Sophia

The next Monday, Sophia took a long shower. She'd tried to think about Tom as little as possible over the weekend, but it had been hard. She thought about his lips on hers as she got coffee from the dining hall in the morning, and she thought about his practice as she read up on anesthesiology for her exam on Tuesday. She thought about Miguel too, and wished she hadn't thought those things about his email. It made it difficult to email back with a light heart; she still hadn't managed to reply yet.

She rode the train to work, paying minimal attention to the book open on her lap. I gotta snap out of it, she told herself as she walked forcefully towards the café. I don't have time for this! I can't handle it, she thought, almost desperately. She pushed into the café and swept through the back, pinning her badge on forcefully. Nina stopped her before she got to the counter. "Delivery for you," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hunh?" said Sophia, inelegantly. "What?"

Nina pointed at a wrapped basket sitting on the counter. Sophia immediately realized who it must be from and grabbed it off the counter and shoved it in the back out of sight. "Aw, come on," whined Nina, "lemme see!"

Sophia grimaced. "Fine, let's have a look." She knelt down and pulled off the wrapping. Inside was a strange amalgamation of different objects. There was a small bouquet of flowers on top, with a note attached to the stems. It read, "I had a wonderful time on Friday. By the way, would flowers work?"

"What does he mean, would flowers work?" asked Nina. Sophia didn't answer and turned to the other objects. There was a bottle of wine with "What about wine?" written on the label. A small bottle of orange juice ("Or maybe you're the healthy type") and a thin volume of Neruda poems sat at the bottom of the basket. She opened the book of poetry eagerly. It was a collection, not of love poems, but of poems about children. Out fell an envelope on which was written, "In any case, I hope I will see you on Saturday, little tiger." She dropped the book on her lap and opened the envelope. Inside were two tickets to an outdoor music festival in Central Park Saturday afternoon. On the underside of the envelope flap, Tom had written, "Call me- (647) 535-6277."

"Ooooh!" squeeled Nina behind her. Sophia suddenly wished she hadn't opened it all in front of Nina. Tom's courting had been a fun joke to share before, but all of a sudden it seemed sort of...private. "Wow, I'll take them if you don't want them," Nina giggled.

Before she could catch herself, Sophia said, "He said you're not his type." She immediately regretted it as Nina's face fell a fraction. "Oh Nina, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

"It's alright, dear, you're just feeling a little protective of your man," she said, bouncing back into a teasing tone.

Sophia sighed. "He's not 'my man.' He just wishes he were," she said, smiling. "Which is flattering, I have to admit." She quickly gathered up all the pieces of the basket and pushed them under a table in the back.

"So, are you going to call him?" asked Nina, tying her apron on.

*****

Sophia waited until two days later to call Tom. She had thought a lot about why she felt guilty calling him and realized that she hadn't written back to Miguel yet. She had flopped down in her chair, determined to write back at least five times, but nothing had come of it. Finally, she told herself that she needed to call Tom soon, even just as a courtesy, but that she had to write to Miguel first.

Dear Miguel,

My finals have come to a close at last, and the sweet taste of summer is almost on my tongue. It seems impossible that it's only been nine months since I was last on the streets of Caracas. The weather here makes me think of racing each other down the alley behind La Casa in flopping sandals, when you would always let me win. Remember that time you bet a vendor for his last piece of fried banana, and gave your winnings to me? Never has a banana been so sweet. You were so nice to me, the little girl who wasn't more than a kid herself and not very helpful. But you always made me feel like I was useful to you.

Speaking of which, is Lucia going to help out at the clinic this year? I know she wanted to. Think of it as a way to keep her away from prying teenage male eyes. Maybe she'll have a thing or two to teach me about picking up Venezuelan men.

I may have found a doctor for us. Well, I haven't asked him yet, but he seems like he'd be good at it and that the experience would be really good for him. He's sort of the high-flying, well-paid type, but I think he's got a soft spot that would fit perfectly at our little clinic. I plan to ask him this weekend (I know, it's last minute, but I don't have any other options).

Ten days,

Sophia

Sophia got up from her computer and dialed Tom's number into her phone. She really was going to ask him. Would he think she was crazy? Would he decide that she was too weird to take out anymore? Would that be so bad?

"Hello?" His voice was brisk.

"Hey, um, it's me, Sophia."

His voice turned warm and he laughed a little. "I was wondering when you were going to call."

"Well, yeah. Saturday sounds nice." She fidgeted a little with the hem of her shirt.

"And how about dinner afterwards?" His voiced curled intimately through her ear, and she shifted uncomfortably.

She considered a moment. "Alright. But only if I get to pick the place."

"Hmm, I dunno about that. At least let me pay."

"Deal. Should I meet you there? What time?"

"Hey, hey, not so fast. I'm picking you up. 3pm. At the gate." And he hung up the phone.

*****

That Saturday at three, Sophia was leaning against the gate. This time, she had dressed herself. She wore comfortable jeans with a soft pink camisole on top. The cars were passing too quickly for her to guess which one might be Tom's from her vague recollection. He hadn't come at all lately to the coffee shop, which she was kind of puzzled about. Even if he didn't really like chai lattes, wouldn't he normally come just to bother her? She'd gotten used to it... Then she saw his silver car come around the corner.

He stopped neatly in front of her. As he jumped out of the car and opened her door (she let him; whatever makes him happy, she thought), he said, "So you showed."

She frowned a little as she got into the car. Of course she did. Did he think she was that unreliable?

"Not that I think you're unreliable. Just a little too sensible for your own good." He grinned over at her, and his crinkly eyes shook her. She looked away. That was a little freaky.

The concert was packed, but they elbowed their way to a view of the stage. On several occasions, he grabbed her hand to pull her through the crowd. She quickly pulled away as soon as she was through, but he just grinned good-naturedly at her. That was a bit unnerving. It was as though he didn't even notice or mind the hints she was sending that he shouldn't get his hopes up.

Even though the concert was loud, they were far enough away that they could hold a reasonable conversation. They talked about music and Sophia could feel herself beginning to relax and open up in little increments. As she came out of herself, she noticed that Tom was really... not cute, in the way she usually noticed boys. Handsome, maybe. He was wearing a navy button-down shirt, but his sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was looser and more messy than usual. It suits his eyes, she thought. Those aren't suit-and-tie eyes. When he leaned over to hear something she'd said, she noticed the easy grace of his movements as he put his hand on her shoulder. She didn't shrug him off, only noticed that his hands were big and steady. A doctor's hands. That's what was different in him from the boys she usually noticed. He was already a man, with responsibilities and capabilities. She noticed the pager on his belt and the easy way his slightly formal clothes fit. She suddenly felt very young and small, and she fidgeted with the rim of her jeans pocket.

She was looking at the ground and thinking when she felt his fingers hook around her restless ones and pull her hand firmly into his. His palm was warm and dry, and the gesture quieted her immediately. She looked up at him. Suddenly, he bowed to her, sweeping his free hand before himself. "May I have this dance?"

She laughed in spite of herself. Oh, what the hell. "You may," she said, and he gently tugged her to him and settled his other hand in the small of her back. The music was slightly Spanish and jazzy, and it was clear that he knew how to dance. His muscles just worked right. She got into the music and let herself just be there, at that moment, with grass in her sandals and the soft, afternoon light over Central Park.

He spun her out and pulled her back in one movement, so that one of his arms was wrapped around her and her back was pressed against his chest. Her heart suddenly beat quite fast. She could feel the heat of his body beginning to pull her in, and she felt his cheek resting softly against her hair. Suddenly, it was too much, and his gentleness made it all too real. She pulled away and declared, "No more dancing." He was just flirting, right? She didn't want to go too far.

"Alright, little tiger," he laughed. "Don't get your fur all rumpled." They listened to the rest of the music in silence. Every few minutes, she would see him steal a glance at her. Uh oh. She fell into thought. Maybe her plan wasn't so brilliant after all. The last thing she needed was for her summer to be messed up by some sort of misguided romance. Maybe it was ridiculous to even think of inviting him, after he'd made it clear he was interested in her. But a small, nasty part of her said, you didn't even think about inviting him until he had already made that clear. Ulterior motives?

"So," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "where's this mystery dinner locale?"

She grinned a little mischievously, "You'll just have to wait and see."

Actually, she was a little nervous about her choice of restaurant. Maybe he'd be disdainful. Well, either way, she'd know by his reaction whether or not to ask him to come with her this summer.

She led him out of the park after the concert, and as they stepped out onto the street, he took her hand in his. He wasn't going to let her pretend this wasn't a date. They followed the winding streets and chatted, and as she came in sight of the Mexican diner she'd chosen, she realized how comfortable this felt, but also how strange. Walking slowly, at a couple's pace, her fingers entwined in a man's. She tried to pull away as they got near the diner, but he just held her hand a little more firmly and asked, "So, this must be the place." She looked up to see his reaction, but he just looked happy.

"Yeah, I love this place. I come here all the time." She emphasized the last sentence and tried to pull away again, but he just laughed, opened the door for her, and ushered her inside.

She could feel her cheeks turning red as Francisco and Maria, the owners, greeted her and looked pointedly at her hand still captured in Tom's. The diner was painfully small, with only 3 tables, but there were lots of customers, mostly standing and waiting for their food. Sophia knew many people and chatted with them in Spanish. Suddenly a teasing voice came across the counter. "Hey, chica, who's the man?"

Sophia spun around, now thoroughly beet red. She hadn't thought about this when she planned to bring Tom here. "This, um, he's... Tom," she finished uncomfortably, and plopped into an empty booth. She sat, letting her face cool, as Tom leaned over the counter to shake hands with Maria. This was a really bad idea. "Two of whatever your special is today," she mumbled grumpily to Maria, who was leaning on the counter and looking appraisingly at Tom.

"You can go sit down, honey. I'll bring your food," Maria said to Tom with a smile. Maria owned the restaurant with her husband and was always there, day and night. Sophia knew from experience; many days she'd come in to talk for hours after they had closed.

Tom came over and sat down. "What are you embarrassed about?" he asked. "This was your choice of restaurant, remember?" He grinned at her mischievously.

"Yes, but...but why do you have to be so, so..." She stuttered. "Obvious, I guess," she ended, lamely.

He chuckled and he picked her hand up off the table and kissed it. He looked straight at her. "Several reasons. One, I like you. Why should I hide it? Two, it makes you so deliciously uncomfortable, and you're sexy when you squirm. And three, I think you like me too; you just need some encouragement."

Sophia was speechless. How could he be so... direct? She'd been raised to be discreet with her emotions, especially when it came to people of the opposite sex. He watched her, knowing that was slightly over the line. She took a deep breath and said: "I'm gonna go get our food," and hopped up from her seat. He watched her hurry away, amused.

Sophia tried to calm her flushed cheeks at the counter as she took their food from Maria. When she got back to the table, Tom was back on his best manners, obviously trying not to give her reason to run away again. They chatted about various things, and the conversation turned to Sophia's summer. She steeled herself and grabbed the opportunity.

"Actually," she said, responding to his question about the staff of the clinic, "we're short a general surgeon this summer. Miguel has been frantically trying to find someone to no avail. How much do you know about pediatric surgery?" She stared at her hands, shocked at her own daring.

"Quite a bit. Are you asking me to come with you this summer?" His voice was soft and direct.

She looked up. "No," she said, sternly. "I'm asking you to come to the clinic this summer. You would be our savior." She stressed the "our." She watched his expression as he took in her request. His eyes slowly changed from surprise to a slight smile. She jumped in quickly, "but I have to say this right off the bat. If you do come, you have to promise to stop, you know, uh... pursuing me." She turned bright red again but didn't look down.

"Pursuing you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, you know what I mean!" she gasped, flustered.

He laughed. "Let me think about it. When would we leave?"

"In 9 days."

"Wow."

"Yeah." She realized this was a little too much to ask.

Tom carefully steered the conversation away as he thought about her request. He was shocked, but definitely pleased. It would be fun, doing something other than the same old lab work this summer. But if she thought he was going to stop pursuing her, she had another thought coming. Along that vein, it would be the perfect opportunity. But commitment warning bells began to sound in his head. In leaping at this chance, was he essentially saying he wanted a real relationship with her? That he was willing to spend his whole summer, maybe more, with her? He wasn't that kind of guy. Was he?

He walked back to his car with her, keeping up his inside monologue while chatting with Sophia. She was different. Part of it was her innocent excitement about life, and part of it was her genuine intelligence. That was it, she was genuine. Did he really want to get involved with someone with that sort of character? It should have sounded off-putting, but instead he immediately thought, yes. I do.

He made two quick decisions, and took a left instead of a right. Sophia, still dazed at her own forwardness, and glad he wasn't talking about it, didn't notice that they weren't driving towards Columbia until they turned onto residential streets. "Where are we?" she asked, looking over at him a little apprehensively.

Tom stopped in front of a very nice condominium building. "Come up to my apartment."

"What?" Sophia looked at him in shock.

"Please? I want to show you around. I promise I won't try anything funny." He grinned at her, and she melted at his now familiar crinkles. As long as he kept things light, she could feel like she wasn't actually getting involved.

"Just for a few minutes," she acquiesced. He hopped out to let her out of the car and tried not to grin too broadly. Now that he'd decided, life seemed really good. He led the way into the building and up the elevator to his apartment, which was on the top floor. As he ushered her into his apartment, she let out an involuntary, "Wow."

He had floor to ceiling windows in the living room, which connected to the kitchen. During the day, the light streamed in and kept the place cheerful, and at night, he had a great view of the skyline. He realized, as he watched her expressions, that he was anxious for her approval. He never brought women to his apartment, and now here he was, watching this slight and quiet girl, waiting for her opinion.

Sophia stood in shock. She knew Tom was well off, and his apartment showed it, but it wasn't that. It was very tastefully done, and unexpectedly artsy. He had a long white couch with colorful patchwork throws. The furniture was modern, but not cold. He interrupted her thoughts with a gentle touch to her elbow. "Would you like the grand tour?" He smiled down at her.

"I would be honored," she grinned and held out her arm. He took it and steered her to the kitchen.

"The kitchen. Regularly used. I like to cook." He twinkled at her as he steered her out into the living room again. "The living room."

"Great windows," she commented, playing along.

Then he took her to the bedroom. She refused to go in, just peeked through the doorway. The bed was near another tall window, and she could see a door that led to the bathroom. It looked comfy but too intimate for her. He teased her for not wanting to go in, but she withdrew.

He then walked her across to a closed door. He grabbed the handle, hesitated, and then said, "Brace yourself. This is not a sight for the weak of heart." He flung the door open dramatically, to reveal a small room with floor to ceiling bookcases on every wall, filled to the brim, and tottering stacks of paper on the desk, the floor, and the small couch. Sophia laughed delightedly. "It looks exactly like my dream office!" She brushed along him to get inside and he felt a jolt in his stomach as he felt her soft form against his chest. She relaxed immediately when she went inside. His apartment was like him: polished and suave on the outside, and terribly earnest and human behind the door.

Tom followed her in as she began to walk around the room, reading the titles on his shelves. His eyes followed her ponytail as she faced the bookcases, sometimes inching up on tiptoe to see the top shelves. He imagined her working in his office, delicate eyebrows furrowed as she chewed on a pen cap. He took a deep breath, stepped up to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

Sophia whirled around immediately, caught off guard. Suddenly he was too close again. She quickly began to babble, "Built-in bookshelves are proof that civilization will continue. When I finally have my own apart..."

But he cut her off. "Sophia, I've decided." She took a wary step back and he took a step forward.

"Decided about what?"

"I would love to go to Venezuela with you." Her eyes lit up and she involuntarily sprang forward. Suddenly, she was on full-glow and her soft face was bright with excitement.

"Really? That's wonderful! I have to email Miguel tonight and tell him! Are you sure? I..."

He cut her off again. "With you," he repeated, as he put a hand at her waist. "As for promising to not...what was the endearing term you used? Ah yes, 'pursue.' As for promising to not pursue you, forget it." He cupped her cheek with his other hand and gently drew her up against him, his arm circling her waist. "I'd love to help your clinic out, but you must know the real reason I'm going," he said softly against her ear, his breath brushing warmly on her neck.