“They don’t, but they're terribly warm and comfortable. They’re also extraordinarily sentimental.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. So I tell her about their origins.
“My mom sent me the family quilt for my first winter in New York. I think it was her way of telling me that I was never alone. Their house burned down in a fire a few years after that, and it's one of the few surviving things I have to connect me with them.” Anything else that survived the fire was put in a storage unit, for me to look at when I was ready. I hand her the photo of me and my parents at my college graduation. I swallow the golf ball-sized lump that’s lodged in my throat. I will not cry in front of her; she will only think they’re pity tears.
“They haven’t been able to help after your accident?” She’s fishing. Clearly, Charlie has filled her in on my origin with him.
“They died in that fire.” My voice is matter-of-fact. I set the frame to the side until I can figure out what I’m going to do with it.
She gasps at this news. “Oh, honey, I am so sorry.” This admission flicked a maternal switch inside her. Before I know it, she’s pulling me to her chest with her spindly arms.
“You must miss them so much at Christmas.”
I hate that she’s put into words what has been hurting my heart all day. I’ve felt so alone in my experiences, but this is one that I can share with someone, something that people can understand. Explaining grief is easier than explaining amnesia. People can relate to grief in ways that no one else can relate with me.
I stay silent, afraid to break this tentative truce that has settled between us. I suppose if having her give me a chance is too much to ask, I will settle for pity.
After I have gathered myself, we both exit my bedroom. Charlie picks up on the shift between the two of us but doesn’t comment. When they all leave for their hotel that night, Barbara actually gives me a hug.
“Hopefully, we can plan a longer visit soon. The five of us can have a nice dinner at Nobu or Le Cirque.” She pats my cheek in a motherly way, winking at Charlie.
I wonder if maybe we might have someone on our team yet.
Chapter 19
SinceCharlieandIare both decided we’re not interested in becoming parents, I get an IUD between Christmas and New Years. It leaves me laid up in pain, but one little text asking Charlie when he’s coming home, and he leaves work to take care of me in my pain and discomfort.
If I wasn’t so miserable, I would be impressed by how Charlie manages to multitask, working while intermittently stroking my hair while I lay there with my head in his lap. Anything I need, he jumps up to get, from painkillers to a heating pad.
Still trying to be accommodating a few days later, Charlie mentions that Jack is coming by to work on a presentation. I’m less thrilled to have Jack in our space, but I also don’t want to come between them. I know they have to do this just because Charlie has been here trying to take care of me instead of focusing on his job.
For Charlie, I will do this. I will smile and scrape and bend to make Jack happy, because at the end of the day, he is Charlie’s best friend. There is no universe where I make Charlie pick between us.
I try to be ready for when they get home: carefully watching the pasta and checking and rechecking the recipe I had open on my tablet. Charlie smiles at me when he walks through the door, dumping his things on the table before kissing me. I don’t want to rub it in Jack’s face, the affection that Charlie shows. I gently push Charlie off, even as he nuzzles my neck.
“Dinner is just about ready. Nice to see you, Jack!” I greet, trying to offer him a smile. Jack, to his credit, offers me a wan smile and keeps his thoughts to himself. Maybe there is a chance for us yet.
“Well, it smells delicious,” Charlie says, getting set up at the dinner table as the meal finishes. I beam at him, delighted by the compliment.
“So, were you guys friends before college or is that what solidified your friendship?” I ask, taking a bite of pasta. Charlie and I quickly learned that my cooking skills extended as far as boiling water, but I do try during the day to refine some skills. Thepizzelleis an exception, honed by years of practice and knowing to double the batch because inevitably, the first few are either undercooked or burned beyond repair.
“Dartmouth has this tradition called Trips: freshman year you get to pick a different activity and they set you out in the wilderness for a week with two upperclassmen. We both went kayaking and went the wrong direction the first day. It was pretty great,” Jack reminisces, shoulder bumping his friend. “We met Ainsley there and are actually still friends with most of the people from that trip. We stayed friends, pledged the same frat. Charlie got me the internship at his dad's company and that led to my current job.”
“Sounds like it was an incredible experience. It’s hard not to see how a bond like that could be forged in those circumstances.”
Jack gives me a polite nod of agreement. I have to pretend like I’m not watching him eat my food, checking that he’s enjoying it.
“So what’s this I hear about Charlie finally getting a pet? Not you, of course, but an actual animal whose survival he will have to ensure?”
“Hardy har.” Charlie grimaces at the feeble attempt at a joke.
“Yeah, we will be picking them up soon. I’m looking forward to it.” I’ve already ordered a ton of things for the kittens, including a huge cat tree and several kinds of treats.
“Well, I’m just going to warn you, you’re the first thing that Charlie has managed to keep alive in his care. Even then he did almost kill you at first. The dude kills cactuses.”
I’m unsure what to make of Jack's constant reminders that I’m only here because Charlie almost killed me.
“Well, I’ll gladly be here to save the day.” I excuse myself, cleaning up dinner and the plates to let them work. If Vivian’s experience is anything like mine, I’m sure she will appreciate having Jack home sooner rather than later. Charlie calls after me before I close our bedroom door so that I can read.