Page 17 of You're So Vine
CAM
Ava’s still sleeping. It’s almost noon, and I’ve fielded more calls in the last few hours than I have in the last decade. Only a slight exaggeration.
Doc Wilson called first. Said to let Ava sleep and he’d come round mid-afternoon. Then I spoke to Nate and Shelby; Ava’s other siblings; Ava’s mom, nice lady; Ava’s dad, less nice but given his own recent health scare, I can forgive him for being a bit short; Chiara, genuine in her concern but also using the opportunity to snoop; and Jackson, worried he’d contributed to Ava’s collapse. I told him he hadn’t, partly to reassure him but mostly to prevent him from coming around.
Fact is, I put everyone off coming round. Told them Ava needed rest, and that we’d send an update later today after Doc Wilson’s visit. Everyone accepted this without question except Chiara, who seemed to think this was all part of her successful plot to bring Ava and me closer together and that we were going to spend the day “getting to know each other.” Practically saw her make the air quotes. I was too weary to put Chiara straight and tell her that it’s kind of hard to get to know someone when they’re dead to the world. All you can tell is that they’re a side sleeper and that they snore lightly and occasionally mutter. And to be honest, it’s been a relief to have this time to myself. Ava and I have been thrown together wayearlier and more intensely than I’d anticipated. Last night, when I realized I had feelings for her, I figured the next step would be a casual date, where we’d talk and decide whether we should keep seeing each other. We’d take time to work out whether we were a good match.
Lee tried to set me up more than once, and none of those first dates went on to become a second. Okay, so part of that was down to me and my inclination toward resistance and retreat, but I don’t regret it because I knew those women weren’t right for me. I didn’t have feelings for them the way I do for Ava. There was never that spark. But I’ve spent a lot of years taking things slow, and old habits are hard to break. I have no idea how to act when Ava wakes up. No idea what she’s going to expect from me. Is this the start of something between us? Or should we put everything on hold until we figure out what’s wrong with her? That seems like the most responsible approach, and the slowest and steadiest, but there’s just one hitch: I can’t stop thinking about holding Ava in my arms last night and I definitely can’t stop thinking about her being upstairs in my bed. My conscience says, be responsible, and my body says, fuck that. I’m glad she’s still asleep, so I don’t have to put my internal struggle to the test.
Ava’s in my bed because one bed is all I have. I lent her a T-shirt to sleep in, sat up for an hour or so to make sure she was peaceful, then crashed in one of the downstairs armchairs. Army’s good for teaching you to sleep anywhere, on any surface. Good for training you to be neat, too. Didn’t have to worry about the place being a dump because it never is. I keep my few possessions in good order, everything clean and tidy. Dishes washed, bed made, floor swept. Even though it’s only me here.
In case you’re wondering, the shed I call home is a big workshop space with living quarters tacked on the side. Two levels, bedroom upstairs, galley kitchen and two old armchairs downstairs, bathroom out the back. I added extra insulation in the dividing wall for the wood dust, but it still creeps in. My industrial strength vacuum cleaner that’s the size of R2D2 gets a regular workout.
Sunday morning, I’d normally be at my regular volunteer gig, helping out at the local Therapeutic Riding Society. It’s a pretty terrible name for a great organization that uses horses to help kids with disabilities. As my boss, Therese, points out, when you can’t walk, the freedom of being on horseback is like suddenly being able to fly. I do barn chores and am what is known as a side walker: I walk alongside the instructor, give physical support, talk to the kids, say stuff like “Good job” and “You got this.” I can manage that.
I’d already told Therese I’d be taking this morning off. I was expecting to help out with the post-wedding barn clean-up but I’ve got other duties now. They come under the general heading of “waiting until Ava wakes up”.
Past noon now. I could go check on her, make sure the room’s not too hot, not too cold, she’s still breathing, that sort of thing. What I really want to do is look at her, watch her sleep, see if I can work out what words she’s muttering. But my conscience is so far winning the internal struggle, and I suspect that’s for the best at this stage in our relationship. You know. The stage when there is no relationship, just a bunch of primitive physical impulses and jumbled emotions. The stage that I’m not cut out to deal with at all.
Okay, shit. I hear movement above. Creak of feet on the floorboards. I built the living quarters from reclaimed timber: a mixture of oak, pine, and some hickory. I like being surrounded by natural material; I like the way wood looks and feels warmer than any other.
“It’s frigging freezing in here!”
Ava appears on the stairs, wrapped in a blanket, scowling down at me.
“How do you survive in winter?” she demands. “Do you hibernate?”
She stomps down and drops into the armchair I’ve just vacated.
“Want me to put the stove on?”
I’ve got a small wood burner, with two hotplates and an oven. Heating and cooking. Works for me.
“I want to know why it isn’t on already.” Ava hunches up her knees and pulls the blanket tight around her whole body, forming a cocoon where only her nose is showing.
“Guess I don’t feel the cold like you do,” I say. “Coffee?”
“Are you boiling it in a camping pot?”
“Nope. Got a Breville in the workshop. Present from—”
Shit.
“From?”
“Shelby’s mom,” I have to confess. “Lee.”
From the blanket cocoon comes a small grunting sound. Can’t tell what it means.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black,” she says. “Strong.”
“I’ll get it. Then I’ll go get some wood.”
Stove emitting heat, coffee drunk, Ava starts to emerge from the blanket. For someone who collapsed, got carted off to the hospital and has now slept around eleven hours, she looks in good shape. Cute. Dark short hair is a little mussed, but then mine’s always messy, even when I comb it.
“Hey,” I say. “How are you?”
