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“How many times?”
I paused. I didn’t think one apology and one check in yesterday morning was the answer she was looking for.
“Exactly. You’re both proud and think you’re doing the right thing for the other, but you’ve ended up in this hole where neither of you want to reach out.” She put her hand on my arm. “Ellie, dear, there’s nothing wrong with you being mad at him for not checking in with you. You’re allowed to be mad at someone you care about.”
I dipped my chin and picked up the other apple to peel it. “I could see that was hard for him. I didn’t want to pressure him into speaking about something he wasn’t ready to do. One of my friends has depression and sometimes disappears, but she has to check in every twenty-four hours so we know she’s doing okay. I guess I assumed Max would do that.”
“Did you ask him to?”
“No.”
“There you are, then. Neither of you communicated before you parted ways and now, you’re paying the price for it. At this point, you’re going to have to show up with this pie because I’m not sure either of you will break.”
“Esme. I’m not so proud that I won’t go over there.” I put down the peeler and looked over at her. “I didn’t want to pressure him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for, but I appreciate that I could have done more to reach out to him. Even if it was only to ask him to check in so I knew he was okay. We just…” I trailed off.
“Have a weird relationship,” she finished, opening the drawer in front of her and holding out an apple corer. “There. It’ll make your job easier.”
“Thank you.” I took it from her. “I suppose it is a bit weird, yeah.”
“My dear, you clearly care a great deal about one another,” she said, going back to her mixing of dry ingredients.
“Communication is a very difficult thing. It takes a lot of work. Goodness knows it took me and Arthur far too long to figure that out when we were young. Although I suppose we were raised in a generation where divorce wasn’t an option and we had little choice but to figure it out.” She expertly cracked eggs against the side of a jug with one hand and let the contents fall inside before she discarded the shells in another bowl. “Granted, he wasn’t my favourite person when my father agreed I should marry the pig-headed bastard, but there we are.”
I choked on my own saliva.
I’d written that instance a thousand times, but this time, it actually happened. Awkward little bubbles tickled my throat and brought forwards a coughing fit I could barely control.
“Are you all right, dear?” Esme asked with a sparkle in her eye.
“No.” I turned away from the apples, pressing my hand against my mouth. “Did you just call your late husband a pig-headed bastard?”
“I did.”
“Esme!”
“What? He was a pig-headed bastard, especially when he was a young man. He didn’t adjust his attitude until he was thirty-six and I threatened to leave him and tell The Queen what an absolute arsehole he was.”
“You did not.”
“I certainly did!” She plucked a fork from the drawer and put it in the jug of cracked egg, then slid it over to me. “Whisk that, would you?”
Like I had a choice.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t buy that you threatened to tellThe Queenabout your husband’s behaviour.” I whisked the fork around the jug, mixing the bright orange yolks and whites into a creamy yellow mix.
“I’ll have you know that I’m quite good friends with Her Majesty. My Arthur was far too big for his britches sometimes, and he needed a good putting in his place sometimes.” She sniffed, eyeing the mixture I was working on. “Sometimes, I think Max is an awful lot like him.”
“A pig-headed bastard? I can’t say you’re wrong.” I finished working on the eggs and stopped. “Oh, bollocks to it. I can’t focus on anything.”
“You did an all right job with that egg.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” I held out the jug.
Esme looked at me. “What? It’s not my fault you’re in love with my grandson.”
I almost dropped the jug.
“Goodness, child, mind those butterfingers. That’s a Pyrex jug, you know. They’re frightfully expensive.”
