Page 106 of A Lot Like Adiós
“And what did he say?” Ava prompted.
Michelle’s answer came with a sob. “He said we aren’t real.”
Her cousins passed her tissues and hugged her as she cried, and while Michelle wanted more than anything to declare that she was fine and that they should stop fussing, she let them coddle her.
Because she wasn’t fine. Her heart was breaking, and it felt like she would never recover.
But Jasmine and Ava had. And they were here with her now, supporting her. If nothing else, Michelle had her primas. And they would help her through this.
AFTER A LAYOVERin Denver and flight delays on both legs, Gabe crashed hard when he got back to his apartment in Venice. He was so tired, he couldn’t even enjoy the feeling of being back in his own bed.
On the plus side, he was so tired he didn’t have the energy to think about Michelle’s absence at his side. If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all. After just three nights, he’d already gotten used to falling asleep with her soft curves pressed against him.
The next morning, he dragged himself up, showered and dressed, and hit a Starbucks drive-through on the way to Fabian’s new house in Brentwood.
By some miracle, there was very little traffic, and Gabe arrived at Fabian’s quickly. He showed up at the front door with a to-go carton of hot coffee and a box of pastries.
Fabian’s sister Shirelle let Gabe in, greeting him warmly and taking the box of baked goods off his hands. Gabe followed her into the kitchen, where the whole Charles family seemed to be gathered around the long rectangular dining table.
“Coffee!” Fabian’s wife, Iris, exclaimed when she saw Gabe.
Iris, a petite Black woman with medium-brown skin and a short dark bob, got up from the table and walked stiffly over to the counter. Gabe remembered she’d had a C-section just a few days before.
“Should you be... walking?” He felt weird asking that of his friend’s wife, but he was a health professional. She was clearly moving like someone in pain, and her normally bright eyes seemed dull.
“I’m okay, but you’re sweet to be concerned. Put it down here, Gabe. Fabian, get milk and sugar.”
Gabe set down the carton and passed her one of the paper cups. She took it and sent him a grateful smile. “Bless you, Gabe. None of us got around to brewing a pot yet. As I’m sure you can imagine, things have been a little hectic around here.”
“I bet. Where are the babies?”
Iris pointed to the tablet propped on the counter, which showed split-screen video footage of two little lumps in bassinets. “Sleeping,” she said. “Both at the same time. Thank god.”
Gabe filled cups while Fabian set out skim milk, oat milk, half-and-half, and a variety of sweeteners. While Fabian fixed cups for his wife and sister, Gabe took direction from Fabian’s parents about how they liked their coffee and passed them their drinks, while also promising Mrs. Charles that he’d happily help her with rehab services after her leg healed. Then he and Fabian poured and doctored coffee for themselves.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Fabian said as he took the first sip from his own cup. “Thanks for thinking of this.”
“I figured caffeine would be welcome.” Gabe drank deep from his own cup, heavy on the oat milk, with a hint of granulated brown sugar. It tasted like perfection.
Fabian’s tired eyes sharpened. “Since when do you drink coffee?”
“Since staying with people who treat café con leche like a lifestyle,” Gabe muttered.
A squeal came from the tablet’s speakers. On-screen, one of the lumps started moving.
Fabian and Iris both moved to go, but Shirelle waved them off. “I’ll get her,” she said. “You two chill.”
Wincing, Iris sank back into her chair at the table. She sent Gabe and Fabian a meaningful look.
“Go,” she said. “We’ll be fine. You two have things to discuss.”
Fabian snagged a croissant from the box on the table and gestured at Gabe with it. “Come on. Let’s go talk in my office.”
Fabian’s home office was in the back of the house on the first floor. A few streaks of test paint had been dabbed on the walls, but the last Gabe had heard, Fabian had yet to decide what particular shade of eggshell he wanted. The ceiling fan was still in its box, and Fabian’s new filing cabinets sat empty with the drawers open, while cardboard filing boxes rested on top of them. A rolled-up rug was propped in the corner, and framed baseball memorabilia leaned against the wall under the window. The desk was brand-new but otherwise looked like Fabian’s desk at the gym—covered in piles of paper and sticky notes—with a framed photo from Fabian’s wedding sitting on the only clear space.
Gabe’s desk at home sat in the corner of the living room and had almost nothing on it. Being in Fabian’s house like this, surrounded by his family, it was hard not to compare it to his own cold, spare apartment.
Especially after being back in his childhood home, and in Michelle’s apartment. She lived alone, too, but her apartment was vibrant and full of life.
