Rowan would, but Meredith has her hands full even when he’s just a part-time visitor. He lies down and we look into each other’s eyes. “You want to be friends now?” He licks my chin. I ignore his dog breath. “You expect me to take care of you forever?” Which I guess is the difference between Edie and me. She didn’t consider Magnus. “Who’s got your back when you pee in the snow?” She just left him to fend for himself. “That’s right. I do.”
I don’t know why the sudden change in him. He went from wanting to bite my face off, to hiding from me, to indifference, and now I can’t go to the bathroom without him scratching to get in. Since he decided we’re friends, he won’t sleep in his room and jumps in bed with me instead. He lays pressed against me, and no matter how many times I scooch him away, he finds his way back.
During the day we follow a routine. We watch TV, stand in front of the windows, bundle up and go to the park. Come back, order food, start over. But I have made one improvement in our daily routine. I’ve decided to stop looking like a bag lady, and I get dressed before our daily walk. I’ve noticed that my clothes are a little loose from loss of appetite, so I add a nightly Dr Pepper float that I share with Magnus while we watch Netflix in bed.
I guess Oliver got tired of the cold shoulder. He’s left me alone, and I don’t feel great about how I treated him. I talk to Marv and Claire, but not as often as they’d like to hear from me. I avoid Meredith and the kids. It’s just me and Magnus. Two specks in a window.
February first, I pull myself together enough for my appointment with Dr. Barb. I call an Uber, and Magnus and I are picked up in a Ford Escape. She goes through the usual questions and does that thing where she looks at me and waits.
“I don’t have a purpose,” I finally tell her. “I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.”
“We talked about your dream of owning your own salon and spa.”
Thanks for picking a scab, Doc. “I don’t have that dream anymore.”
“What happened?”
If she only knew. “I’m just not excited about it now.”
“You have your philanthropic causes.”
I shake my head. “I might have before, but I don’t have the same passion for art and whales. I don’t know anythin’ about those charitable organizations, but I’m happy to send them money.”
“You suffer from acute memory loss and have only been back home for four months. Don’t be hard on yourself. You’ll figure it out.”
I did once.
“Your life is a clean page in a book of clean pages.”
“That’s scary.”
“Or optimistic and exciting.”
I’ll take the doc’s word on that. Magnus and I make it home in a Prius and as we walk into the lobby, Oliver is walking out. We stand just inside the doors and he looks at me in that way he has of taking me all in at once. “Your dog is getting fat,” he says.
Lately Magnus has packed on some weight. Probably because I carry him to and from the park and give him too many treats and Dr Pepper floats. “It’s winter,” I say in his defense. “He needs an extra layer.”
“Your family is worried about you.” He takes my elbow and ushers me into the elevator. I let him, but we don’t say anything else until we enter the penthouse. I think he’s going to ask me the obvious questions, but Oliver never does what I think he’s going to do. “We spent a whole day in bed, and I think it’s safe to say there were no com
plaints.”
I unbutton my coat and, thinking about that night, I feel heat rise in my chest and throat.
He tosses his coat on the kitchen island. “I leave town and you brush me off when I get back.” He’s wound up so tight, I can see it in the way he walks toward me. “Tell me this isn’t a game you’re playing, Edie. Tell me you’re not making a fool out of me again.”
“I’m not.” I never thought that my leaving would make him think I’m playing games like all those years ago. “I’m just—”
“Confused?” He stops in front of me and runs his fingers through his short dark hair. “Join the club.”
“Lost.”
His hands fall to his sides, all his pent-up energy flows away, and he simply looks at me.
“I just exist.” I lift a hand and drop it to my side. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or where I’m supposed to live now.” I thought I did, but I don’t.
He slides his warm palm to the side of my throat and lifts my chin with his thumb. “Where do you want to live?”
A few weeks ago, the answer was easy. I gesture around me. “I don’t remember pickin’ out one stick of furniture or paintin’ or why there are palm trees in the livin’ room. This is where I live, but I have no real attachment to this place.”