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Chapter 5
We didn't get to talk again for a while more. Brandon was gone the next morning well before I woke up around eleven. I heard someone bustling around the kitchen again, and I limped in to find Bubbe tossing pancakes onto a plate.
"Sure you don't want to just stay up here?" I asked as I approached the kitchen.
"Oh, hush, you," Bubbe said as she poured another round of batter. "I have an open invitation to use the code-thing to that elevator. Brandon said. And you know I like my privacy too."
I had to snort. Bubbe treated privacy the same way she did dust bunnies: constantly chasing it away.
In the light of my first day without pain meds, my head was finally starting to feel clear again, enough to notice some substantial changes had been made to the penthouse decor. It was still full of the cold, angular furniture that came with the rental, but a few choice things had been added. Mainly my things. The mid-century bureau and desk I'd purchased on consignment had replaced a few of the chrome-and-glass pieces that had been there before. One of the metallic side tables had been replaced by my antique wood one, and several pieces of the modern art prints had been replaced by the Art Nouveau prints I had collected in my room. Together it created a strange mix of my style and the rental furniture. I was oddly and hilariously moved in.
I approached the fireplace, which was now adorned with the various framed photos that used to sit on top of the piano in my room. They were all there: pictures of me and Jane, me with Dad and Bubbe, me and Brandon last winter, when we were first dating.
There were also a few new ones of the two of us from this summer: in Cape Cod with my half-siblings, Annabelle and Christoph, and another one of us in France. I touched a finger to that one.
"I set those up there," Bubbe's voice rang out. She couldn't know how the news drowned my spirits. "Brandon asked me to help put your things away when they arrived this morning. I heard him arranging it with that assistant of his when you were in the hospital. He was very insistent about it." She continued talking as she wiped the batter off the edge of the bowl. "Kept going on and on about how it needed to be there when you came back."
I turned and looked around at the mishmash of my belongings and his. "You did this just this morning?"
Bubbe nodded while she slid a few pancakes on a plate for me. "He helped, along with that housekeeper of his. But I did most of it. Looks nice, don't you think?"
I glanced back at the photographs. I don't know why I was surprised to find my things here––Brandon was a man of action. I obviously couldn't go back to Eric's apartment.
"Yeah," I said. "It does."
As I limped over to the breakfast bar, another change caught my eye. At the far side of the room was a black baby grand piano in one of the large open spaces that characterized the loft.
"What's that?" I wondered, pointing as I sat down. "Did that come this morning too?"
Bubbe nodded and set my plate in front of me along with a cup of tea. "I told him he could get rid of that thing your mother sent you, good riddance to her." She pretended to spit three times, as if superstitiously warding off evil.
I looked suspiciously at Bubbe. "What did he tell you?"
"It was your friend Jane that filled me in on what that hussy did to you and Brandon," Bubbe said. She set down her spatula and gave me a hard look. "One day, I'd like to know why you didn't talk to me about everything yourself, missy, since you and I both know I was already very aware of the baby. But we'll let that rest for another day."
I stared down at my plate, feeling guilty all over again. Of course she knew. And in a way, I was glad she did. There was nothing worse than keeping secrets from the people I loved.
"I-I'm sorry, Bubbe. It was...the last several months haven't been my best."
"Well..." Bubbe trailed off, her small, birdlike form stilling for a moment. "I won't say you didn't make mistakes, bubbela," she said finally. "But your father and I still love you. And I think this man still does too."
I gazed back at the piano, which stood like a shining black beacon in the morning sunlight. Without even looking at it, I knew it would be the best Brandon's money could buy––anything less wasn't his style. But I wasn't quite ready to think about what it might mean for us, particularly since he was going out of his way to avoid me at the moment. Would he move someone in whom he didn't love anymore? Or was he just doing it to be nice while he figured out what he actually wanted?
I shook my head as my headache returned. Stewing about it wouldn't help. I'd just have to wait until he was ready to talk again.
"Where's the army you're feeding?" I joked as I started in on my breakfast.
"Brandon's housekeeper is very nice, but she doesn't know how to keep enough food in his kitchen," Bubbe said as she poured several more palm-sized discs onto the pan. The sizzle filled the room.
"Ana's been his housekeeper for a few years now," I said. "I'm pretty sure she knows what he likes."
Bubbe just snorted. "Come now, bubbela. A man that size eats nothing but the nuts and coffee he has stashed in his cupboards? What does he exist on, air?"
I would have pointed out that there was a lot more than that in Brandon's extremely well-stocked cupboards, but Bubbe kept talking.
"Skylar, did I teach you nothing about manners? That boy is saving our family's life right now. The least I can do is make sure his freezer is full. Besides," Bubbe added with a pat to her hair. "He said he likes my cooking. 'Tastes like home,' he said."
I rolled my eyes, but still smiled at her. "It does taste like home, Bubbe."
