Constructing Us (New Adult Romance) (5 page)

Later th
at night, Andy went to the kitchen to brew herself some tea.  She still wasn’t tired enough to sleep and hoped this would relax her mood.  After she poured hot water in her mug and twisted every ounce of flavor out of the tea bag, she heard Tragan call to her.

“Andy--you’re still up!
”

She ducked her head out of the kitchen and saw
he was in the living room, sitting on the couch.  “I’m making some tea,” she said.  “Want some?”

“Uh no,” he answered right away as if she’d just offered him sour grapefruit.

With a wry smirk, she leaned farther out of the archway. “Okay…” she said, looking at him.  “Well, would you like anything
else
from the kitchen?”

“You,” he said.

Her playful smile faltered.  “W-what?” she stammered, caught off guard.

“I mean, c’m
ere,” Tragan said making a sweeping gesture with his arm to motion her over. 

“Hang on.”

A minute later she walked into the living room, carrying her mug of tea. 

Tragan angled his head toward her and
eyed her up and down.  “Is there a blizzard coming?”

She looked down at her
pajamas, which consisted of white fleece pants, a worn-out pink hoodie with a fluffy collar, and thick wool socks.  “I get cold a lot, okay?”

“All right.  Sit down; let’s play.” 

“Oh.”  Eying the television, Andy shook her head.  “No, I don’t know how to play any of those games,” she said, hesitating to join him on the sofa. 

Apparently he wasn’t accepting that. 
“Nah, come on,” he said, shifting over and tapping the cushion next to him.  “You’re up anyway.  It’ll be fun.  Pick whatever game you want.”

“Really, I--
”

Now Tragan
dropped his head back against the couch, dramatically as if she were being a real buzz-kill.  “Oh, come on, Andy,” he droned, “just piiick one.”

Helplessly she laughed.  “Fine, okay?” 
She handed him her mug, before walking over to the wooden crate filled with discs.  As she shuffled through them, her mouth pursed.  “These all look so violent,” she said, discouraged.

“No, there are some no
n-violent ones,” Tragan insisted.

“Really, I’m not a gamer--oh, wait.”

“Which one?”

She held up a plastic case that was brightly colored, cheerful, and nostalgically familiar.  Tragan’s mouth broke into an approving smile.  “
Super Mario
--nice!  The gateway drug.”

“So this one’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, pop it in, let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The Wii--the white one,” he clarified, pointing to the middle console.  Again he patted the cushion next to him.  “Sit.” 

“
You’re kind of bossy,” Andy remarked, as she plopped down next to him and took her tea back.  “Ethan didn’t warn me about
that
.”  

Half smiling, Tragan said,
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Truthfully
--inwardly--she was a bit flustered sitting this close to Tragan after the whole ogling-him-naked thing from a couple hours earlier.

“All right, now do you know how to play?” he asked as he
was pressing buttons on the controller. 

“
It’s been a long time.”

“Okay, well, this is an easy one.”

“To you.”

“
Meaning, it’s pretty self explanatory. Still, I’ll help you as you go.”  He used the controller to punch in his name as player 1.  For player 2 he began writing “A-n-d” and then stopped and shot her a questioning look.  “Hey, how come you go by Andy?  Not Andrea.  That’s your name right?  I’m assuming.”

She ha
dn’t expected that question so her reply wasn’t as polished as it could have been.  “Uh not exactly,” she said.

Now
Tragan turned his head fully to face her.  Lifting his eyebrows, he repeated, “Not exactly?”

“No…
” 

“Okay…” 

He was obviously waiting for more intel. She explained, “My real name is sort of…awkward.  So, ‘Andy’ has always worked better for me.”  If she figured that vague answer would be the end of it, she was deluding herself.

At first
Tragan’s mouth opened, then he gave a short laugh.  “C’mon, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and walk away.”

Her eyes widened.  “What?”

“What’s your real name?” he pressed her.  Now his face was determined, interested--and way too playful.  So much for being “all about himself,” as Ethan claimed Tragan was.  Why was he so curious? 

And…was he flirting with her a little?

At the thought, Andy felt a faint blush come over her cheeks.  A mini sprint started in her chest.  Tragan was sitting so close to her, she realized.  Those same muscular thighs she’d seen naked a few hours ago, were right beside hers; their legs were almost touching.  She took a breath and ignored her quickening pulse.  “What do you need to know my full name for?” she challenged, tipping her head at him.  “Are you getting something engraved for me?  Because please don’t. I find personal engravings pretentious.”

His grin widened. 
“All right, smartass.  So it’s what--Andirons?”

“Right, sure.
  Andirons.”

“Oh,
no, I know.  Andouille?”

Andy rolled her eyes. 
“No, I’m not named after a sausage.”

He laughed.  “Hey,
I thought maybe your parents wanted a boy.”

At that, she
wrinkled her nose.  “
What?
  That is gross!” she said, shoving his arm (which felt as thickly solid as she imagined it would). 

He laughed harder, barely moved by her shove.  “I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands, still laughing at her reaction.  “
I’m a guy; I’m immature.”

“
I see that,” she agreed, laughing, too, then set her tea down on the coffee table.  “Oh, do we have coasters?  I don’t want to get rings on the table.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really,” she insisted, the grabbed a nearby newspaper and set her mug on it.  “This coffee table is beautiful--you should take care of it.”

He got a strange look on his face for a moment before mentioning, “I actually made it.”

“The table?” she said, surprised.

“Yeah.  I built it a couple years ago.”

“Wow!  That’s impressive.  I knew you built houses, but I didn’t know you were, you know, a craftsman.”

“Nah, it was nothing, really,” he claimed.

“I love the curve detail under the legs--”

Seeming uncomfortable with the praise, Tragan cut her off: “Look, do you want to talk coffee tables or do you want to play?”

“I want to talk coffee tables.  Is that a choice?”

“Too bad; we’re playing.”

Andy yelped a laugh, then looked up to the ceiling, muttering, “Oh my God, so bossy…”

“But first tell me your name.”

“Not that again.”

“Is it Antifreeze?”

She slid him a sideways glance.  “That doesn’t even make sense.  Clearly if my name was ‘Antifreeze,’ I would go by ‘Freezy’ or ‘Tif.’”

He ignored her sarcasm.  “So tell me.”

“Oh my gosh, Tragan, why do you even care?”

“Because I’m your roommate and
I take that very seriously.  This is the kind of thing that roommates need to know about each other,” he stated with mock severity.

She was almost sure he was
flirting with her now.  It should make her want to retreat to her room and put an end to the night.  Instead, she turned on the couch to look at him, dead on.  “Fine.  It’s Andaline.  There.”

For a moment, he paused--even f
urrowed his brow.  “Andaline,” he repeated carefully, no longer mocking.  Respecting it.  It was actually kind of sweet.

“It was my great-
grandmother’s name,” Andy explained.  “My mom always loved it.  My dad got to pick Emma’s name, and then when I was born it was my mom’s turn. Okay?”

“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it--
Andaline
?”

“
Tragan,” she warned, “this conversation never happened.”

“Why?  It’s not a bad name.”

“Do you want me to play or not?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Yes. 
Okay--Andy,” he said, giving her one last smile before turning his attention to the screen.

“
That’s better,” she agreed, sinking deeper into the couch, as hot tea and a strange sense of contentment warmed through to her bones.

Chapter Ten

As the sun rose, it shone blindingly through the plate-glass walls that lined the
Cambridge Athletic Club & Spa
.  Brad dropped his first set of free weights and reached for a heavier pair, as his friend, Manny Suárez, sat on an adjacent weight bench, catching his breath. 

Manny was also a second-year resident at St. Catherine’s, but unlike Brad, he was doughy and out-of-shape--and possibly not as motivated to fix that as he claimed.  This was only the fourth day he’d tagged along for Brad’s daily workout--cardio followed by lifting--and by the exhausted, pained look on Manny’s face, Brad wasn’t counting on him to last much longer. 

“So let me get this straight,” Manny said, leaning forward to pick his water bottle off the floor.  “Andy’s living with some guy, and you’re okay with that?”

“Sure.  It’s only a temporary situation.”

“Okay…but back to my point: she’s living with some
guy
.”

“Yes, some random guy,” Brad replied dismissively, holding his arm straight out and lifting slowly.  Mentally he did his counts, mostly by rote. 

While Manny kept talking.

“Doesn’t it bother you?  Some guy’s seeing her in the morning.  At night.  They’re in close proximity…etcetera.”

“There’s no etcetera,” Brad said simply.  “It’s a convenient location, on a temporary basis.  And I trust Andy.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean--no, Andy’s a sweetheart, don’t get me wrong,” Manny corrected quickly.  “But still…doesn’t mean the guy won’t
try
to make a move.”

“She said he’s not even home that much.  When he is, he does
n’t bother her.”  Manny scoffed as though he still didn’t trust the guy.  “Look, Andy just finished school; she’s looking for some independence, wants to move out of her mother’s house.  I get all that.  I’m not going to interfere.”

Brad continued lifting and counting. 

Meanwhile Manny took a loud, boisterous swig of his water bottle, which included the suctioning sound of the flimsy plastic bottle compressing.  “Man, you’re more secure than I would be,” he remarked offhandedly, crushing and twisting the empty bottle with his hands.   

Brad cracked a reluctant smile at that.  “I’m very secure,” he admitted.  As soon as he said it, he hated how arrogant it sounded, because he was only being honest.

“And you don’t want her staying at your place?”

“I offered.  She wanted to help her friend, Ethan, out and besides,
Cambridge is out of the way for her.  I’m hardly even home.”

“Damn!” Manny said dramatically, slapped his hand to his thigh.  “You offered and she turned you
down
?  That’s even worse!”

Brad paused his set to shoot Manny a disdainful look.  “Don’t try to get in my head; you’ll never succeed.  So are you done working out--or do you have a few more empty water bottles you want to lift?”

“Screw you,” Manny said with a laugh, reluctantly lifting his slumping body off the weight bench.  “I’m just looking out for you,” he remarked. 

“
Are you?” Brad said doubtfully, because he knew that Manny envied him on a few levels, and inevitably that colored any “advice” he offered.  After finishing his set, Brad dropped the weights by his feet and explained, “Look--even if I were inclined to worry about Andy, this guy’s not a threat.  I’m better looking and I make a lot more money.  Toss me a towel, will you?”  Manny grabbed one off the rack and threw it to him.  Blotting his face, Brad added, “Even
if
he wanted Andy, how could he win?”

~

Over lunch at the sushi shop next to the hospital, Brad surprised Andy with a gift.  “Brad, what!” she said, as he took out a small, thin box with a bow on it, and set it on the table.  “What’s this?”

He smiled at her--that winning, million-dollar smile of Brad’s.  “An early birthday present,” he told her.  “Open it.”

“But my birthday is still a few weeks away.”

“It’s only a little something.  Not your actual gift-gift.”

Andy sighed, looking at him, genuinely touched by what a considerate boyfriend he could be.  Moments like this made her feel guilty for even contemplating…possibly…well, ending things.  The thought of breaking up with Brad was especially daunting because he was just so perfect.  Who gave up a guy like that?  It wouldn’t make sense.  How would she begin to explain it to her mother, who thought Brad walked on water? 

And
, after all, she
used
to feel excited about him.  They’d had a genuine spark at one point.  A big part of her couldn’t accept that it had fizzled out, once and for all.  A nagging voice in Andy’s mind reminded her that surely most relationships endured ebbs and flows, and that she just needed to be patient and wait for the spark to come back.   

  When she’d first met Brad
, it had been when she was home from school on her Christmas break and her mom had driven her to the ER at St. Catherine’s Hospital.  He was fresh out of medical school at the time, just beginning his residency, and was randomly given her case on his rotation.  She’d told him about first getting sick in Chicago and being diagnosed with Bronsteg Disorder a year before.  Though he’d acted confident, he’d excused himself for a few moments--at which point she was sure he’d gone to look up what Bronsteg Disorder even was. 

Though she cringed whenever she thought of
being sick, she still remembered her first meeting with Brad very fondly.  Her case was quickly passed off to a different doctor, who was much more experienced than Brad, but still couldn’t tell Andy anything about her disorder that she didn’t already know (and of course, she didn’t know much).  Still, Brad had checked in on her regularly.  It became clear that he had a personal interest in her well-being, in
her
.  In fact, he pursued her with such smooth persistence, it almost seemed impossible
not
to fall for him.

At the time, she was so scared abou
t what was wrong with her.  And, as a doctor, Brad just seemed so knowledgeable and unflappable.  She supposed that, in and of itself, was a great comfort to her and something she wanted to cling to. 

Though he
wasn’t a sappy romantic type, Brad was a solid boyfriend--and this pre-birthday gesture only highlighted that.  “Come on, open it,” he said now, pushing the box toward her.  It was about the size of two matchboxes and almost as light as air.  She peeled off the bow and saw the words: “Barnes & Noble” printed across the front. 

“Oh, Brad!” she said, smiling, peeling back the flaps of the lightweight box.  Inside was a gift card for fifty dollars. 

“So you can buy even more books to fill your mind--and your room,” he said, smiling. 

“Thank you so much,” she said, shaking her head, feeling a tear pool up in her eye, for a combination of reasons.  Scooting her chair around closer to his, she reached over to hug him.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he told her gently, petting her back.  Yes, petting.  It was something she’d begun to find annoying about Brad’s hugs, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’d rather be embraced strongly by her man than have the back of her shirt groomed. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against his chest.  “And for a while now…”  She was referring to their sex life, and of course he knew that.  She still couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t pressuring her about not being the mood for the last few months.  Back when they
were
intimate, he always seemed to have a strong sex drive.  Sex with Brad had been good for a while, though she had nothing to compare it to since he was her first. 

When
ever she’d gone back to Chicago, things
had
kind of slowed down between them.  Even though he’d visited her at school a few times, and she’d visited him in Boston for a long weekend here or there, she supposed it wasn’t quite the same.  He’d gotten so busy at the hospital and she’d been consumed with school--especially when she was working herself like crazy during the summer and fall so she could finish her degree.  Her brief Bronsteg-related relapse this past December didn’t exactly help matters. 

So why
was Brad so patient?  Why didn’t he take it personally that she’d turned into a prude on him?  Didn’t he have needs that he felt compelled to remind her of, complain about, even beg her to satisfy?  Of course, she was grateful it hadn’t come to that, but she was honestly surprised.

“I understand,” he told her now.  “Look, Andy, you’ve had a tough year and you haven’t been well.  Don’t get me wrong; when you’re ready and interested again, I’m here.  Believe me--I’m here,” he stated emphatically, making his sexual interest clear.  “But I think this is what relationships are about.  Going through tough periods, but standing by each other as things resolve themselves.  The important thing now is that you
continue with the drug trial.” 

“W-what?” she said,
pulling back to look at him, a bit confused by the non-sequitur.

“I just mean…I think this new drug could help you.  I know I’m not personally involved with it at all, but from everything I’ve heard, this medication
potentially overlaps with the Bronsteg symptoms really well.  You just focus on staying committed to that--to your health, in general, I mean--and everything will be fine.”

She wasn’t sure if “everything will be fine” referred to the Bronsteg Disorder or their relationship.  She supposed it was just vague enough to include both.  “Now make sure you spend up that gift card.  I just want to make you happy,” Brad said, and leaned down to kiss her.
 

Feel something
,
Andy willed herself, shutting her eyes and kissing him back.  Stroking his cheek, she deepened the kiss and tried to get lost in some romantic sensation.  If she couldn’t feel turned on, at least let her feel in love. 
Everything will be fine.
  His words echoed in her mind.  Trite as they were, she wanted to believe in them.  She wanted this to be some weird mental phase.  She wasn’t ready to give up on Brad, on a two-year relationship, on her mother’s dream son-in-law, on the memories of those earlier days.  Even though the only thing she was feeling at the moment, with Brad’s lips on hers, was doubt.