Page 77 of Nothing Less than Magic
The delivery person texts that he’s here, and Austin buzzes him up to the apartment. “You want to eat on the couch or at the table?”
I have a strict policy against eating on my sofas. White, remember? But today, I’m going to break my self-imposed rule, because I don’t have the energy to make it to the table. And maybe I’ll get new couches anyway. Something cozy and comfortable that doesn’t stain.
Austin sets me a place and joins me in front of the fire. “If you want, I can stay tonight.”
Forty-five days ago, all I wanted was for Austin to return to the place he and I once made a home. But on my first day back, I need time to myself. To think. To contemplate all the things I’ve lost that it turns out I never really had.
“I’ll be okay,” I say. “But thank you for the offer.”
“You sure? I can stay in the guest room.” He’s trying so hard.
“I need a little time, Austin.”
“Gotcha.”
I can’t tell if he’s hurt. But honestly, I don’t have the bandwidth to be concerned with that now. I’m still reeling from almost dying. But that’s not even the worst of it. To experience the greatest happiness you’ve ever known, only to realize it was all a dream, is . . . well, how does a person come back from that?
We eat and drink our Lambrusco in companionable silence, neither of us addressing the elephant in the room, otherwise known as Mary.
My eyes are bigger than my stomach, because I can barely finish one slice of pizza. Austin, on the other hand, has made a good dent on half the pie. Being in the apartment, eating a meal together, feels both familiar and foreign at the same time, but in a good way, like melding an old-cherished story with a new one. A fresh start, I guess you can say.
And yet, I can’t wait for him to leave. Like I’m literally counting the minutes until I can politely play the I’m-tired card, the I-have-to-go-to-bed card. Halfway through his second glass of Lambrusco, I let out a loud yawn.
“You’ve got to be bushed,” he says. “I know it’s a lot, Chels. I know the road looks long, but look how far you’ve already come.” He waves his hand at the apartment as if to say,You’re home, and that’s got to count for something.And it does.
He starts to clean up. “I’ve been talking to a few of my colleagues at the firm, and they think you have a hell of a lawsuit against the city. These fucking cable car conductors are out of control.”
“It was my fault, Austin. I wasn’t looking where I was going. If I had, I would’ve seen the streetcar. I wouldn’t have crossed when I did.”
“Now is not the time to make any big decisions. All I’m saying is you shouldn’t rule it out.”
“Okay, I won’t rule it out.” But I already have. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a nap. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“I’ve got a deposition in the morning but will swing by in the afternoon. Will you be okay until then?”
“Austin, I’ll be fine. Thanks for being so attentive, but you don’t have to worry.” I join him in the kitchen to help with the rest of the cleanup.
“I know,” he says. “You’re the most capable person I know. But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“I don’t want you to have to do this alone.”
Long after he’s gone, I consider his words. Am I truly alone? It didn’t feel that way in Ghost, but here . . . I don’t know.
I change into one of my new loungewear sets, a gift from Ronnie, and curl up on the sofa with the paperwork she’s left me, so I can see what’s gone on in my absence. It’s mostly receipts, a few invoices, and a couple of get-well cards from strangers who have attended my seminars.
As I thumb through the stack, I see that Ronnie sent flowers to my parents’ graves for the twenty-fourth anniversary of their deaths. I can’t remember whether I’d asked her to do it or if she did it on her own because I was out of commission. Either way, I remind myself to thank her for it. She knew that it was an important day for me.
It appears she has everything well under control, including canceling all my upcoming speaking dates.
The rain has let up, and for a crazy minute I consider going outside to stand on the balcony for some fresh air and to stare out over the bay. It takes me less than a minute to completely reject that idea.
Instead, I wander into the bedroom and put away my things, a chore that takes a fraction of the time it took me to pack them. My phone rings, and when I dig it out of my purse, I see I have two missed calls—one from Uncle Sylvester, and another from a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello,” I say to Ronnie.
“Just checking in. You get home okay?”
