Page 83 of The Last to Let Go
“How do you manage to stay so damn calm all the time?” I ask him, wondering if I could ever learn to be like that.
He shrugs. “I’m simply on a mission to not have a bunch of wrinkles by the time I’m twenty-five. I plan on looking this good for a long time. I told you before, I don’t do stress. Unlike you”—he touches the spot in the center of my forehead, between my eyebrows, with his index finger and pushes ever so slightly—“a girl who’s on her way to getting a big, fat worry line right there.”
I laugh, shake my head. “I guess I pretty much blew it with her,” I admit to him, and to myself.
“Listen, she’s just hurt. And if she didn’t still care, she wouldn’t still be complaining about you to me. Every. Single. Damn. Day.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. I also say, you need to come out of hibernation and start fixing things.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” I tell him.
“Just apologize. And be honest with her—that’s all she wanted in the first place. You realize that, right?”
“I guess so,” I admit.
“So, suck it up. Do that, and I bet she’d be willing to give it another go—but don’t tell her I told you to,” he warns me, flinging another Tater Tot in my direction.
CAROLINE
HER APARTMENT IS NOTHINGlike I imagined it would be, yet it suits her perfectly. Everything here looks like it would’ve looked better in a different time. Not unlike Caroline herself.
“Well, it’s not much, I know. But it’s home,” she says, slapping a throw pillow into shape on her couch.
“Is this where my mom grew up?”
“No. This is where I grew up. My parents lived here. I bought the place from my father when my mother died.”
“Is he still alive? Your father. My great-grandfather,” I add, hearing how strange these words sound coming out of my mouth.
She shakes her head but doesn’t offer up any further information. I follow her into the kitchen, where she pours two glasses of iced tea from a pitcher—a warm golden brown, with ice and wedges of lemon floating at the top. “Want to sit outside?” she asks as she hands one of the glasses to me.
She leads the way back through the living room to a sliding glass door that opens to a small balcony with a concrete floor and wrought-iron bars that form a fence around it. We look out over a courtyard that has a big, L-shaped inground pool in the center, surrounded by tables and umbrellas and those outdoor lounge chairs that have the adjustable backs. There’s a man skimming it. And when he looks up, he waves at us. Caroline waves back and then turns to me as we sit in two metal chairs that are slightly rusted at the edges, their cushions flattened and well worn. “Pool opens next week. You and the others are welcome anytime. Aaron and Callie,” she adds, like it’s strange for her to say their names as well.
“Thanks, I think Callie would like that.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything else.
“Do you work?” I ask, trying to think of anything normal to talk about.
“I work at the college.”
“You’re a professor?” I ask, impressed.
She laughs hard, then starts coughing like before, hacking like she can’t catch her breath. “No,” she finally manages. “Although, once upon a time I thought I would be. No, it’s administrative. Nothing too exciting. But it pays the bills.”
“Do you live here by yourself?”
“You ask a lot of questions—but that’s a good thing. No, as a matter of fact, I have a boyfriend who lives here too. He’s not here right now, but you’ll meet him another time—we’ll have you over for dinner. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No... but I have a girlfriend. Or I did, anyway. I don’t know. It’s complicated.” I wait for her reaction; I know a lot of older people don’t get it. A lot of younger people don’t get it either.
“Good. It’s good to have someone,” she says, not batting an eye. “I’d like to meet her sometime. When things are less complicated, that is.”
“That’d be nice.” I pause and consider how to frame this deli–cately. “Are you sick? I can’t help but notice the coughing. Are youokay, is what I’m trying to ask.”
“I’m old.”
