“Not even for a week to show me where you grew up?”
She shook her head. “Look, it’s in the past. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, but I’d still like to meet your parents. Who knows when a chance like this might come again?”
Anjali’s smile wobbled. She would have been happier if the chance had never risen. “Perhaps after graduation?” It would give her three days to work her courage up to breaking the news to her parents. Then she would have to explain to Jon that her parents had been completely in the dark for the past six years as to her relationship with him.
She mentally cringed. It was never meant to be a secret. It just seemed easier not to talk about it.
She doubted her parents and Jon would see it that way.
The frown on Jon’s face unexpectedly gave way to a smile. “You’re stressed. I know just the thing. You need a massage.”
That she did. “I always do.” The tension headaches felt like permanent parts of her physiology.
“You’re going to have to earn that massage, though,” he warned.
She arched an eyebrow.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the clubbing clothes and your favorite dance shoes.”
Anjali laughed. “I miss dancing with you, and no number of Skype calls can make up for it.”
“It’s been ten weeks since we last hit the clubs. Any longer, and I’ll forget how to dance. Legends or Marimba?”
“Marimba. Better music.”
“Yeah. Finish up, then.” Jon gestured at her omelet. He extended his feet beneath the table. Their ankles brushed and remained comfortably nestled against each other. Anjali felt her lips curve into a smile that mirrored Jon’s. Their six years together had created a vocabulary of private jokes and gestures infused with meaning that made sense only to them. It helped her pass the weeks between his visits and layered emotional intimacy onto their video conversations. This time, the familiarity anchored her and welcomed Jon into her daily routine as if he had never left.
Their late dinner was leisurely in spite of Jon’s passing comment to “finish up.” Their time together was too precious to be rushed. He regaled her with stories of his colleagues at the alternative health center. “It’s practically a soap opera.” He sipped his iced tea. “The two massage therapists are practically falling over each other trying to land a date with Marisa.”
“Your new business partner, right?”
He nodded. “The fact that she’s got a newborn barely seems to faze them.”
“Why would it, unless that newborn has a jealous father attached to it?”
Jon shook his head. “He was in the Army, killed in action in Afghanistan about a year ago. Marisa found out she was pregnant a few days before she was informed that he’d been killed. Sad, really, but her family stepped up and helped her through it.”
“Her family? What about his? Were they married?”
Jon frowned. “I think so. Marisa doesn’t talk much about his family, though. I don’t think they liked her.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t approve of the side of the tracks she came from.”
Anjali rolled her eyes. “Do they realize how little control people have over which side of the tracks they’re from?”
“There you go, being logical again. That’s so sweet.”
She smirked at him. “You mean naïve, don’t you?”
“You said it, darling.” He reached over the table, stabbing his fork into her leftover omelet. “Anyway, Marisa has told the guys at the office she’s not interested.”
“It’s not working?”
“No. She’s tried English, Spanish, and body language. I don’t think they’re fluent in any of those languages, at least not where the word ‘no’ is concerned.”
Anjali laughed. “I hope they’re not giving her any trouble.”
“I told her I’d be happy to knock some heads together if they did, but she hasn’t taken me up on that offer. I did tell you that she bought into the center, right? You’ll meet her when you come up to Westchester.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you hear back from the Westchester Medical Center yet about your residency application?”
She shook her head. “Soon, I hope.”
“Hope you get it.” His grin flashed. “It’d be awesome to have you close by.”
Anjali nodded in spite of the niggling fear lodged in her chest.
“Who else did you hear from?”
“Mayo Clinic, Cleveland Clinic, and Hopkins, of course.”
“Of course.” Jon nodded. “They would be crazy to not make you an offer.” He drew a deep breath. “Are you sure…about Westchester, if you get the offer?”
“I told you. If Westchester comes through for me, I’m taking it.”
Jon shook his head. “It’s just that—Mayo, Cleveland, Hopkins, those are big names in health care. Westchester is a tiny regional hospital.”
“I want to be near you.”
“I know.” Jon reached across the table. His hand was warm against hers, and his touch steadied her fluttering nerves. “It’s a risky career move—a gamble, really, picking a regional hospital over one of the big name hospitals. I just want to be sure you know what you’re doing.”
“I do. I love you, Jon. You know that.”
He grinned. “Don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I’ll take it for the high praise it is.” He left a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and tugged her to her feet. “Come on. Off to Marimba.”
The Latin dance club was a tiny dive tucked at the end of a narrow alley. The bouncer, a skinny Hispanic man with the unlikely name of Snake, waved them in without charging an entrance fee. “Hey, welcome back, man.” He and Jon exchanged a clasped handshake before he leaned in to press his cheek to Anjali’s. “You tell Petey I said to give you free drinks at the bar, all right?”
Jon laughed. “You know we drink soda when dancing.”
Snake snorted. “You serious dancers are lousy drinkers.”
Jon pointed at his legs. “Feet. Alcohol. Pretty girl on high heels. Bad combination to screw up, but thanks, man.” He ushered Anjali into the club ahead of him.
She squinted until her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Most clubbers slouched against
