Page 71 of Where She Belongs
“Yes,” I say simply. “I do.”
A chorus of reactions follows—Harlow’s knowing “I told you so,” Dax’s muttered “About damn time,” Sarah’s delighted squeal, and most importantly, Nana’s satisfied nod.
“Good,” she says firmly. “Dr. Martin is a smart woman. Too smart for most men, but maybe just smart enough for you.”
“High praise,” I observe, warmth spreading through me at the acceptance in her voice.
“The highest,” agrees Sawyer, rising to clap me on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club of men who somehow convinced extraordinary women to love them back.”
“Don’t scare him off before they’ve even had a real date,” Alma chides, but her smile is warm as she approaches to give me a hug. “Congratulations, Gabe. Andrea is wonderful.”
“She is,” I agree, still somewhat bemused by this enthusiastic reception. “Though we’re still figuring things out. She’s still in Hawaii until next week.”
“Long distance already,” Sarah observes, adjusting Atsa on her hip. “That’s a challenge.”
“Temporary,” I say, accepting the beer Benny silently offers. “Though we’ll still be dealing with the Taos-Albuquerque distance once she’s back.”
“Three hours is nothing,” Benny says with the quiet certainty that characterizes most of his pronouncements. “When I was on the reservation and Sarah was in Santa Fe, we made it work.”
“With a lot of gas money and determination,” Sarah adds, leaning against her husband affectionately.
“Daniel mentioned the IRS meeting,” Dax says, changing the subject with the intuitive sense of when I’ve had enough relationship focus. “DC on Monday?”
I nod, taking a welcome sip of beer. “Final review for the nonprofit status. Face-to-face meeting with the committee.”
“That’s huge,” Harlow says, genuine pleasure in her voice. “Your community health wing deserves that designation.”
“Let’s hope the IRS agrees,” I say, though the reminder of the meeting brings a fresh wave of disappointment that I’ll be further delaying seeing Andrea.
“They will,” Dax says with confidence. “You’ve put too much work into it for them to say no.”
“And now,” Nana announces, “we eat. No more business talk at my table. Only celebration.”
The next hour passes in a comfortable blur of delicious food, overlapping conversations, and the particular warmth unique to this found family. Despite not sharing blood with most of the people around this table, they’ve become essential to my life in Taos—supporting me through clinic openings and medical emergencies, sharing holidays and milestones, creating a network of connection that grounds me in this small mountain town.
As dinner winds down and the kids scatter to play, Daniel arrives, declining food but accepting coffee as he takes a seat beside me.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, nodding greetings around the table. “Calls with the East Coast always run long.”
“You’re just in time for dessert,” Nana tells him, already placing a slice of her famous apricot pie before him despite his protests.
“The IRS meeting,” he says, turning to me after dutifully taking a bite of pie. “I’ve arranged for the plane to leave Sunday at six. We’ll stay at The Jefferson—they had a last-minute cancellation.”
“We?” I question, raising an eyebrow.
“You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?” Daniel asks. “Besides, having the financial backer there adds credibility. Shows we’re serious about long-term sustainability.”
He’s right, of course. Daniel’s presence, with his impeccable business credentials and connections, can only help our case.
“I appreciate it,” I say sincerely.
“Have you told Andrea about the trip?” Harlow asks, her perceptiveness as sharp as always.
“Not yet,” I admit. “I’ll call her tonight.”
“Make it video,” Sarah advises. “Trust me—seeing your face makes difficult conversations easier.”
“It’s not a difficult conversation,” I protest. “Just a scheduling complication.”
