Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
He wanted a gentle, beautiful dancer.
Or maybe he knew the truth. Knew she could take a beating without complaint.
"Did you miss it?" I ask.
"Yes. I still do. There's something about the control. The discipline. It's calming."
I know exactly what she means. "It can be."
She checks the tea again, deems it ready, pours milk, sweetens with a spoonful of honey. "Try this." She drops it on the table. "Can I make you something? Breakfast? It's the least I can do."
"I can."
"No. Please. Allow me."
I need to accept her offer. "That would be great. Thanks."
She nods and finds the eggs in the fridge.
"Did you eat last night?" I ask.
"A pesto dish," she says. "It was fantastic."
Fantastic is overselling it. The meal service I use is good, but the meals are mass-produced and delivered frozen. Still, I take the compliment. With a smile.
"My husband introduced me to pesto. He loved the finer things… He laughed then, me thinking pesto was the picture of refined dining."
"I did too," I say. "I felt grown-up the first time I ordered pesto for myself."
"The basil and pine nuts." She smiles. "Good in eggs."
"I don't think I have any."
"Salt and pepper is plenty."
"You like simple?"
"I do."
Like Simon.
"Hmm." She makes the same noise Lee does when I'm lost in my head. Only lower. Softer. "You're glowing."
"I am."
"Your friend?"
"He enjoys simplicity."
"A woman in silk?"
My cheeks flush. "I couldn't believe it when he ordered drunken noodles. It didn't sound like him."
"Green curry is more refined."
"Is it?"
She nods. "Red is obvious. Green is subtle."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She smiles. "My husband loved to try new cuisines. Always the best. Always the most unique dish. Even green curry… that would be too obvious for him. But he would laugh if I ordered it." She pauses. Takes a deep breath. Composes herself. "I guess you've heard it all before? The charm. The explosive temper. The desperate apologies. Chocolates, flowers, promises."
"A lot of people stay."
"It wasn't just that I was scared. I loved him. And he loved me. I believed him when he told me he was sorry. He did mean it. He just… I guess you've heard that before too?"
"It's a familiar pattern."
"He was sweet most of the time. Until I miscarried…" She studies her mug of tea. "He was different after that. He blamed me. No, deep down, he knew it was him."
For a few minutes, she's quiet, focusing on cooking breakfast.
I take a seat at the dining table. Try to treat the morning as if it's any other.
I help bring everything to the table. Sit across from her. Raise my mug to say cheers.
She offers that same soft smile. The this is strange, but I'm making the best of it smile. Then she picks up her fork, motions enjoy, and eats with dainty bites.
I spread orange marmalade on my toast. Let the sweet citrus melt on my tongue.
It tastes better than usual.
Is it the circumstances? The act of actually sitting down to eat? Or is it a sign I'm actually recovering?
In touch with my senses.
Accepting pleasure.
"How is it?" she asks.
"Amazing. Thank you."
"It's the least I can do."
I don't know what to say to that, so I smile and nod and focus on the pepper in my eggs.
We drift back into awkward silence.
Then the baby cries. It's not the high-pitched scream I expect. It's quiet. A little more than a coo.
She rises immediately. Lifts him from his bed. Brings him to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, she returns, lays him in his crib, watches him fall asleep.
She goes to the sink and washes her hands again. "He's quiet. Somehow, he learned he had to be."
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Don't be. I'm here. He'll be okay. He'll learn it's okay to cry or scream or laugh. He'll take after his father."
"Oh?"
"Seb's father. The man I was… seeing."
"It's none of my business."
"Do you mind if we talk about it?"
No. Girl talk is easier territory. "No, go ahead. The man who turned your life to technicolor?"
She smiles. "For a long time, I was faithful. I buried myself in my charity work. I convinced my husband it was necessary for appearances. But I was lonely. I found men who were happy with a physical arrangement. Then I met him at a gallery one night. I was looking for new art, trying to find something beautiful. My husband loved to brag about my taste. How I brightened the space. That was the only way to describe Seb's father. He brightened every room."
She's a woman in love.
Still in love, even though he's gone.
That must hurt somewhere deep.
"You know those spring days when it suddenly pours rain?" she asks.
"I do."
"The sky turns dark and grey. Then, as fast as it started, it stops. The clouds part for the blue sky. The sun shines. That was him. He was the sun and I didn't even realize I was soaking wet until I met him." She laughs softly. "I didn't mean… but that was true too. I didn't know what I was missing there."