Page 79 of Where She Belongs
“I see,” he says finally. “That explains the distraction during yesterday’s prep call.”
“Sorry about that,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose where a headache has been brewing since I first read Andrea’s message. “I’ll pull it together for the meeting.”
“I’m not concerned about the meeting,” Daniel says, surprising me. “I’m concerned about you. This isn’t like Dr. Martin—she’s always struck me as direct, forthright.”
“She is,” I agree, the ache in my chest intensifying. “That’s what makes this so confusing. It’s like she needs space to make decisions on her own before involving me.”
“Maybe she’s protecting herself,” Daniel suggests, his tone gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “Sometimes people need to process difficult news in their own way, especially if they’ve been hurt before.”
“We’ve been friends for ten years,” I counter, frustration edging into my voice. “She knows me. Knows I would never—” I break off, the words sticking in my throat.
“Hurt her?” Daniel finishes for me. “Betray her? Leave her?” He pauses, his voice taking on that reflective quality it gets when he’s thinking of Pearl. “Sometimes the people who’ve been hurt the most are the quickest to anticipate pain, to try to control it by making the first decisions themselves.”
I straighten, recognizing the shift in his tone. Daniel rarely speaks of his late wife, but when he does, it’s always with a mixture of reverence and lingering wonder, as if even after all these years, he can’t quite believe she chose him.
“Did Pearl do that?” I ask carefully, not wanting to push too far but desperate for any insight that might help me understand Andrea’s withdrawal.
Daniel’s chuckle carries no humor. “Did she ever. When we first met in New York back in ’83, I was just making my name on Wall Street. Ambitious, driven, entirely too sure of myself. Pearl was studying anthropology at Hunter College, focusing on the relationship between culture and pottery traditions. Met her through a mutual friend and couldn’t look away.”
I can picture it—young Daniel, already carrying himself with that air of quiet authority, stopping in his tracks at the sight of the woman who would become his wife.
“She wanted nothing to do with me,” he continues, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Said I represented everything problematic about capitalism and cultural appropriation. But I was persistent.”
“I bet you were,” I murmur, thinking of the man I know—the one who turned Dax’s woodworking into an award-winning business by connecting him with high-profile clients, the one who stepped in as my sole investor after I refused to let private equity take over my practice.
“Six months in, just when I thought we were building something real, she told me it needed to end. That we came from different worlds, wanted different things. That she was returning to New Mexico to complete her research on Pueblo pottery traditions and I belonged in New York.” The parallel to my situation with Andrea is so obvious that it sends a chill through me. “What did you do?”
“I gave her the space she asked for,” Daniel says. “Respected her decision. Then I wrote her weekly letters—not pushing, not asking for another chance, just sharing my thoughts, letting her know I was still thinking of her.”
“And that worked?” I ask, surprised by the simplicity of the approach.
“Not at first,” he admits. “Her replies were formal, brief, focused on her research. But I kept writing. And when she invited me to come see her research sites, to understand the world she was studying... I was on the first flight to Albuquerque.”
It’s hard to imagine Daniel—sophisticated, urbane Daniel—navigating the adobe villages and Pueblo communities of northern New Mexico in the early 80s. “What happened then?”
“I listened,” he says simply. “Really listened. To her passion for the traditions she was studying, to the community members who welcomed her into their lives. I saw her world through her eyes, and it changed me.” He pauses. “Not in the way she feared—I didn’t suddenly abandon my career or move to a pueblo. But I understood why it mattered to her, why preserving these traditions was worth dedicating her life to.”
“So what happened next?” I ask, though I know the broad strokes—they married, built a life between New York and Taos, had Sarah and Dax, were together until her death a decade ago.
“We built something neither of us could have created alone,” Daniel says. “A family, friends, a beautiful life.”
The implications for Andrea and me are clear. Whatever this medical news is, I need to show her that it doesn’t require her to make choices alone, that together we might find options neither of us would see separately.
“The IRS meeting is in fifteen minutes,” Daniel reminds me gently. “But Gabe? Don’t let Andrea face whatever this is alone. Not because she needs you to solve it, but because facing challenges together is what partnership means.”
His advice resonates deep in my chest, clarifying what I’ve been feeling since that message. Andrea might need space to process, but I need to make sure she knows I’m here when she’s ready, that whatever this diagnosis is, it doesn’t change what I feel for her.
“Thanks, Daniel,” I say, meaning it. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”
“One more thing,” he adds before disconnecting. “The jet will be ready whenever you want to head back. No need to wait for commercial flights.”
I hang up, staring at the phone in my hand with new resolve. Daniel is right—I need to respect Andrea’s request for space while making it clear that I’m waiting for her, ready to listen, ready to face whatever comes next together.
But first, I have a meeting to get through. Three hours of IRS regulations, community benefit frameworks, and nonprofit financial models. Three hours of pretending my world isn’tsuspended in uncertainty, that the woman I love isn’t dealing with something serious without me by her side.
I straighten my tie, checking my appearance in the mirror. Dr. Gabriel Vasquez, respected physician, community health advocate. Not the man whose heart is currently aching, whose every instinct is screaming to get on the next flight to Albuquerque.
That will come soon enough. After the meeting. After I’ve fulfilled this professional obligation that Andrea herself helped make possible.
