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Noelle nods. “Back at the hospital, you were telling about her and I…” her voice trails off.
“You want to know more?”
She gulps and lowers her gaze. Nodding, she says, “But I don’t want to pry.”
I smile at her. “You’re not, trust me.”
It’s been so long since I talked about Vanessa. So long since I let myself think about her.
Taking a big breath, I begin. “Well, we met in Michigan. I’d just finished at Wayne and she was also rounding up a program at a cooking school. We met at a taco joint, of all places.” I chuckle, recalling the incident. “You know, those with the awnings and the terrible customer service. Anyways, a rude worker mixed up her order and wouldn’t change it, and she’s yelling at him, ready to cause a scene. I’m behind her, watching the whole thing happen and I’m like, ‘Damn, this one’s definitely got it,’ and I just fell in love with her right there.”
Noelle’s smiling at me. “Then what happens next?”
“I tried to step in, play the macho man and all, and she just straight off shuts me up and tells me to mind my business. She’s like, ‘I’m doing the talking here. I don’t need your unwarranted interference’, and damn, I nearly fell to my knees because that certainly did me in.” Noelle bursts out laughing and I do, too. “It was funny, really. She had a mouth on her and she wasn’t scared to use it when it mattered. Long story short, the owner apologized over the mix-up and gave her not one, but two tacos and told her to come again next time.”
“Did she?”
“Without fail. Also, that’s where I proposed to her.”
“Oh…” Noelle’s eyes are glistening with tears.
“Yeah,” I smile. “Felipe, the, uh, the owner, he made us a taco cake. And it was damn near the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Noelle smiles back at me. “I bet it was.”
“When we married, we had to leave for New York. We’d saved up enough money to open up her own restaurant. I started a finance job. Things were going on very well, until she fell sick. She couldn’t go to work, so she took up a painting hobby, helping out with murals and banners and stuff like that, for the neighborhood.”
“When did she die?”
Sighing, I study the table, a heaviness tightening around my chest. “Three years after we moved to New York. She was about to turn thirty… and it was just fifteen days to her birthday.”
Swallowing a large lump of emotions, I scrape back the dining chair and stand. “I have to go to bed.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment is evident on her face.
“You know how to operate the dishwasher?”
“I’ll just do it by hand.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“No, I think I’m good.”
Tucking the chair in, I take my plate in.
“Thank you so much for doing this.” Noelle’s voice is barely audible.
“It’s okay. Goodnight, Noelle.”
She returns it. “Goodnight, Maverick.”
Chapter Seventeen
Noelle
Thearomaofcookingeggs gets me out of bed the next day.
I roll onto my side and stare at the closed window drapes. Inhaling the sheets, I close my eyes in pleasure. They are butter soft and the bed is like a cloud, and it smells a bit like Maverick.
