Page 80 of Heart Strings
“This isn’t a good idea.”
“Well, I’m not asking for permission, I’m letting you know.”
“I’m sure he’s very charismatic, with his guitar and his accent—I get it, I was once young, too—but you’re smarter than that. You know how this story ends and it’s not with another wedding.”
Defensiveness flashes in me. “Don’t assume that my relationship is doomed because you and Dad couldn’t make it work.”
“What’s his last name again?” She’s already opening herbrowser to search him out, no doubt. The woman does more snooping than an NSA investigator.
“O’Toole with an ‘e.’ But let me save you some time: He was raised in Cork. Studied law and worked as a solicitor before he made it big. He’s the oldest of three siblings and his parents are still together. In his spare time, he volunteers at the hospital. What else do you want to know?”
“You spend every day in a building full of doctors,” my mom says, rubbing her eyes. “You really couldn’t find anyone at work to date?”
“Trust me to know who I want to be with.” I stare back at her. “Aidan’s a good guy, Mom. Just give him a chance.”
Exasperated, she sighs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
It’s only a matter of time until she circles back around to the question about my last appointment, so I make an excuse about studying and end the call. My blood is hot from her judging Aidan so unfairly.
No sooner have I opened my textbook when my phone vibrates. Hoping it’s him, I reach for it, but do a double take at a new message from my mom. It’s simply a link with the headline, “I Fall in Love All the Time: Songwriter Aidan O’Toole Talks Inspiration.”
It’s a clip from a radio interview from about a month ago. Aidan sits between two hosts in a studio. One is practically salivating over him. “I fall in love all the time,” he tells them, going on to describe his writing process and dodge a question about who his muses are.
My mom might’ve meant it as a “gotcha,” but I’m familiar enough with his lyrics to know that his only album has a sole muse. Each song is full of specific references to our story. Hewanted to keep his inspiration private; I respect that. Besides, this interview was recorded before we got back together. He wouldn’t have been in the wrong to casually date at the time.
Before I can respond, she sends another link.
A gorgeous redhead in a crochet dress fills the screen. Assuming it’s an ad, I almost scroll by before I realize she’s at Harvest in the Park. My eyes snag on Aidan’s name in the caption.
“If you’ve had your eye on rising star Aidan O’Toole, it looks likeSpinstersstar Emma Kinnane has beat you to him,” the post reads. The next image is a selfie together with her arm around him. “The two were spotted getting cozy backstage after the Irish singer-songwriter performed a sultry new song at a music festival in the Big Apple.”
My heart drops.
“Oh, A. What have you done?” I mutter, scanning the rest of the post by an entertainment page that follows the cast of the Victorian-era drama. Apparently, this Emma Kinnane had shared the selfie with a caption ofTalent, looks, I’m in love!Hundreds of comments pour in saying they’re a cute couple and asking more about Aidan.
Only hours before these photos were taken, I’d told Aidan that I was going to tell my mom about us. She’s already impossible to please. My boyfriend being the subject of gossipy speculation doesn’t help. Anything I say in his defense will just sound like denial to her. Aidan is loyal, and I know when we were together before he never strayed. But on the road, there are simply too many opportunities, too many after-parties and VIPs. I’d also think someone dating a sexy singer was delusional if they insisted he’s always faithful when surrounded by adoring fans.
Had Aidan changed his mind about being seen with thatactress and not told me? I can’t imagine he’d expect me to go along with the world thinking he’s in a relationship with another woman…but who knows what his label could have said to pressure him? I know how high the stakes are for his career right now.
Emma could be a genuine fan, I reassure myself. Lots of people would caption a photo with their favorite singer that way. Or it could be exactly what it looks like. No. I don’t believe he’d hurt me like that, but what if fame really had changed him and I just couldn’t see it? I can’t help but think that maybe I should have listened to the voice inside that warned that loving him was a dangerous game to play with my heart.
A splash of water hits the screen, blurring the candid photo of the actress throwing her arms around the man I love. I put my phone face down. I can’t believe I’m crying over this. It could be nothing at all. Or it could be the moment that ruins everything I’ve been too scared to admit I want. Somehow, Aidan got me to believe we weren’t destined for failure, but I’m a scientist. All evidence points to this having been a lost cause from the start.
Determined to give him the opportunity to explain, I pull myself together and tap out a text.Good morning! Give me a call when you’re up.
The day thatstarted off so productive and promising turns to shit. During my evening rotation, I mispronounceescitalopramin front of an attending and a couple other shadowing students who snicker at me. When a resident quizzes me on thetreatment for mesenteric ischemia, I rattle off the protocol for ischemic colitis instead.
All because of those photos. Aidan hasn’t said good morning to me yet. He’s a night owl, and I expect he stayed up late after the performance. Briefly, I wonder if he went to bed alone. I hate thinking it about him, but I’m spiraling. Maybe he’d be better off with someone like Emma, graceful in the spotlight and used to traveling for work. Someone who wouldn’t hold him back.
The man drives me to distraction, even when he’s not around. And I’m beyond fatigued. It’s a bad sign, considering the test results still floating around in my mind. Maybe a symptom of something much more serious than stress.
When I find a spare moment, I slip into an empty patient room and check my messages. Nothing from Aidan yet. I sigh and slump down onto a chair to alleviate my aching legs.
I’m afraid to open up my newsfeed. The photos of him and Emma Kinnane were staged, or real, or nothing but a friendly interaction with a fan…but I don’t want to see them. Worse, I’m afraid that I won’t believe his explanation when I do hear from him.
Instead, I open my email to find a message from my mom. Reminding me that I never followed up with her about the doctor’s appointment.
Chapter 31
