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Stepping back, I grip my hands tightly together, holding myself back. “Yes, um, I should go, too. I need to get back to work.” I step backward toward the door, raising my chin and gathering myself together. “I really am sorry about Veronica. She was a wonderful woman.”
He nods and looks down at his shoes. “We’d become close over this past year. I hope she liked the service and flowers.”
Pushing the door ajar, the cold air hits me hard. “Can I ask you something, Charlie?”
“Anything.”
I don’t know if this is appropriate, and I have a strong suspicion already, but I need to ask. “Did you do all of this for her?”
He looks puzzled before he rubs his neck as if the question makes him uncomfortable. “Yes. I wanted her to have the service she deserved.”
“She did. I think she’d like it.” I push the door open and start to walk out, but stop, not wanting to leave. I still want to know everything going on in his life, whether I have a right to or not anymore. “By the way, how’s the book?”
He pulls the bag's strap over his head and says, “Actually, I picked up my official copy from my publisher this morning.”
“So it’s coming out soon?” I want to ask so much more but limit myself to this topic.
Chuckling lightly, he pulls the book from the bag and offers it to me. “You can have it if you like.”
“No.” I shake my head in protest. “I couldn’t. It’s your copy.”
“I can get more. Anyway, I have a book signing tomorrow, so I can get lots more.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’d like you to have it, Charlie.”
I take the book and run my hand over the cover before holding it to my chest. “Thank you.” Feeling our time is done, I add, “I should go, and I know you said you have stuff to do.”
I glance over my shoulder toward the street, then look back. “Take care of yourself.” I want to tell him that he looks good and healthy. I can’t judge his happiness, but he’s living. His life has gone on after me. I remain quiet, though I’m not sure if I should offer more. We’re caught in this weird state of middle ground.
“You, too, Charlie.” My name crosses his lips, sounding more like a goodbye.
I walk home from the funeral, in no mood to return to work. My heart isn’t in it today. It’s with Veronica and Charlie. I tuck the book into my handbag to protect it and pull my coat tighter around me as the late winter wind whips my hair into a frenzy. I wrap my scarf around my neck, bundling to keep warm. But in some weird way, this feels good, justified under the circumstances. The harsh winds make the sadness feel as real on the outside as it is on the inside.
After entering my apartment, I start a pot of coffee before I even take my coat off. I’m frozen to the bone and sniffling with a runny nose. I draw a warm bath, and five minutes later, I’m soaking in bubbles, drinking my coffee, and starting to warm up.
The only thing I want to do after soaking is curl up on the couch and watch movies. It reminds me of Charlie and makes me miss him even more. Maybe seeing him this afternoon did that, and this just compounds the feeling. I close my eyes and let the memories of snuggling with Charlie warm my heart.
The sound of an infomercial wakes me, shouting for me to buy, buy, buy. It’s after four in the afternoon, and I bring my hand to my head. I’m hot and sweating. My head is stuffy, and my nose is clogged. After three loud and dramatic sneezes, I accept the fact that I’ve gone and caught myself a cold.
Needing some meds to clear my head and unstuff my nose, I get dressed in sweats and an ultra-warm sweater, pull on my coat, scarf, and hat, and head to the nearest pharmacy. I text Rachel and let her know I’m canceling for the night. After purchasing a bagful of medicines, all claiming to cure the common cold and relieve me of these symptoms, I make one last stop. I order hot and sour soup, and lo mein noodles from my favorite Chinese restaurant. I’m craving comfort food. I wish I had someone to take care of me, but since I don’t have that, I’ll settle for the Chinese food.
The food takes longer than I expect, and I’m tortured by the sight of couples coming and going, laughing, smiling, holding hands, and kissing.
I miss that.
I miss laughing like that.
I miss smiling like that.
I miss holding hands with someone.
I miss Charlie.
I miss him so much.
Just as tears threaten to fall, my order number is called. I grab it and dash out the door. Being sick has made me tired and overemotional. As if being sick weren’t bad enough, seeing Charlie was great. Still, it dredged up all of those old feelings, leaving me feeling vulnerable and turning me into a sentimental fool.
