I knew there was something wrong with me, so I starting talking to a guidance counselor at school. She said I was probably depressed, and she insisted I tell my parents and get them to take me to the doctor. I knew my parents would not react well, as I told her again and again. But her only solution to my problem was to tell my parents, and she assured me they’d be understanding. I thought she was full of shit.
And I was right. They did not take it well. My mom acted like it was all my fault, and my dad refused to believe there was any real problem and thought I could just snap out of it.
So I don’t like telling people about my problems, though talking to Julian went okay. He listened. He held me. He asked what he could do for me, and he did it. In the end, it was good to have him there, even if I had to patiently explain all my efforts to treat my depression.
Except now I feel like I’ve cut open my skin and forced him to look at my heart, my kidneys, my liver, and although I’ve been sewn back up, it’ll never be the same again.
It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re living together. I had to tell him—he deserved to know why I flipped out. But in less than a week, it’ll be over, and I’ll go back to my regularly-schedule life. It sounds impossible, but that’s what will happen.
Two weeks. That’s what we agreed on, and it’s for the best. Although I’ve become a bit attached to him, I still think I’ll be able to manage.
If I gave him a chance to break me like Dane did, that would be a different matter.
When Dane dumped me, it sent me into an awful tailspin. I felt worthless and stupid. People kept telling me that was just my depression talking, but the fact that my long-term boyfriend didn’t want to be with me felt like proof that all the negative things I’d been thinking were correct.
Anyway, it’s fine now. It really is. But I won’t let it happen again.
I’ll enjoy my remaining days with Julian, and then we’ll go our separate ways.
* * *
Julian texts me inthe afternoon, after a meeting about the Charles Fong Cardiology Wing. He told me about this earlier; it’s the only meeting he’s attending during his two weeks off.
He asks me to meet him at an Italian restaurant for dinner when I’m finished work, and he also asks if it’s okay if he invites his brothers. Cedric is back in town and Julian wants to catch up, but he says he understands if I don’t want to, if I’d prefer to see my sister after work or just spend time alone with him.
I’m curious to meet his other brother, and I decide I’m well enough to go.
When I step into the restaurant in Little Italy, Julian comes over and greets me with a kiss on the cheek. That relatively chaste kiss sends tingles all through my body.
Julian Fong is, indeed, a very powerful man.
We walk to the table, and he introduces me to Cedric.
Although Vince and Julian don’t look much alike, I can see the resemblance between Julian and Cedric. They have similar builds and smiles, but Cedric’s doesn’t light me up the way Julian’s does.
“So you’re the woman who’s got my brother buying phallic cacti and sunbathing in the middle of the week,” Cedric says.
Vince walks over and takes the seat across from mine. “Cacti? Has Julian bought another one?”
“No,” I say, “but I’m thinking of making him a terrarium. I’ll name each cactus in it.”
“Are they all going to be named after characters fromFriends?”
“Dear God,” Julian mutters, putting his hand to his forehead and shaking his head. “Please don’t.”
Despite his words, I know he enjoys his brothers’ ribbing.
“Hmm,” I say. “I’ll think about it. And I’ll put a picture of the terrarium in the scrapbook. Julian, honey, you still have to book our private scrapbooking lessons.”
“Can I come, too?” Vince asks.
“Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” Julian says. “Posing in calendars? Attending orgies?”
“Let me check my schedule.” Vince pulls out his phone and swipes his finger over the screen a few times. I don’t think he’s actually looking at anything. “I have some free time on Saturday morning.”
“Will you even be awake on Saturday morning?”
“Good point, good point. Maybe Sunday? My hangover and the girls I pick up should be gone by noon.”
