Page 65 of Love What's Left
I glance over to find her filling a glass of tea from a pitcher in the refrigerator. When it’s full, she inspects it, then slowly, back stiff and muscles tight, brings it to her lips and takes a sip.
I suppress my impulse to cheer. Drinking from the faucet is something she’s done on her own before, but using a glass and the refrigerator is new. She doesn’t notice me watching her, so I turn back to the pizza and don’t say a word.
Every new step added to her daily walk, every extra set of reps, every pound gained and new memory retrieved—even taking a nap when she needs it—is cause for celebration.
But I won’t make a big deal out of her eating or drinking. Not out loud, anyway. The therapist reminds us both to keep everything as low-pressure as possible, especially when it involves food or her speech.
So I keep the “That’s my girl”to myself and celebrate her sip from a glass of homemade iced tea in silence.
She passes me the colorful plates we chose together for this house, and I slide big, gooey slices of piping hot pizza onto the cheerful stoneware. We settle into our seats across from each other, but she doesn’t take a bite, and neither do I.
She clears her throat. I shift in my chair.
“It’s too hot,” she says.
“Definitely. Don’t want a cheese burn.”
Her gaze flies to mine, then she fidgets, tucking one foot beneath her and playing with her napkin. “While the pizza cools, could you tell me a story?”
“What kind of story?”
“How about the day we met?”
My hand tightens into a fist before I take a breath and loosen my fingers. I’ll always answer with the truth, but I watch her carefully, in case she shows symptoms of shock. “We met at my sister’s housewarming party. You were already there when I arrived, sitting on the porch swing reading a book—”
“No!” She rubs her temple, then speaks more quietly, her voice becoming halting with urgency. “N-not that one. I don’t think. Tell me something that makes you smile when you remember.”
She doesn’t remember, butshe knowsit was bad. Refusing to hear it is only a short-term reprieve for both of us, but I’ll take it. “A funny one, huh? There was that time I broke my leg in two places while we were hiking in Switzerland.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, haha. That sounds like a laugh a minute.”
“Patience, oh sarcastic one.” I flare my hands dramatically. “I have to set the scene. It was, let me think, just about five years ago. We toured a research facility, and you met with the department heads. The tour, itself, only took around four hours. You weren’t even sure you wanted to go in the first place, but I made an executive decision. Once we were there, it would have been a waste to go to the Alps and leave without exploring a little, so we stayed for a week.”
“We used a work trip as an excuse for a vacation? What was your role?” My little goody-two-shoes sounds scandalized.
“Moral support,” I say dryly.
“Why did I need moral support?”
“Not for you. For me. I was crushed under the weight of unrequited love. What if you met a handsome scientist named Hans and defected? What if you fell in love with him while I was in New York, and you had adorable little science-nerd babies together while I wasted away in loneliness without you?”
“Thank goodness you were there to save me from a fellow science nerd.” Sydney grins. Then, without seeming to notice what she’s doing, she picks up her pizza and takes a bite as she waits for me to continue.
Don’t pump your fist. Don’t even mention it. Just keep the distraction going.
She gasps in horror when I tell the story of my tumble down a mountain. She laughs when I reveal it was an embarrassing drop of approximately four feet. I underplay the compound fracture of my femur and my cracked tibia because she’s never enjoyed anyone’s pain, let alone mine.
I talk about her calm pragmatism as she splinted my leg and applied pressure, before she freaked out when she couldn’t get the bleeding to stop.
“You yelled ‘Stay with me, McRae, so help me God, or I’ll kick your ass.’ It was very touching.”
Sydney bites her lip.
“I was pretty out of it, though. Iheard‘kiss your ass’ and said, ‘If it means your mouth on any part of me, I’ll die a happy man.’ Then you were still applying pressure, but your chin did that wobble like you were trying not to cry.” I grimace. “That part wasn’t funny.”
“Tell me the rest. Maybe I’ll remember.”
“The search and rescue team didn’t like my jokes. When they arrived, I was barely conscious, but I was afraid if I stopped talking, it would scare you. I don’t remember what I said, but finally one of them told me, ‘This is when you do the mouth-shutting or I make you sleep.’”
