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Hunger forced me to the kitchen. I was cooking fried eggs on toast when I heard the bedroom door open. It was slow, like the door itself was in pain.
Boxer slinked into the room, his face ashen. He collapsed onto a bar stool at the counter and then placed his head in his hands.
“Coffee?” I asked him.
“Please,” he rasped.
I grabbed a new mug from the cabinet and poured him a cup. I served it to him black. “Are you hungry?”
“God, no.”
“Not even toast?” I prodded.
He shook his head.
I took my plate of food and stood at the counter to eat it. It was silent in the kitchen while I ate, and Boxer downed coffee.
When I was finished, I poured myself a second cup, made it light and sweet, and then took the stool next to him. “So,” I began.
“So,” he said, looking wary.
“You got really drunk and then came here.”
He winced. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
Boxer rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t reply.
“I was worried about you,” I said quietly. “You said you were going to call me, and you never did.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“This is the kind of stuff you were alluding to, wasn’t it? About being part of the club and what it means to be an Old Lady? The waiting around…the not knowing?”
“Yeah. This is the kind of shit you’d have to put up with.” He took another sip of his coffee. “I can’t tell you anything about club business, but you need to know something. There are times when life is so fucking tragic and bleak. Innocent people get hurt sometimes, and it weighs on me. I’m sorry I came here. I’m sorry I brought this to your door.”
He got up off the stool, but before he was able to move away, I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t go. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I know what it’s like, needing an escape. Even if you can’t tell me what’s going on, I’m glad you came here.”
Boxer stared at me. “You sure?”
I nodded.
He let out a long exhale. “Can we forget about this?”
“No, I can’t forget about this.”
“Shit, this fucked it all up for you. I knew it. I knew something like this would scare you off.”
“I’m not scared off,” I protested. “But I am trying to figure out how to live in your world, Boxer. This is all new. Just…give me some time to process, okay?”
“Yeah,” he said morosely. “All right.”
“I’m not bailing.”
“Right,” he muttered.
“I’mnot,” I insisted. “You laid it all out there for me, and I’m glad you did but hearing it and seeing it are two different things. Just give me some time, okay?”
