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I throw on a shirt and pair of jeans and walk to the kitchen to see what I can find that might be able to contribute to grilled cheese. Grocery shopping is not my forté. Still, I manage to stop in for essentials about once a week. My problem, the one I am trying to solve now, is that my essentials don’t typically include a lot of food. Maybe, I’ll grab some bacon and eggs and bread, throw in a six pack and toilet paper but when you spend upwards of twelve hours a day at work, cooking at home becomes a non-issue.
The first perusal of my refrigerator is exceptionally disappointing. I have two different kinds of beer, some wrinkled mushrooms, eggs, and condiments. “Shit.” Taking out one of the beers, I pop the top and take a sip.
I open the small pantry tucked across the hall, but my search doesn’t turn up anything remotely resembling ingredients—unless Catherine intends on making grilled cheese from tortilla chips and eggs.
I’m going to have to stock up, I realize. I’ll get everything, so she can cook whenever she wants. Maybe I can organize one of those grocery delivery services? The ones that just plop fresh produce on your doorstep every week…I’ll have to ask her what she needs.
I don’t realize I’m standing in front of the open pantry, staring at a bag of rice and wondering what I should keep in my apartment, until Catherine’s arms wrap around me from behind. She rests her head on my back, and I momentarily wonder if she can hear my galloping heart. “What did you find?”
I turn so that I’m facing her. She’s washed off all her make-up so that she’s fresh-faced, her smooth, porcelain skin glowing. She’s tied her hair in some sort of scruffy do on top of her head, but a few wisps have escaped to frame her face. She’s wearing my shirt, tucked into the waistband of her jeans.
She takes my breath away. Every time.
“I did not find anything that we can salvage for grilled cheese,” I say, finding my voice. “Including bread. And cheese.”
“That will be problematic.” Catherine’s voice is quiet and full of laughter, but it sounds like a siren song.
“But there’s a great little pizza place around the corner. And they deliver until eleven.”
“Honestly, as long as it’s carbs covered in cheese, I’m game.”
“Let me…” As I search for the delivery menu, Catherine pops up on the kitchen counter, her bare feet dangling. She looks so at home, so comfortable sitting there that I can’t help but glance at her occasionally. It’s like my brain can’t quite believe she’s real.
When I finally find the menu, nestled between a bill and some mail ads, I pass it to Catherine. “The mushroom and prosciutto pizza is killer. Margherita too.”
She scans over the neatly printed options for a few seconds. “Both?”
Yeah, it’s definitely love. But I don’t say it this time. She knows, and I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable by my compulsion to keep bringing it up. So, instead, I take the menu back and, dialing the number on it, place the order.
“They said about thirty minutes,” I say once I’ve hung up.
With a quick nod, Catherine picks up my beer from beside her on the counter and takes a sip before putting it back down. She seems distracted all of a sudden. She can’t quite meet my eyes and when I go to her and ask, “What’s wrong?” she just shrugs. Placing my hands around her hips, I scoot her closer to the edge of the counter, closer to me. “Is it something I can help with?”
She doesn’t reply for a bit. She rests her forehead on my chest, but keeps her arms crossed around her body. I don’t move. I don’t push her. I just stand there and let her work through what she does and doesn’t want to tell me. After a few minutes, she sighs. “I was just thinking how peaceful this is. Here, with you. It’s nice,” she sits back so that she can meet my eyes, “justbeing here. No drama. Noexpectations. No…clients.” She rolls her eyes on the last word.
“You’re welcome any time, Cat. Even if I’m not here and you don’t want to trek all the way to the beach house.” I take a step back, hoping to give her space, but she hooks her feet around the backs of my legs, stopping me from going further.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a long moment. Running a hand distractedly over her eyes, she adds, “Things have been weird at home.”
There are so many things I could say. But I won’t. Telling someone who’s grieving and confused that it’ll eventually pass isn’t going to comfort them now. “I can imagine losing a friend like that has been hard on you all.”
“It has.” Picking up the beer bottle, Catherine twirls it in her hands. “None of us is really equipped to deal with it, you know. We all have so many problems of our own…”
I think back on my childhood and those months,years, after my father died. We didn’t know how to handle it either, and the truth is that it’s taken my whole family a long time to get to where we are. And, even then, we all still have a lot of healing to do. “Just be kind to yourself.” Unable to keep my hands off her, I run my palms up her thighs. “Take it one day at a time.”
“Yeah. It’s just…everything’s changed. For the first time ever, it feels like we’re branching away from each other. Lizzie is dead.” She clears her throat when her voice breaks. “Lyla’s on a rampage because something went down with Rye—but she won’t tell us what. Jules is never home anymore. And Toni…Ineverknow what’s going on with Toni.” She sighs. “The only person who hasn’t changed is Suzy, and...”
When she glances at me, her face filled with guilt, I smile. “You can say it.”
“I haven’t seen her lately because when I am free…I want to be with you.I’vechanged.”
“And you’re scared?”
Catherine’s eyes are wide and full of unshed tears. But she nods. Just once. Slowly.
“You have time,” I say quietly. “The girls aren’t going anywhere.I’mnot going anywhere.”
“You say that now but-”
