Isla and the Happily Ever After(10)

Josh is slumped on the waiting room couch. His legs are stretched out so far and so low that they’re actually underneath the coffee table. His arms are crossed, but his eyebrows rise – perhaps involuntarily, for someone sitting with such purposeful displeasure – at the sight of me.

My response is another deep, flaming blush. Why can’t I have a normal face? Genetics are so unfair. I hasten towards the desk and ask the receptionist in French about Hattie. Without glancing up, she waves me towards the couch. A bracelet with a monogrammed charm jingles daintily from her wrist.

I can’t move. My stomach is in knots.

“Wait there,” she says, as if I didn’t understand her gesture. Another wave and another jingle.

Move, feet. Come on. Move!

She finally looks at me, more annoyed than concerned. My feet detach, and I plant one in front of the other like a wind-up doll until I’m sitting on the other side of the couch. The small couch. Love seat, really.

Josh is no longer in full recline. He sat up while my back was turned, and now he’s leaning forward with his elbows propped against his knees. He’s staring straight ahead at an oil painting of a haloed Jeanne d’Arc.

It is now officially more awkward to ignore him than to acknowledge his presence. I search for an opener – something elementary – but my throat remains thick and closed. His silence is a confirmation of my fears. That I was a mess in the café, that his help was given in pity, that he wouldn’t actively choose to interact with me and never will again—

Josh clears his throat.

It seems like a good sign. Good. “Good first day?” I ask.

A funny expression crosses his face. Was that a dumb question? Did it make me sound like his mother? Hattie is always accusing me of sounding like Maman.

“I’ve had better.” He nods towards the head of school’s office door.

“Oh.” But then I get it. “Oh! Sorry. I’m here for the nurse, so…I assumed…”

“It’s okay.” And he says it like it is.

I wonder why he was called to her office. Because he skipped her welcome-back speech? Because he was tardy to his classes? It seems harsh to punish him for these things on our first day. And, great, now we’ve been silent for at least twenty seconds.

Tell him. Tell him. Just tell him already!

“Listen,” I blurt. “I’m really embarrassed about last June. I was taking a lot of medication, and I don’t remember much about that night, but I’m pretty sure you paid for my meal so I’d like to pay you back. And I’m sorry. For being weird. And thank you for walking me home. And for paying for my food.”

He waits until I’m done. “It’s okay,” he says again.

And I feel stupid.

But Josh frowns as if he feels stupid, too. He scratches his head, somehow managing to muss his close-cropped hair. “I mean…don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. And you don’t need to pay me back, it was only a few bucks.”

This is the moment. Right here. This is the moment to place a hand on his arm, lean in, and say the least I can do is treat him to a meal in return. Instead, I just think it.

“Are you okay?” Josh asks. And then he makes another face.

It takes me a few seconds to figure it out, but that’s the third time he’s said the word okay. His embarrassment gives me a surge of confidence. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“You’re here to see the nurse?”

“Oh! No, I’m checking in on my sister. She’s sick.”

He looks confused. “Geneviève?”

I’m thrown. He remembers Gen, and he remembers that we’re related. He knows something about me. I shake my head. “My younger sister, Hattie. It’s her first day.”

He winces. “That makes more sense.”

I can actually see Josh beating himself up in his head. The role reversal is fascinating. Somehow, I’ve made him nervous.

“So…how are your teeth?” he asks. “Everything heal?”

I smile, more to ease his discomfort than my own. “No problems.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

But I look away, down at the rug, unable to hold his gaze. The sketchbook. It’s right there. Poking out of his bag. It’s black and it has the blue sticker and it’s definitely the same one. I should ask to see the drawing. I should just…open my mouth and ask. One question. It’s one frigging question!

“You can see your sister now,” the receptionist says.

I startle. “Merci.” I stand hastily and grab my bag. “Good luck,” I tell Josh, but then I’m flustered all over again. Just because it’s him. I scramble down the hall before he can reply. The nurse’s door is open, and Hattie watches me enter from a paper-sheet-covered cot. She tucks her bobbed, choppy hair behind her ears as if preparing for battle.