So why was I here, sitting at my desk in the dark, debating replying to Kate’s email? She walked away first. She told me the celebrity lifestyle didn’t matter, but the second shite hit the fan, she ran. Just like I always knew it would be.
The office curtains ripped open, pouring light into the office.
“Christ!” I jumped and hit my knee on the desk and then swore again at the pain.
“Too dark. You mope long enough. Now you eat.” Agata glowered at me.
“I’m not moping,” I said, definitely moping.
“Yes. I know this face. You come eat big lunch and you make plans and you feel better.”
“Agata, I really don’t—”
Agata snapped her head to me. “No. You listen. You cannot go on like this. You are young and healthy and strong and you are wasting away. My job is to help you. Now you come eat.”
I blinked at the ferocity in her voice. But more surprising was the little shake to her voice and her watery eyes.
“I let you have a week of putzing about. Time to move. You are not living, Mister Charlie. You might as well be drinking if this is how you be. I have a job to do. Go eat. It smells like boy feets in here.”
So I hadn’t been eating. I hadn’t been working out. I stuck to my sponsor calls and online AA meetings so I didn’t completely spin out but that was it. I had, in fact, been putzing about thinking about Kate. Agata was right.
I pushed back from the desk with a sigh. Agata wiped furiously at the glass window.
“I’m sorry, Agata.” I bent down and hugged the scary little woman. “I mope.”
She sniffed and then hugged me back. “You big stupid man. You worry me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll eat.”
She pushed me away and swiped at her eye.
After a bowl of stew and crusty rolls, I did feel marginally better. Agata, who finished cleaning my office in record time, was back and busying herself in the kitchen while I ate. I suspected she was ensuring that I held up my end of the bargain.
“Delicious as always. Thank you, Agata.”
She nodded once and turned before I could see her grin.
“You know what?” I said after I soaked up the last bits of lunch. I looked around the Vicarage. I was tired of saying I would start the renovations and never doing anything about it.
“Hmm?”
“I think it’s time for you to get your kitchen,” I said.
“Oh, thank god. I am this close to making you wash all the dishes.”
42
DRAFT UNSENT
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: I miss you
Kate,
Fuck. I miss you so much. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I miss talking to you every day. I miss feeling excited about a little icon in my inbox that means I have a message from you. I’m in constant agony. I don’t even want to drink to numb myself. It feels better to suffer. I don’t want to forget you, even if it hurts.
