring him away. Honesty was the only option for them now, and they both knew it.

“Okay,” he said through a tightly exhaled breath. “So tell me this: theoretically speaking, if we both lived in the same city, would you give us a chance?”

“A chance. You mean…date each other?”

“Yeah, but a lot more than that. Go out on dates. Spend time together. Get to know each other again.”

“Exclusively?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Definitely exclusively.”

“Theoretically? Yes. But, Amity, that’s where theory ends and real life begins. We’re not in the same city, and I’m not leaving Philadelphia. My sisters are there. My home. My job. My life. I spent eight years in Boston, but I finally made my way back home. I’m not going to Tennessee.”

“But I could still take the fellowship at CHOP,” he said slowly, eyeing her carefully, “if it hasn’t been filled yet.”

Her heart clenched, and for a moment, it felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room. Was he serious?

“Move to Philly? You’d give up St. Jude’s? Just—just change your whole life around?” She gulped. “Amity, that’s a lot of pressure on us.”

“So I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t,” he said, his jaw ticking and eyes narrowing. “If I go to Memphis, I lose my shot at being with you. But if I change my plans and take the fellowship in Philadelphia, I’m putting too much pressure on the situation. Is that about the shape of it?”

It was. It was the exact shape of it.

“Well, that’s great, Jane,” he continued angrily, his cheeks flushing. “If I go to Memphis, there’s no future for us, because those doctors at CHOP—if they haven’t realized it yet—are going to catch on to the fact that you’re the best thing going. Someone’s going to snap you up, and if I’m not there, it won’t be me.”

“Amity—”

He stopped dancing, took her arm, and pulled her to a corner of the dance floor, away from the other patrons. “But if I change gears and go to Philadelphia, I’m—I’m stalking you!”

“Wait! I didn’t say that,” said Jane, feeling terrible about how this conversation was going, because truly, she could think of nothing sweeter than living in the same city as Amity. It just felt wrong to let him give up everything…for her.

Amity took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what are you saying?”

“That you’d be changing the course of your entire life for me! On a whim! On a chance! On a possibility! What if it doesn’t work out between us? What if you hate CHOP? What if you hate Philly? I don’t want to be responsible for you making a choice that you regret!”

Her eyes were burning with unshed tears, and she wasn’t interested in making a scene. Behind Amity was a door that led outside to a snow-covered terrace. Scooting around him, she pushed the door open and stepped outside into the frigid night.

In a perfect world? Yes! Sure! She would love for Amity to move to Philadelphia. She’d love to see what could happen between them if they just had the time and space to see. But she couldn’t ask that of him. She wouldn’t.

“Why don’t you think you’re worth it?”

She hadn’t heard him follow her outside, but suddenly his warm jacket was around her shoulders, and she turned to face him. “Worth what?”

“Me taking a chance.” He scanned her face. “Because I think you are, Jane.”

Her eyes welled with more tears, and she tried to swallow over the lump in her throat. “Worth changing your whole life? With no guarantees?”

He scoffed, reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of her hair behind her ear. “Where in life are there guarantees, Jane? And changing my whole life? That’s a little overdramatic. Whether I’m at St. Jude’s or CHOP, I’ll still get a great fellowship at an amazing hospital.”

“But…what if we don’t work out?” she whispered, half-afraid to say the words aloud.

“No matter what”—Amity reached for the lapels of his jacket, pulling her forward—“I won’t regret giving us a try.”

“You barely know me.”

“That’s not true,” he said, scanning her eyes with so much tenderness it made her heart leap with hope, with longing, with the tip of happiness. “I know you. I know it was you—your gentleness, your company, your kindness—that started a broken man on a path to wholeness four years ago. I know that those evenings at Countway were some of the best of my whole life. I know that I’ve thought of you more than any other woman over the past four years, wondering what you’re up to and how you’re doing and hating that we never took the step from friendship to something more. And I know this most of all—that if I let you get away again, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Amity,” said Jane in a broken whisper, overcome by the earnestness of his words and the way they requited something inside of her that had dreamed about Amity Atwell since she fell at his feet so many years ago.

Inside the restaurant, the music stopped, and the revelers started their New Year’s countdown.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

“I know I want a chance with you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

“I want that too,” she said.

Six.

Five.

Four.

His face was set, resolute in his new plan, his eyes sparkling like he knew a secret. “And if that means moving to Philly? So be it, love. Philly it is.” He grinned at her. “CHOP, here I come!”

“You mean it?” Inside her chest, her heart burst with joy, and she smiled up at him as he bent his head closer to hers.

“I mean it.”

One.

“Happy New Year, Jane,” he whispered against her lips.

“Happy New Year, Amity,” she sighed, the words barely audible as he tightened his arms around her pressed his lips to hers for the very first time.

Her hands were flattened against the starched white cotton of his tuxedo shirt, but Jane slid them up, over the ridges of his muscle, skimming the sides of his throat to the warm flesh of his cheeks under soft stubble. She stood on tiptoes, with the steel band of his arm around her back, letting his mouth ravage hers with four years of pent-up attraction and a deep well of hope for the future.

Slanting his mouth over hers, he ran his tongue over her lips, and Jane arched her back as her lips parted. Slowly, so slowly, he slid his hot, velvet tongue down the length of hers, and she gasped, breathing him into the depths of her lungs, the hidden corners of her heart.

This is Amity.

Amity is kissing me.

The words resonated in her head, half disbelief and half delight, as she slid her hands into his thick blond hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Her nipples, hard pebbles under her strapless dress, rasped against the silk, aching for his touch.

His lips touched hers gently in one kiss, two, three, intoxicating and whisper-sweet before skimming to her jaw. She bent her neck to the side, and the soft raze of his beard caressed her delicate skin, the touch of his warm lips making her moan with the dizzying combination of sensations.

“Amity,” she breathed into the night, opening her eyes to watch her breath turn to mist as a light snow dotted the midnight sky.

“I’m crazy about you,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her pulse before pushing the collar of his jacket aside so he could run his lips along the line of her collarbone. “Thank God I found you again.”

“Thank God for second chances,” she hummed, smiling drunkenly at the dark lake over his shoulder as he hugged her close.

As “Auld Lang Syne” played in the background, Amity held onto Jane, swaying to the music in the almost-darkness with his girl. And Jane Story, who’d waited half a lifetime for Amity to finally catch up with her, knew that this year, which started with a long-awaited kiss from a man she’d adored for years, would be the best year ever.