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I hold out my hand. When she takes it, I pull her closer. “Magical indeed.” Now that she’s safe, though, I move toward the kitchen. “Water? Soda? Wine?”
“Water, please.” She comes to the bar, resting her arms on it, watching me.
“Bubbles or flat?”
“I don’t even know what that means?” She shrugs and touches the faucet. “Tap works.”
I’ve never felt more pretentious in my life than I do right now. How did I acclimate to this life so quickly? I grab a pitcher from the fridge and pour a glass. “Filtered okay?”
“That works.” She takes a sip as I pour myself a glass. Resting her elbows on the bar, she has her back to me as she takes in the view again. “It’s weird what I remember and what I don’t.”
I come around and pull out a chair at the table. “Like what?” I ask, then take a drink of my water. Unable to keep my eyes off her, I watch as her expression flickers through a myriad of emotions. “Like the age thing, or . . .” She stops herself and takes a deep breath. Moving to the windows again, she smiles as she looks out, but it doesn’t counteract the sadness seen in her eyes.
Glancing at me, she says, “I don’t know if I can drive a car or what I do for a living. What’s my favorite fruit? Do I have allergies? I don’t know my own last name, but I know who the president is, and something in my gut tells me I love the ocean and going to the beach. Do I like tuna casserole? How do I even know what tuna casserole is?” Her face pinches, but she laughs, though the humor is lost. “See what I’m saying?”
“It must be hard.”
We haven’t turned on a single lamp or light in the apartment but seeing the soft glow from the skyline against her skin has me thinking. “I speak of my life in past tense like I’ve been reincarnated instead of what existed in this universe. I was living an entirely different life earlier this week.”
“Maybe this is your second chance to get it right.”
“That’s just it. Get what right? On the same line of thinking, maybe that’s why no one is looking for me. Maybe I was awful.”
“You weren’t awful, Tuesday.”
“How do you know? I’m tired of waiting to find out just so I can start living again.”
“I just know,” I say with such conviction, trying to persuade her to believe me.
“What do you know about me?”
“That you were a great person. A strong woman. You don’t have to wait on anything or anyone. Just live.”
Massaging her temple, she drops her head down. “It’s a lot to process.”
I set my glass down and go to her. “It is, but you don’t have to do it alone.”
A half-hearted smile creases the corners of her mouth. “When are you going to stop trying to save me?”
I don’t know what makes me do it—her attempt at smiling to make me think she’s all right, the lights that shine like stars in her eyes when she’s looking up at me, or I’m just a sap when it comes to this woman—but I bring her into my arms and hold her tight. “When you no longer need me.”
She feels so right, and when her arms wrap around me, her cheek resting on my chest, I realize I was wrong. Asking her to be here isn’t my fatal flaw.
The thought of her leaving is.
14
Tuesday
This might just be my life moving forward.
I can think of worse ways to spend my day than with this man. I’ll probably never fully understand why, but he’d move heaven and earth for me if he could. He’s shown me in ways that I’ll never be able to thank him properly.
My throat thickens, and the tears threaten to fall under his sweet words and an embrace warmer than the comfort of seeing his eyes. I’ve never felt safer than I do right now.
When my stomach growls, we both start laughing, the levity of the interruption welcome after the heavier conversation we just had. I push him away under the guise of being playful when all I really want to do is stay in his arms forever.
Rubbing his stomach, he says, “We have two choices.”
Although I’m dressed up, I flop onto the couch and kick my feet up. “What are they?”
I see the way his eyes travel my body, lingering on my shoes. He squares his shoulders and cuts across the room to flip on a switch, breathing soft light into the room. “We salvage the night and go out, or we—”
“Salvage the night and stay in?” I shoot my hand into the air. “I vote for staying in.”
He’s chuckling. “Staying in it is, then.”
Pushing up on my elbows, I peer at him over the back of the couch. “I’m starved, so let’s get to ordering.”
