Page 77 of Cava with My Colleague

Izan lifts his head from the floor two seconds before there’s a knock at the door. It’s nearly eight in the evening—too late for Fernando to stop by unannounced, and I’m not expecting anyone.

I open the door to find Jade standing in the hallway, still in her work clothes, her rolling travel bag at her feet. She looks tired. Beautiful, but tired.

“Hi,” she says. “I hope it’s okay that I just . . . showed up. I texted but you didn’t respond.”

I pat my pocket—empty. “Sorry. Come in.”

She steps inside and Izan immediately trots over for his customary greeting. She bends down to scratch his ears, and I notice the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.

“How was Marseille?” I ask, closing the door behind her.

“It went well.” She straightens, meeting my eyes. “Stephan was great. Very professional, very competent.”

“But?”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “But it wasn’t the same.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest. “No?”

“No.” She rolls her bag to sit by the door, like she’s planning to stay for more than a minute. “He didn’t know that I needed quiet backstage before we started. He tried to make small talk.”

“Unforgivable.”

“Right?” Her smile widens slightly. “And he didn’t check that I had the clicker before we went on. Just assumed I’d grabbed it.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” She’s moving into the living room now, perching on the edge of the armchair like she did a few days ago. But this time there’s less formality to it; her foot swings. “He didn’t translate as fast as you either. I had to keep waiting for him to finish. The pace was off.”

I sit on the couch, angling toward her. “That must have been jarring.”

“It was.” She pauses, her eyes finding mine. “You always knew. When I was ready to move on, when I needed an extra beat, when I was about to say something that needed careful translation.”

“We practiced together for weeks.”

“No, it was more than that.” Her voice is soft now. “You paid attention. You knew me.”

The past tense sits heavy between us.

“The rest went well, though?” I ask, needing to keep this conversation from going where we both know it wants to go.

“Really well. Great engagement from the audience. Several patients came up afterward to share their stories.” She smiles, but there’s something wistful about it. “One woman told me I gave her hope. That was . . . that was everything.”

“That’s what it’s about.”

“I know. You taught me that.” She looks down at her hands. “When we started this tour, I would have given anything for someone else to be giving those presentations. Anyone else.”

I remember. Her request to Rebecca. The desperation in her voice when she said she wasn’t the right person for this.

“And now?” The question is out before I can stop it.

She looks up, and the honesty in her eyes nearly undoes me.

“Now I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

The air between us feels charged, heavy with everything we’re not saying.

“Not even Berlin?” I ask quietly.