Nico nodded. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his hands tented before him; “Yeah, the nurses downstairs said that you guys were doing a study and it might help, with the symptoms? Reduce the infections?”

The hope in his voice was heartbreaking. I tried to distance myself from my history with him, with Rose, with this family, and review the study and consent with measured impartiality, like I would approach any other family.

But, because I was unable to completely detach myself from the strength of memories and guilt—and, therefore, historical emotions—involving Nico, I kept my gaze fastened to Rose as I explained the study visits, risks and benefits.

“Results thus far are promising; increase in mucociliary clearance, improved digestive and pancreatic function. But the study isn’t yet fully enrolled. No definite conclusions can be made about long term benefits.”

Rose was staring at me as though I had three heads.

I reminded myself to slow down, use laymen terms, treat them like any other family. This was safe territory for me: current research trends, the study, risk analyses.

What was less than safe was the realization that I still had an unsafe territory where Nico was concerned. Since leaving high school, I was now used to venturing beyond the pale with abandon. I was not used to feeling like I needed to watch my words, where I looked, the inflection of my voice.

It chaffed. Each time I made a mental note to avoid his gaze my irritability increased. I didn’t like this feeling. I didn’t like the unresolved issues between us. What was unsaid choked me and, honestly, pissed me off.

All things considered, I felt I hid it well.

I started over. “This study is straight forward, but also extremely intense: twenty-eight days of infusions administered every eight hours. This means that Angelica will have to return here, to the clinical research unit, every eight hours for twenty eight days and receive medication via IV, in her vein, for a half hour. There are some documented adverse reactions. But, on the plus side, the study is not placebo controlled; this means that all patients will be receiving treatment.”

Rose nodded her understanding, held Angelica tighter.

“You should take some time to read the forms and discuss.” I studied Rose for a moment as she held her granddaughter to her chest. According to Angelica’s chart the little girl was four. She was very small for a four year old. She was also very shy and continued to look away every time I attempted to draw her out with a smile.

Rose sighed. It was a heavy, distracted, helpless sigh. “I just don’t know. . .” She turned to Nico, “What do you think?”

Nico held his mother’s gaze for a moment then glanced at his hands, studied them as though they might answer the question for him. He lifted his eyes to mine and targeted me with a pointed stare. Another stabbing pain in my heart. If he saw me wince he didn’t make any outward sign.

He lifted his chin a notch, “What do you think we should do?”

“Read the study materials and take some time to think about it.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Nico’s eyes moved between mine and I was startled by the trust and vulnerability I witnessed in his gaze. “Will you be her doctor?”

“I-uh—” My head shook before I knew it was shaking. “No. The research nurses administer the infusions and conduct the study visits. And, this is my last week in research rotation. It is a mandatory six week rotation for all emergency medicine residents and this is my last week. But the study Principal Investigator—Dr. Botstein—is a world renowned pediatric pulmonologist. He is really excellent. He will be the doctor assigned to Angelica.”

Nico frowned, the earlier trust and vulnerability morphing into something like exasperated desperation. He glared at me through his thick, black lashes then drew his top lip between his teeth and chewed for a moment. His left leg started bouncing. “Couldn’t we request you?”

What??

My head shake increased in speed. “No. Listen, you don’t want me. Really. You want Dr. Botstein.”

“No, Elizabeth.” He said my name slowly, stubbornly. His eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments then he leaned back against the cushions of the pitiful beige sofa. “I want you.”

I set my expression to rigid, holding Nico’s challenging glower, determined to win this staring contest.

I spoke first. “You’re not thinking about this clearly—”

“Whereas you’ve won awards for clear thinking?”

“No.” I gritted my teeth. “No one is perfect.”

“Even you?” His tone was bitter, and his indisputably handsome face was marred by an ugly sneer.

“Especially me.”

“That’s not how I remember it.”

My face flushed at the double-entendre and his eyes ignited with satisfaction. Some of the sneering ugliness was replaced with smug male arrogance. Even as I internally eye-rolled, I hoped Rose wouldn’t pick up on his complisult (compliment + insult)

I understood that he had every right to be angry with me. I was still angry with myself. But the timing of this conversation, his timing, was exceedingly not cool. This situation was not about him or us or what happened eleven years ago between two grieving teenagers.

He was engaging in machismo asshattery, and I would have none of it.

I forced casual steadiness into my voice and redoubled my resolve to resist participating in his bait-fest. “You knew me a long time ago.”

“I’ve known you all my life. We pulled pranks on my brothers, we had a monopoly game that went on for three years, we built a tree house in your backyard, our dads took us to our first Cubs game together.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“We used to have sleepovers. . .”

I flinched, said nothing.

“I know you better than anyone.” His words were a suggestive whisper and patently false.

“Not for the last eleven years.”

“Well—” He spread his arms out; his voice deceptively calm. “There’s no time like the present. Let’s get reacquainted. We can start with you treating Angelica.”

“I’m not the doctor you want.”

“You are the doctor I want.” He grew adamant, louder, like someone who was used to getting his way by raising his voice.

“I’m not the doctor Angelica needs.” I pressed my palm to my chest, held it there because my heart was once again hurting.

“You don’t get to make that decision.” His adamant became obstinate.

“In this case you should listen to me, I know what I’m—”

“I don’t have to do anything. We’ve already established that you’re not perfect.” His obstinate became pigheaded. Usually I didn’t mind a good old yelling match, but I had no desire to scare the four-year-old little girl in the room.

“N-Nico,” his name felt strange on my tongue, because my voice was quiet, but I wanted to yell at him; I stuttered as my frustration peaked, “E-everyone makes mistakes.”

It was his turn to flinch, and I thought I saw something resembling pain paint a shadow over his features; his voice increased further in volume until it was a booming shout, “Well one person’s mistake is another person’s—”

“Niccolò!” Rose’s sharp warning was whispered, but it was enough to keep him from finishing the thought.

He clamped his mouth shut and shot to his feet, pulled both of his hands through his hair then drummed on his leg with restless fingers. His eyes flickered to mine then to the door.

“I need a cigarette.” He mumbled.

He was gone before I registered he was even moving, and the door shut behind him.

The room felt quieter, calmer without him in it. The beige didn’t seem so dull. The fluorescent lights didn’t seem so dim.

He’d always been a larger-than-life presence. Growing up in our small town it seemed everyone was drawn to him. Everyone but me. When we were kids and we played together he unsettled me, made me self-conscious. He was too. . . magnetic. Even then I didn’t trust myself around Nico, because I had difficulty saying no to him. I couldn’t compete with his restless energy, and I didn’t like being overwhelmed by it.

We’d just spent twenty minutes together, and already I was exhausted.

I rubbed the space between my eyes with my index and middle fingers. Frayed nerves began to mend, and I released a cleansing breath.

I didn’t realize I’d been staring at the door until Rose interrupted my meanderings.

“It’s so good to see you.”

I blinked at her. “Ah, thank you, Rose.”

“Are you Rapunzel?” A small voice sprung from Angelica’s hidden face. Only her eyes and mop of brown hair were visible from behind the blue blanket.

My hand automatically lifted to my long, thick braid; my smile was automatic and immediate. “No, Angelica. But that was a very nice thing to say.”

“Are you coming home anytime soon?” Rose cleared her throat, bringing my attention back to her. “Your father must miss you.”

I nodded. “Well, yes and no. I’ll be in town next weekend for the reunion, but my dad will be out of town. He and Jeanette are going on a cruise.”