Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
“I didn’t do anything,” I muttered, my tone harsher than I intended, before giving her a curt nod and stepping out of the room.
When she stepped out a few minutes later, she looked better. She even offered the technician a smile before walking out the door. She had licked her wounds and was ready for the rest. I believed that was why I was starting to fall for her.
I placed my hand on the small of her back, maintaining whatever contact I could with her all the way to the car.
They had scheduled her surgery for the following Tuesday after her eventful MRI. That one week was hell on earth for both of us. On Monday they needed us to come in so they could do the last few tests that were necessary for the surgery to go smoothly. An eye exam, an echocardiogram, and a pre-assessment with the anesthesiologist were just a few of the things we—she had done. Rose thought all of it was fun. That was her go-to word the last few days leading up to the surgery, and she was laying it on thick with the sarcasm. For me, it had been anything but fun.
She was all smiles when she was working—welcoming the customers, laughing and joking around with Sally and the other one—but as soon as she closed the place down with me standing right next to her, she turned mute.
She barely talked to Raymond and didn’t ask about his latest date, which I had gathered was her favorite thing to do in the mornings and in the evenings as he drove us back to the apartment. She barely said hello to the doorman, Steve, and left me to do the talking.
Me.
The days after the MRI, as soon as we got home, she disappeared into her room, mumbling a few things that ended up with her saying something about having a headache and being tired. I believed her. I knew she was tired, could see she was having headaches more frequently, but on Monday when we got back from the hospital and she ran straight up to her room without a word, I finally reached my limit and couldn’t take it anymore. I wasn’t going to let her revert back to the way we’d been when she’d first moved in.
I’d managed to convince her to skip going to the coffee shop the day before the surgery. It would be her first day off of many until she felt all right enough to get back on her feet.
She looked heartbroken when I had to gently keep her moving toward the car with my hand on the small of her back as she kept looking back at the coffee shop over her shoulder as if it’d be the last time she’d see it. I felt like I was taking her baby away from her. When she went straight up to her room, I let her be for the time being.
I took off my suit jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and walked straight into the kitchen.
An hour later when it was six PM and the table was ready, I reached for my phone and sent Rose a quick text.
Jack: Can you come downstairs?
Rose: I don’t feel so great, Jack. If it’s not anything important, I’d like to stay in bed.
Other than the simple fact that I didn’t want her to be alone, she also hadn’t had anything to eat the entire day, and no matter what she said, I wouldn’t let her spend the next however many hours hungry. She had three hours before she needed to stop eating.
Jack: I’d really like your help with something if you could just come down.
I knew that would get her moving, because it was probably the first time I’d asked for her help with anything. Just the curiosity alone would get to her.
Sure enough, two minutes later, I heard her door open and close. Then footsteps started down the stairs and she came into the living room. Her hair was up in a simple ponytail with a few strands of her hair framing her pale face. She was wearing a chunky and oversized sand-colored sweater that fell way past her hips, and under that she had on what looked like simple black leggings and some cozy socks. Her sweater’s arms were pulled down, and in one hand she was grasping a tissue, something that had become a constant for her these last few weeks.
As soon as she saw me standing next to the dining table with my hands shoved in my pockets, her steps slowed down and her eyes darted between the set table and me.
“Jack? You need my help with something?” she asked, holding the tissue up to her nose and sniffling.
“Yes.” I walked around her and pulled out the chair she was standing next to. “I need your help with finishing this food.”