The One In My Heart

I wanted to reassure him. You’ll have time. He’ll recover. I can feel it.

But I’d thought that Pater was going to make it too. I didn’t think it was possible for my father to be felled by a random car accident. After all, misanthropes were supposed to last forever, growing more bitter with each passing year.

I got up and sat down next to Bennett, taking his free hand in mine. I didn’t say anything. Words were of no use here. One way or the other we would know before the end of the night.

He lifted our clasped hands and kissed the back of my palm.

And then we waited.


I WAS STARTING TO DRIFT off when someone said, “Are you Rowland Somerset’s family?”

Bennett and I both scrambled to our feet. “Yes, we are,” he said, giving his mom a small shake.

She jerked and sat up straight. “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

The woman in green scrubs was Asian in feature and about forty years old. She shook our hands. “Hi, I’m Dr. Pei. I’m happy to inform you that the surgery was successful. Mr. Somerset is now in recovery and should come out of anesthesia in about an hour or so.”

I had tears in my eyes. So did Bennett. Mrs. Somerset wept outright with relief, leaning on her son. The commotion awakened Zelda, who leaped up at the news, which led to many hugs being exchanged. Then we all shook hands with Dr. Pei again, thanking her—and her team—profusely.

“Will we be able to see him?” asked Mrs. Somerset.

“Very briefly,” answered Dr. Pei. “He won’t be able to speak because he’ll still be intubated, and I would ask that you do not excite him, since he needs to rest.”

After the surgeon left, we celebrated some more. Bennett and his mother shared a muffin, texted his siblings, and drank a toast with their cold coffees.

“Do you want to go home?” I asked Zelda.

“After Rowland comes out of anesthesia,” she said.

Three-quarters of an hour later, a nurse came and told us that Mr. Somerset was awake. Mrs. Somerset and Bennett went into the recovery room; Zelda and I remained just outside.

The recovery room had a window that faced the corridor, its blinds half up. I could see Mr. Somerset on the hospital bed, surrounded by IV stands and various machines, looking incredibly frail. His wife went to him and took his hand. He lifted his other hand a bare inch off the bed. Bennett hesitated, a look of confusion and incredulity on his face. Then he rushed forward and gripped his father’s hand in his own.

The nurse was already laying down the law. “Only one family member may remain with the patient. Everyone else must clear out.”

“I’ll stay,” said Bennett. “Mom, you go home and take some rest.”

“I love you,” said Mrs. Somerset to her husband.

Bennett kissed his father on the forehead. “I love you too, Dad—and I’m sorry for everything. I’ll see the ladies to their cabs and be right back.”

We walked out of the hospital. Mrs. Somerset hugged her son. “It’s so good to have you back. So very, very good.”

He kissed her on both cheeks. “It’s good to be back.”

The prodigal son had returned to the fold. The circle was complete. And I stood outside the circle, looking in.

Zelda felt no such outsider status. She hugged Frances Somerset and then Bennett. “I’m so happy for you. For this entire family.”

Mrs. Somerset left waving—and dabbing at the corners of her eyes. The next cab pulled up. Zelda got in first. I looked at Bennett and managed a smile. “Take care.”

He kissed me on my lips. “You too. I love you.”

My ears rang, as if I’d been to a too-loud concert. “But not enough to take me as I am?” I said, my words barely above a whisper.

His voice dropped just as low. “The other way around. I love you too much to survive being kept at arm’s length.”

“You want me to be someone I’m not.”

“Your work is all about making ceramics conduct electricity. Ceramics are insulators. Why are you wasting your time?”

A hundred rebuttals bounced around in my head, everything from source material and kilning methods to the molecular structure of electroceramics.

“Are you coming or not, lady?” asked the cabdriver, getting impatient.

I grimaced and got in. When we were about to turn the corner and lose sight of the hospital, I looked back. Bennett was still there, watching me leave.





Chapter 17





I WAS ALTERNATELY EXASPERATED WITH Bennett for talking out of his rear end—of course a subset of ceramics conducted electricity, and very well too—and infuriated because, as far as metaphors went, his had been pretty damn seamless.

My work was all about improving properties that the layman might not even know ceramics possessed. And now he wanted me to do the same to my heart, to unearth properties that I didn’t even know it possessed.