Page 85 of Don't Remind Me
I asked after everyone’s health and sent along my congratulations, a bit of peace settling into the space where my Alec anxiety used to reside.
Jase:I also heard you talked to Jillian. Thank you.
Me:Did she go for it?
Jase:Sort of. I’ll tell you about it later.
My stomach fluttered at that last sentence. When he’d said he needed “space,” I’d assumed it would look more like it had when he’d avoided me. Limited to no contact. No interaction of any kind. I hadn’t expected texting and baby pictures and talking.
Jase:What are you doing?
I told him.
Jase:Not the cooking one?
My lips tugged up. I’d had Jase watch an episode of my favorite professional cooking competition with me a few weeks ago because I was curious what his reaction to it would be—what he’d think of the challenges or whether he’d agree with the judges’ critiques. One episode had turned into an entire season, then two. He seemed to like it well enough, but I was pretty sure he mostly kept watching for me.
Me:I decided it wouldn’t be as enjoyable without a certain running commentary accompanying it.
Because now the thought of watching it only made me think of him. Any cooking show did. Any food-related thing did, period. I couldn’t pour a glass of water without remembering the fancy tap system he’d had installed at Ardena or the way he always cut a fresh lemon for me to put in my glass, and the whole point of this binge-watch had been to distract me from him, not make me ache with longing.
Jase:Want to watch one now?
My smile hurt my cheeks.
We pulled up an episode and texted for the first half until, while the chefs raced through Whole Foods to buy their ingredients for the elimination challenge, my phone rang. I grinned as I brought it to my ear.
“Sarah just screwed herself,” Jase said on the other end. “Canned chickpeas instead of cooking them herself? Come on. The judges are going to crucify her.”
“I’m sure she has a plan. It could turn out incredible.”
“It’s gonna turn out a bland pile of mush.”
“So what would you have done?”
It went on like that for the rest of the episode. Easy and light. Laughing and fun. I squeezed a throw pillow to my chest the whole time, wishing it was him, grateful I was getting this moment with him anyway.
The episode ended, and neither of us said anything as the credits began to roll. I imagined him on his couch in his apartment, wearing those loose gray pants that rode low on his hips, with Baxter curled up on the cushion beside him.
“I saw my parents today,” he said, voice blank, like the memory alone drained him.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly. I wanted to do more. Make it better somehow. Protect him from the pain. But I couldn’t control his parents any more than I could control my own, and I’d given up trying to do that a long time ago.
“I’m getting there,” he said, and though his voice was quiet, it was also strong. Steady. None of the shakiness that had been there after the baby shower. “I told them about us.”
Us.
There was anus. I didn’t care what his parents thought as long as that stayed true.
“How’d that go?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.
He made a breathy noise that might have been a laugh. “About as well as I expected. How my mother was upset when Alec was in the same room telling her it didn’t bother him will never cease to amaze me.”
“What’s upset? Like silent judgment or full-blown waterworks?”
“More just her run-of-the-mill ‘How could you do this to your brother? Why would you bring this up today of all days? How is Stephanie supposed to feel? What will my book club think?’ Nothing I haven’t heard before, really.”
“So I shouldn’t expect an invite home for Christmas, is what you’re saying,” I teased.
