Phillip

The roads on Nata's biotech campus are not something a non-boyscout could orient themselves without a map or experience. I extend my thanks to the engineers for GPS technology and park Dad's Land Rover I took to blend in with the employees as close to building Nata sent me the directions to as I can.

The receptionist in the corner of the modern high-ceiling lobby stares at my driver's license. The two lines between her eyebrows are sure indicators that she's combing through her memory to figure out where she knows a Phillip Van der Heuvel from.

Her eyes widen, and her eyebrows turn into an upside-down V as the realization dawns.

"Mr. Van der Heuvel." Her voice changes to the solicitous one I receive everywhere the moment I get recognized. She extends the lanyard with a visitor card my way. "Do you know where you're going? Would you like me to show you the way?"

"I'm expecting someone." My polite smile sits her back into her chair.

"Oh, right. Would you like to wait in the lobby?" She gestures to the orange geometric couches and low glass coffee tables on the opposite side of her. "Or would you prefer—"

"Lobby's fine." I switch my tone to polite but firm, take one of the couches, and pull my phone out. I'm ten minutes early, but I text Nata in case she can come earlier.

Me: Here. See you soon.

No answer. I open my work email.

The bad thing about me staying in Chicago apart from Dad being sick is that my schedule of meetings, dinners, and events that were crammed tight into my days and nights in New York had to be canceled.

The good part is that my schedule hasn't been this empty in years. Some of the clients are important enough I'll have to fly over to New York for a couple of days, but not until Dad is out of the hospital and agrees to follow the instructions the doctor gives him. Others will have to be handled by my VPs. As no one was expecting me in Chicago, I can do the impulsive thing like drive here to meet a friend I have zero financial or professional gains from.

My time has become too precious to do things that weren't what benefited the company or me directly. Nata doesn't fit into any of the categories.

There's no use for her in my life, but seeing her on the rooftop woke some part of me, and no, I'm not talking about my dick, because he never needs much to wake up.

Nata stirred the recollections in the sinkholes of my memories about how I used to feel around her. Even though the thought of reaching out to my former tutor circled my brain all week-end, it was the empty room, Dad's empty house, and the desire to see someone just for fun that made me text her this morning. I scroll through the requests and reminders from my and my dad's PAs and keep an eye on the turnstiles to my right that lead into the building when a new email pops into my inbox.

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From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Research internships

Mr. Van der Heuvel,

Dean Kaas suggested I contact you in regards to a potential collaboration between my department and your company.

I'm looking for both summer and year-round placements for my students for 3-8 months of hands-on experience to see the interdisciplinary work between engineering and biochemistry components of their future expertise.

Please, let me know what would be an appropriate time and date for us to meet or have a call to discuss this.

Regards,

Douglas Mallard, Ph.D.

Bioengineering Department

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With the weekend spent in Dad's hospital room, talking to the doctors and trying to persuade Dad to stay as long as they needed to run more tests, instead of going home, fielding calls from New York and instructing my assistant what to pack and send me from my place to Dad's house, the internships slipped my mind.  I pinch the bridge of my nose and forward the request to Jerry, my executive assistant. He can navigate the mess of my calendar for a time for Professor Mallard.

"Phillip?"

I jerk my head to the turnstiles. No one there. I move to the left. At the entrance doors is a version of Nata I've never seen before. Another variation that slackens my jaw. I cover up by rubbing my chin, as I stand up and put my phone away.

Her hair is loose and framing her face that has enough makeup to emphasize the features that make her—her. She's all cheekbones, eyes, and mouth. Am I staring at her mouth? I swallow and stop myself before my gaze lingers any longer than the already inappropriate amount I spent on the spot below her clavicle. I slide down her body, looking for less dangerous territory, and only trap myself further. The legs I admired on the roof are covered in tight slacks that only draw my attention to their shape. Shit. I should do something about the whole getting laid situation. I force myself to return to her face and give her an apologetic grin, because her raised eyebrows and arms crossed over her chest are clear indications that she not only noticed my not very subtle examination, but wasn't thrilled by it.

"I was expecting you to come from inside." I point my head to the turnstiles.

"Sorry to disappoint." She needles me just like she always did.

Nata's the opposite of disappointment. My chest tingles with the excitement of seeing her and how easy this feels. Like we've been friends all through the fifteen years, not strangers. Like my friend is still there, inside this attractive package I don't remember her having. "Highly unlikely."

"Let me start proving you wrong right away. Kate's stuck in a meeting. I'll have to get her a coffee to go on my way back."

"Whoever that Kate is, having alone time with you can never be a disappointment." My flirt is on before I can check myself. What the heck am I doing? There's no need to butter her up. I'm not taking her home with me. I'm not into brunettes with bubble butts and eyes that remind me of burning coals. I button my jacket. "Where to?"

Nata walks past me toward the turnstiles, in a cloud of hair and no-nonsense attitude. "The café is this way."

She scans her badge and sends me through first. I can sense the receptionist's eyes on my back. Nata walks through and weaves me forward. The high heels look suspiciously like the ones she was wearing at the party. Not that I'm an expert in women's fashion, but I've never seen Nata in heels in our college days and seeing her wear them twice in two days, triggers some setting in me that pushes me to appreciate the calves and thighs as she moves ahead. Did she put them on for me?

Women making an extra effort to get my attention is a thing. Something that happens not because I'm an awesome person, but because the combination of my name, money, and reputation lures some into the illusion that I'm worth pursuing.

If they only knew.

The coffee shop is a generic version of any higher-end coffee making establishment, with the drinks ranging from cafe au lait and flat whites, to tisanes, lemonades, and a collection of teas. "A Flat White?"

"You think I haven't change since college?"

My gaze flicks to her mouth and I cover it up by moving an imaginary hair off her face. "I'm sure we both have. Does it mean you'd like something else?"

She tugs her lips to the side. "No. Flat Whites are still it for me."

"Good to know that some things haven't changed." I run my hand over the back of my neck and catch her lowering her gaze a little too fast, as if she's embarrassed about something.

"Change is good sometimes."

"Not sure I'm going to agree with you there." I pick up her coffee and my tea and walk to the table as far from anyone's earshot as I can find.

"Never thought of you as someone stuck in his ways." She side-eyes me.

I shrug, let her pick a seat, and place her coffee in front, moving the other chair so that we don't have to shout over the table, but can sit next to each other. "Stuck—no. But with Dad's situation change is inevitable."

"Is he getting worse?"

I take the lid off my tea and remove the bag, paying special attention not to lift my eyes off the table. Also, so that I don't have to spend a good portion of my brainpower on not letting myself peruse her. I've never been this unprofessional. Not that this is a work situation.

Maybe the confusion of where to place us is what creates the struggle between my rational self to treat her as a colleague I wouldn't be ogling while my baser dating instincts want me to pay attention to the parts of her, I don't remember ever paying attention to during our college years. Like the vein pulsing on her neck. I direct my eyes to my tea and blow at the steaming brew.

"You don't have to answer. I didn't mean to pry," she says.

What were we talking about? Dad. "It's not that. I'm not 100% sure what's going on, but most likely he has Parkinson's."

"I'm sorry." Her palm rests on top of my hand.

"Yeah. So I'm moving to Chicago."

"For how long?"

I turn the cup and watch the surface ripple. "As far as I see it, permanently."

"Wow. That's a big change." Her fingers grip me tighter.

"Not like anyone is making me." That feeling like I can tell her everything rushes over me. "It's Dad. He would've moved mountains for me. The least I can do is make whatever years he has left easier and give him what he enjoys the most."

"You?"

"Huh." I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. She's not far from the truth. I lift my eyes to hers. "Family. He's that family man who got the short stick and had the thing he wanted most ripped away from him."

"He has you." Her thumb travels over my knuckles in a calming motion. "You are his family."

"That's what he keeps telling me, but I'm nothing but a disappointment to him." The familiar heavy net of unfulfilled expectations settles on my chest.

Nata wrinkles her nose. "What are you talking about?"

"Not a scientist. No grandkids for him to spoil. My face plastered across tabloids." I bare my teeth in an artificial 32-teeth smile. "Not the son he expected, I'm sure."

"Has he told you that?"

"Dad?" I scoff. "He'd never. Not that he has to. I know he deserves a better son, and maybe the disease is the wakeup call for me to level up while he's still around."

"And how do you do that?" Nata takes a sip of her coffee. A tiny bit of white foam lingers on her upper lip, and she licks the residue off with a quick flick of her tongue.

"Still working on some things." The idea that came to me in the emergency room barges back in. Lots of people do it these days. There are surrogates, egg donors, nannies. I could have as many kids as I'd like without a partner. Dad raise me after Mom died. And I can afford the whole soccer team too. The sigh that comes out of me is heavier and reveals more than I intend to.

Nata squeezes my hand. "I didn't mean to pry." She starts moving her hand away. I catch it and sandwich it between the two of mine before she succeeds.

"You aren't. I just haven't talked to anyone about..." The boring stuff. The stuff that if leaked to the news will make me sound like a looser. But Nata isn't a person who'd go to the papers. The maybe false sense of security or the force of the desire to share with someone who won't judge me pried my teeth open.

"I'd like to have kids and I'm figuring out how to go out it," I say, my heart beating faster than when I jumped off the plane for the first time.

"Kids?" Her tone is suspicious.

"Natalia?" A man's voice slams into our intimate circle and reminds me we are in a public space. The guy strides to our table, eyes ablaze, as if I'm the red cloth and he's the bull charging it. "You don't waste time, do you?"

Nata removes her hand from mine and stands in a belated attempt to block the guy from me. I jump to my feet and step so that my chest touches Nata's back, glowering at the rude asshole.

"What do you want?" She straightens trying to make herself larger in the man's presence.

"For you not to do anything stupid." Comes his gruff response. "You can't just go and start dating random guys to make me jealous." He punches the air in the direction of my head. "I'm jealous. Stop this and let's go home and get back to our normal lives."

"I'm not trying anything." Nata gives him a fierce headshake. "And I'm not going back to anything. If me giving you the engagement ring back was not a clear enough sign that we are done, let me tell you." Her words go from annoyed to angry. "We. Are. Done. I'll pick up my things and move out this week. You can keep the coffee machine." Leave me the hell alone."

"Natalia." He puts his fingers on Nata's bicep and pulls her his way.

I set my hand over his and squeeze hard, so he's forced to release her.

He does and whimpers in pain, then growls at me. "This is none of your business, gigolo."

"She's very much my business."

I walk around Nata and step so close, the man has to sway back. I'm tall, but I'm not a large man. Thankfully neither is he. "I think she said she'd like for you to leave," I say at the volume barely above a whisper.

"So you can fuck her and have babies together?" His spit almost lands on my face. "What catalogue did she pick you from?" He looks at Nata over my shoulder. "Kate told me you'd rather go with a sperm donor than me. I thought she was joking. But I shouldn't have underestimated you. You are determined."

"Samson. Just go. You'll regret this." There are tears in Nata's voice.

I take another step to the man who she called Samson. "Go, or I'll call security. She doesn't want you."

"Oh, and she wants you?" He snickers. "Enjoy the minutes she deems are worth spending. She'll throw you away when she no longer has a need of you. That's a guarantee." He throws his hand in the air, turns, and storms away.

The eyes of the café patrons follow Samson until he disappears then return to us.

"Let's go." I take Nata's hand and pull her behind me. She complies, limp like she's a rag doll with no will of her own. I retrace our steps to the reception area, out the turnstiles, and to my car. I open the Land Rover's front passenger door and watch her climb in as if she's sleepwalking.

I get into the driver's seat and start the car the moment she buckles her seatbelt. Peeling out of the parking lot, we join the road with a generic name. There's nothing generic about the questions I'm going to ask her.

Author's Note

1.14.23

First chapter of 2023 and it's a long one!

Love Expectations is my main focus for the next four months, as I aim to complete the story.

I'm going for one chapter a week posting either Friday or the week-end. I'll try to pick a consistent day as I figure out what the schedule is like this year.

The beginning of the year was rough as I was sick for 2 (!) weeks but I'm adjusting back to normal and hope to get my writing mojo back.

Thank you for your patience and support!

Love,

GR