The next few days were a flurry of activity as I got back into my routine, catching up with classwork, talking to my faculty advisor about grad school (she was really pleased for me and glad that I'd be staying at UCLA), and passing out my souvenirs. The girls in the house had watched the competition and teased me about the interview. I rolled my eyes and smiled. "I always look like a dork in those," I said. "I forget that they're doing it, it's so much more fun to watch a skate in person; it's more dynamic and draws you in. I don't think I could behave like a normal person if I tried." My co-workers at the library were thrilled to hear that I'd gotten accepted to grad school and my boss brought cookies my next shift. Johanna had texted congratulations, as had Will. I popped the souvenirs I'd gotten my far-away friends into the mail and met with Keshondra and Zayna to catch up and give them theirs. They'd gotten the obligatory teasing out of the way and caught up with their news too. Zayna's roommates had not improved, but they were mostly gone, so I still had the group record for both the best and the worst roommates. Keshondra had just broken up with her boyfriend and needed some consolation. Zayna was enjoying her grad school classes and was firming up a summer internship in New York City at one of the big publishing houses there. Everybody else was waiting to hear back on their grad school applications so they could make their choices and plans. As we chatted and laughed and got refills for our coffee, time passed most pleasurably. Zayna looked over at the door and waved. Paul had come in with some of his friends, and he brought them over for introductions after they'd gotten their orders.
He teased me too about the interview, and I defended myself by mentioning his 'highlight' reel performance at the previous Olympics. He'd also followed my Instagram and had questions and comments about my activities. His friends also were interested. I gave him the snowboarding pin I'd gotten for him and he promptly put it on his backpack. Keshondra asked how he was doing, and he had a lot to say about being a freshman in engineering. "I thought you looked pasty," Zayna teased, and we all laughed. But he did look paler; he wasn't spending nearly as much time outside as he was used to.
"John and the she-devil parted ways," he said carelessly as he picked apart his croissant. "She dumped him, actually, when he made it clear that he wasn't going to med school. Not ambitious enough for her. I'm glad to see the back of her; she hated me too and accused me of being anti-Korean." We frowned.
"But you guys are half Korean," I said finally, puzzled.
"I know," he said, rolling his eyes. "She got pissed when I pointed that out." The others burst out into laughter, but it wasn't actually funny. I'd have popped her one for that. Paul wasn't laughing either.
"So what is John doing if he's not going to be a doctor?" Keshondra asked.
"OH, he wants to be a doctor, just a PhD rather than an MD," Paul said. "He's applied to grad school for bioinformatics, data analysis of genomes, molecules, that kind of stuff."
"Delia just got accepted to UCLA for her doctoral program," Zayna said proudly, and it felt good to hear her bragging.
"Congrats, General," Paul said, giving me a quick hug. "That's awesome. I'm glad you'll be around."
We talked for a little longer, then we had to bet going. I had a study group to get to and Zayna and Keshondra had their own work to do.
Time flew by and it didn't seem like enough time had passed when finals came around. I had a Friday afternoon final, so it was late afternoon when I set off for home. I love driving on the Pacific Coast Highway, and relaxed once I'd battled my way clear of LA traffic. Finals aside, it had been a kind of sucky week. The school newspaper had featured an interview with Will, highlighting his career as a Bruin and the terrific season he'd had with the Packers; he'd been on the short list for rookie of the year and was a major reason why the Packers had made it to the Super Bowl even though they hadn't won. I'd read it, of course, and it was interesting. His happiness was important to me. However, they'd shown a picture of him on the back patio of his new house, and the writer had specifically mentioned the gardens in the back yard that prominently featured larkspur throughout the beds. The journalist had attributed the swaths of blue to Will's fondness for Bruin blue. I missed Will a lot, but he was happy and had a great future in front of him, and so did I. I'd been in a funk for a bit part of the week and relished the solitude and silence of the drive; I didn't even turn on the radio for a couple of hours. Real privacy was hard to come by on campus.
I enjoyed the drive through Big Sur; the light was going and the road was almost deserted. I was planning where to stop in Monterey for dinner when the car ahead of me got into trouble; I didn't see what had caused it, but it swerved wildly and hit the guard rail; we were close to the Bixby Creek Bridge. I immediately slowed, pulling off the side of the road, putting my hazards on, and trotting about twenty yards back down the road to place a couple of emergency reflective triangles to warn oncoming drivers. Then I jogged up to the car. I noted a UCLA decal in the rear window and was glad I'd stopped to help a fellow Bruin. The driver's side door opened and the driver escaped the airbags that had gone off. I stopped abruptly when I saw John. And cursed my altruism, just a little.
"Are you ok?" I said, walking forward. He rubbed his face as he turned to me.
"L-- Delia," he said, sighing. "I'm just shook up. Would you mind calling for Highway Patrol and a tow truck?" I nodded and went back to my car to get my purse. He opened the trunk of his car and rummaged around.
"They're coming," I reported, walking over. He zipped his backpack shut and turned on his phone to call his insurance carrier. I went around the side of the car to look at the damage. One of the tires had blown out, which must have accounted for the swerving, and the front right corner was smashed up. That meant frame damage, which meant that the cute little red Mustang was scrap. It was too bad; I'd always liked that car. I saw lights, and the first of two Highway Patrol cars pulled up. John was on the phone with his insurance carrier, so I explained what I'd seen, and the police officer nodded. The other officer came up and began talking to John, who had just hung up. It didn't take too long to figure out what had happened; there had been something in the road that John hadn't seen and it blew out the tire. John didn't need medical attention and the next vehicle to come up was the tow truck. I heard one of the officers offering to take John to the next town, and sighed. I walked up.
"We know each other from high school," I said. "I can give him a ride home." It was the decent thing to do. John hesitated slightly and accepted. I took his suitcase and backpack to put in my trunk while he retrieved a few personal things from his poor car. The officer gave me his card in case I had any questions and picked up the emergency triangles for me. We watched the tow truck drive off then turned for my car. We set off in silence for a bit. "I was going to stop in Monterey for dinner," I said.
"That's fine with me," he said. "I really appreciate you giving me a lift."
"It's not out of my way," I said. It wasn't; the Tangs lived closer to the highway than Grandpa did. The only sound in the car was the radio; I had satellite radio tuned to a classical music station and they were playing Lyric Pieces by Greig. Pretty and soothing. It was about half an hour's drive to Monterey and I pulled off at the Old Fisherman's Grotto. John didn't object; he'd never stopped there but I did about half the time I made the drive back to Duke's Crossing. I had the seafood risotto; pricey but so delicious. He had seafood puttanesca and looked more lively as he ate. We didn't talk much as we ate, but I was starving. Feeling like I deserved a treat for being a good Samaritan, I ordered warm apple pie for dessert; John had raspberry cheesecake.
"Paul said you're staying at UCLA for grad school," he said. "Congratulations."
"Thanks," I said. "I got in everywhere I applied but I really like the program at UCLA. It felt weird to turn down UC-SD, though."
His sober face cracked in a smile. "I bet."
"What are you going to do?"
"I've been accepted for bioinformatics at UCLA and Yale, but not Johns Hopkins. I'm going to figure out which one to accept this week."
"You don't sound too excited."
"It's been a rough year," he said. "My Tang grandparents are a little disappointed that I'm not going to be a medical doctor, but at least I'm on the PhD track. I want to study genomic technologies to help better understand the mechanisms of disease." I wasn't sure what to say.
"That sounds interesting," I said politely.
He laughed a little. "It's not everybody's cup of tea, but thanks." He rubbed his face again.
"Are you sure you're ok?" I asked, a little anxiously.
"I wasn't really hurt in the crash, although I expect I'll be aching a little later. It's just that it feels like my life has been one big fuck up after another for years. I really do want to study this, but I'm afraid of wanting too much from it because I'll find a way to fuck that up too. And my car, too. I loved that car." He shook his head. "When I got it, my life was still going well, making sense." The waiter came by and dropped the check, which John snagged before I even started reaching for it. "A thank you for stopping to help and letting me ride with you. It's the least I can do."
"Thanks," I said, and finished my iced tea. We left the restaurant and I gassed up the car before we left town. We were about two hours out from Duke's Crossing. "What do you mean that your life is all messed up? You've obviously done well enough to get into highly competitive graduate programs."
"Academically, I've done ok," he conceded. "I just keep feeling like I make one mistake after another. Isabelle was a huge one."
"I'm just going to say this and then I'm done. But John, all of us screw up, make mistakes. It's the human condition. And I don't think you're really used to that. Up until the past few years, your mistakes were mostly skating related. You had a plan, achievable goals, and by god, you achieved them. You lost that tight focus when you retired and it doesn't sound like you've really come to grips with that. I don't know, but you might be expecting that the only things worth having are the ones that are the hardest to get. You've never taken the easy way, at least not that I know of. You might try relaxing and seeing the broader picture." He flinched.
"That's what my therapist says," he said. "I started therapy again." He snorted a laugh that was anything but amused. "The reason I was attracted to Jeanne and Isabelle is that I expect everything to be hard work. I don't trust things that aren't a struggle." His voice was muffled and I took a quick look over. His fingers were pressed to his eyes. I reached down to the cupholder in the door and brought out a cylinder of tissues, passing them over without judgment. "It's why I never brought up getting back together with you. You're not a struggle. Our friendship was pretty easy, overall, once you got the chip off your shoulder about me being a skater. Even when we fought, it wasn't because you were asking a lot, you were just asking for simple things. Let you help me. Love me."
"Jesus, John,' I said without rancor. I wanted to rub my eyes too. "There's nothing simple about love. Will's off in his new life, successful and happy. He sent me beautiful diamond earrings for my 21st birthday and congratulations for getting into grad school, and that's pretty much all I've heard from him since he left. And seeing a picture of his new home with larkspur in it practically gutted me. But overall I'm happy too. My life isn't perfect, but do I regret getting involved with Will, knowing that it wouldn't last and that it would hurt? Not for a second. It was worth it, all of it. And maybe some day I'll find somebody who will love me as much and as thoroughly as he did."
"I saw the article," he said. "I remember that info dump he did where he said that larkspur is another name for delphinium." We drove along silently for awhile. "I'm sorry you're still hurting, Delia, and I'm sorry for my actions. I regret hurting you." I nodded. And that was pretty much it for the conversation. I pulled up to his house when we got to Duke's Crossing. Paul's Subaru was in the driveway. I popped the trunk and he retrieved his things. I waved a little and pulled away as the front door opened.