Page 25 of Life’s Too Short

I looked over my shoulder. “Oh, yeah. I was working from home last night.”

She edged past me without being invited in and made her way to my dining room table. She scanned the photos with her back to me. “You know, without the lawyer thing for context, this makes you look like a serial killer. Like you might as well have a necklace made of teeth or something.”

I chuckled. “And yet you’re not afraid to be alone here with me?”

She looked back at me and shook her head. “This is not how I die. Believe me, I know.”

She was wearing a brace on her right hand. I nodded at it. “Did you hurt yourself?” I asked.

“No. Carpal tunnel.” She cocked her head. “Is your tetanus shot up to date?”

I wrinkled my forehead at her. “What?”

“There’s a thing I thought you might want to do with me. Do you have time?”

I smiled. I actually did have time.

The weekends were hard these days. It’s when my personal life, or lack thereof, really glared. No more dinner every Sunday with Mom and Grandma. I’d had Rachel to look forward to every few weeks, but now that was over. I wasn’t training for anything at the moment, no marathons or fun runs, and it was winter, my least favorite time of the year to be outside. If Vanessa hadn’t shown up, I think I would have opened my eyes to an instant gloom. I appreciated the distraction.

“I have time,” I said. “What’s the thing?”

“You’ll see. We can do it at my place, or here, since you have the floor space.” She looked around with her hands on her hips. “Why is your apartment so big? I feel like mine used to be a file room or something.”

“This used to be two units. I took them both and knocked down the wall. Put in the bigger kitchen.”

“Do you cook?”

“Not really. Kitchens equal resale value,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Okay. But you obviously make coffee,” she said, nodding at the $2,000 espresso maker I had on my counter. “That thing is vulgar.”

I glanced into the kitchen. “I like good coffee. I get the beans locally roasted.” I looked back at her. “Do you want one?”

“Well, I’m not gonna say no to that. But I need to eat before I caffeinate. I’ll go have cereal real quick and I’ll be back in ten minutes?”

“I could make us eggs,” I offered.

She grinned. “I thought you said you didn’t cook?”

“I’m perfectly capable of eggs,” I assured her.

“All right. If you say so. I do need to go get the thing we’re doing, though, so I’ll be right back. Can you take Grace?”

I held the baby while Vanessa made two trips back to her place. One to get Grace’s swing and a diaper bag, and the other for the mystery activity she had planned. In between I brushed my teeth and washed my face as best I could while holding a baby. I didn’t change. I was in house slippers, a white T-shirt, and gray pajama bottoms.

I didn’t usually let myself be dressed down like this in front of anyone. But since Vanessa didn’t have the sling on her chest anymore, I saw that not only was she wearing a Schrute Farms shirt with a picture of a beet on the front—an Office reference that I now understood—but she also wasn’t wearing a bra. Changing might make her uncomfortable, like she was underdressed.

And I liked it. I liked that she didn’t feel the need to impress me and I didn’t feel the need to impress her. There was something comforting about it, about just being you in whatever state you happened to be in.

Vanessa came back lugging an enormous canvas bag behind her. The sack was so full it jammed in the doorway and I had to put Grace down and run to help her.

“What the hell’s in here?” I asked, setting it in the middle of the living room floor.

She was panting from the effort, leaning forward with her hands on her hips to catch her breath. “Adventure and excitement. It’s fan mail—sure to be both thrilling and horrifying in equal measures.”

“You get this much mail?” I asked, eyeing the sack.

She shrugged. “Sure. It comes from all over the world, so…” She crouched down and grabbed the bottom of the bag, then lifted it and spilled the contents onto the carpet. Letters fanned and boxes tumbled out.