ISABELLA
“Claire was a proud serial monogamist.”
Isabella had found Nat waiting for her, sunk to the floor, an almost empty bottle of Scotch in hand, in front of her door after she returned from Maddie’s apartment. She now sat across from Isabella, her back slouched against the sofa cushions, her speech slurred and her eyes droopy. All it did was make her even more attractive, in that lost child bohemian kind of way Isabella found so hard to resist. She believed in causes and rescuing people from themselves. She was convinced Nat needed her. Even at well past midnight on a Sunday evening.
“Just like every other fool who came before me, I thought I could change her.” Nat eyed the glass of water on the coffee table, but didn’t reach for it. As if she had a point to prove. She shook her head. “Obviously, I couldn’t.”
Isabella had done her research months ago, after first recognising Nat in the elevator. It was all over the internet. How Nathalie Orange had left her native Brooklyn for Hong Kong to be with Claire. How she’d fallen for the neon-lit city and the peace she found in its crowded, anonymous streets. How the warm winters agreed with her night time wanderlust.
“She said she believed in relationships, just not forever.” Nat’s chuckle hesitated between pained and disdainful. “At least she was always honest. As if she warned me beforehand that, surely, at one point she’d lose interest.” She pushed some hair away from her forehead. “It didn’t hurt any less when she finally did.”
Isabella had to lean forward the catch the next words tumbling from Nat’s lips.
“Only more.” She sagged down a little lower, the muscles of her back giving way to the alcohol, slackening her posture. “She just left. Dumped me and went back to New York within a month. Moving on as if I’d never even existed. That’s when I decided…” Nat’s blue eyes glistened, a sudden tear moistening them. “That no one would ever do something like that to me again.” She didn’t bother brushing away the teardrop rolling down her cheekbone. “And guess what? They haven’t.” She balled her fists in mock victory.
Isabella ignored her shrink instincts. This wasn’t a therapy session after all, more like a drunk friend letting it all out on her couch—no doubt because she was, in fact, a psychiatrist by profession—but professional rules didn’t apply. She got up and sat down next to Nat, offering her the glass of water.
“Drink this.”
Nat held up her hands. “I’d prefer something with a bit more colour and bite.” She fixed her eyes on the liquor cabinet flanking the opposite wall.
“Do you have any idea how the Chinese treat alcohol poisoning?”
“Do you?” Despite the mistiness of her gaze, Nat was quick to respond.
"Not really, but I’m fairly certain it involves a concoction including donkey testicles.”
“You’re the doctor.” Nat grinned, a boyish, brazen smirk taking over her face. “I suppose I have to take your word for it.”
“At last, she accepts my authority.” Isabella held out the glass of water again. “Drink.”
Nat sipped carefully at first, then knocked it all back in greedy gulps. Licking the last drops from her lips, she stared into Isabella’s eyes. “Can I have some more?”
Those eyes, Isabella thought as she refilled the glass from a bottle of Evian. Who can ever refuse them anything? The clearest of blue, like the Hong Kong sky after a cleansing tropical storm, hiding oceans of pain and lifetimes of running away.
After downing another glass of water, Nat repositioned. She slung one leg over the other and folded her fingers behind her head, as if settling in for a long night of deep conversation.
“What’s your story, Doc? Why are you single?”
Isabella wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of a probing question. This one was easy though, and she had a well-prepared answer. “I was married for fifteen years. I felt like a
“Claire was a proud serial monogamist.”
Isabella had found Nat waiting for her, sunk to the floor, an almost empty bottle of Scotch in hand, in front of her door after she returned from Maddie’s apartment. She now sat across from Isabella, her back slouched against the sofa cushions, her speech slurred and her eyes droopy. All it did was make her even more attractive, in that lost child bohemian kind of way Isabella found so hard to resist. She believed in causes and rescuing people from themselves. She was convinced Nat needed her. Even at well past midnight on a Sunday evening.
“Just like every other fool who came before me, I thought I could change her.” Nat eyed the glass of water on the coffee table, but didn’t reach for it. As if she had a point to prove. She shook her head. “Obviously, I couldn’t.”
Isabella had done her research months ago, after first recognising Nat in the elevator. It was all over the internet. How Nathalie Orange had left her native Brooklyn for Hong Kong to be with Claire. How she’d fallen for the neon-lit city and the peace she found in its crowded, anonymous streets. How the warm winters agreed with her night time wanderlust.
“She said she believed in relationships, just not forever.” Nat’s chuckle hesitated between pained and disdainful. “At least she was always honest. As if she warned me beforehand that, surely, at one point she’d lose interest.” She pushed some hair away from her forehead. “It didn’t hurt any less when she finally did.”
Isabella had to lean forward the catch the next words tumbling from Nat’s lips.
“Only more.” She sagged down a little lower, the muscles of her back giving way to the alcohol, slackening her posture. “She just left. Dumped me and went back to New York within a month. Moving on as if I’d never even existed. That’s when I decided…” Nat’s blue eyes glistened, a sudden tear moistening them. “That no one would ever do something like that to me again.” She didn’t bother brushing away the teardrop rolling down her cheekbone. “And guess what? They haven’t.” She balled her fists in mock victory.
Isabella ignored her shrink instincts. This wasn’t a therapy session after all, more like a drunk friend letting it all out on her couch—no doubt because she was, in fact, a psychiatrist by profession—but professional rules didn’t apply. She got up and sat down next to Nat, offering her the glass of water.
“Drink this.”
Nat held up her hands. “I’d prefer something with a bit more colour and bite.” She fixed her eyes on the liquor cabinet flanking the opposite wall.
“Do you have any idea how the Chinese treat alcohol poisoning?”
“Do you?” Despite the mistiness of her gaze, Nat was quick to respond.
"Not really, but I’m fairly certain it involves a concoction including donkey testicles.”
“You’re the doctor.” Nat grinned, a boyish, brazen smirk taking over her face. “I suppose I have to take your word for it.”
“At last, she accepts my authority.” Isabella held out the glass of water again. “Drink.”
Nat sipped carefully at first, then knocked it all back in greedy gulps. Licking the last drops from her lips, she stared into Isabella’s eyes. “Can I have some more?”
Those eyes, Isabella thought as she refilled the glass from a bottle of Evian. Who can ever refuse them anything? The clearest of blue, like the Hong Kong sky after a cleansing tropical storm, hiding oceans of pain and lifetimes of running away.
After downing another glass of water, Nat repositioned. She slung one leg over the other and folded her fingers behind her head, as if settling in for a long night of deep conversation.
“What’s your story, Doc? Why are you single?”
Isabella wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of a probing question. This one was easy though, and she had a well-prepared answer. “I was married for fifteen years. I felt like a
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