The other passengers began to gather their belongings and jostle toward the exit doors. I pocketed the phone and retrieved my carry-on before disembarking and walking down the long corridor toward the gate.
Home.
Home, home, home. What would be in store for me this time?
I took the escalators down to the baggage claim and waited for my suitcase to glide up to me on the carousel.
I pulled my phone back out, finding messages from both Alex and Neil.
Alex told me he was at the cell-phone lot; I messaged back to say I was waiting on my suitcase.
“I hope it’s a quick journey home,” Neil’s message read. “Want to join me for lunch this week? I need to get off campus.”
“Sure,” I wrote back.
Because we were friends. And because we were better in person than over the phone.
By the time we set a date two days out, I saw my suitcase sail past and pocketed my phone in time to catch it.
Alex brought Gigi along in his car, buckled up in her car harness. We enjoyed a happy reunion, made happier by a trip through the Burgerville drive-through for chicken strips and a milkshake just before they closed.
Traffic cooperated, and we made it home shortly before midnight.
Nico saw us from the kitchen window and met us in the back. “You’ve returned to us!” he said, his arms open wide. “You’ve got the color back in your cheeks. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to be back,” I said, hugging him back. “Place hasn’t burned down, always good to see.”
“Of course not. I’m pretty much done down here. I’ll help you with your stuff.”
Nico hauled my suitcase and Alex took my carry-on, leaving me with my purse and Gigi’s leash, feeling a little silly to be doing so little of the heavy lifting. We turned toward the restaurant, where a familiar figure stood in the doorway.
“Hello, Adrian,” I said.
I waited, looking at him standing there in his chef’s whites, hair tied back with his favorite red bandanna.
He gave a crooked smile, an expression of resignation—but no antipathy. “Hey, Juliette. Good trip?”
I nodded. “Very. Good to be home.”
Seeing him again, I felt the uncomfortable stirrings of sadness with a touch of regret. Uncomfortable—but by no means unmanageable.
I hadn’t missed him, I realized with a start. Having returned, I was glad to see him well, but the sight of him didn’t fill me with longing.
“Doesn’t look like you need a hand,” he said, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I’m fine,” I said, glancing back at my brothers. “You could carry my purse, but I think that’s taking chivalry a bit far.”
He tipped an imaginary hat. “Have a good night, then. Glad you’ve made it back.”
I gave him a real smile then, and started for the stairs.
On paper, we should have worked. Were we unsuited, or had the loss of my mother simply reduced my capacity for affection?
I wouldn’t ever know, I thought as I reached for my key. Men like Adrian were seldom without female companionship. Better to let him move on to someone who better knew what she was about. I’d miss his company, but the idea of him dating someone else didn’t cause my breath to stutter the way it had to find out that Neil was seeing someone from the hospital.
That was something to be grateful for, at least. I had enough to do, coming back from being away. I needed all the breath I could get.
The lights were off inside, and I figured Clementine had turned in hours ago. Nico pulled my suitcase to my room, and Alex placed my bag on the armchair by the window.
“Thank you, guys,” I said softly. I hugged them both and saw them to the door before peeling off my clothes and showering off the day of travel.
I fell asleep, happy to be back in my own bed with Gigi at my side.
I woke the next morning, my throat swollen and raw and aching. Caterina’s cold. I groaned with the realization and rolled over, which only made it hurt worse.
I texted Nico with the news. As a person with a communicable disease, I was persona non grata downstairs.
He texted back his sympathies, along with a plea to stay away, and perhaps Clementine should stay with a friend for a few days?
I couldn’t argue; instead, I belted myself into my bathrobe and embraced my Patient Zero status with a pot of tea and soft scrambled eggs before returning to bed with my laptop. Gigi didn’t begrudge the cuddle time, and I whittled down my inbox and to-do list between catnaps.
Caterina called shortly after my soup-from-the-freezer lunch. “Nico texted and said you were sick! Say it’s not so!”
“It’s not bad,” I said, my raspy voice betraying me.
“You sound like Eartha Kitt.”
“Thanks?”
She sighed over the phone. “I’m so sorry. I’m sending you the best care package.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine, I’ve got a pantry full of tea and a freezer full of soup. All I lack is human company, but you’re providing that for me as we speak.”
“It’s not enough. My guilt remains. Do you have ginger? I swear by ginger.”
“I think I can get Nico to slip some through the mail slot, as long as he wears gloves and washes his hands after.”
“That sounds promising. Also disturbing, but I get it. Well, you don’t worry—I’ll send you some ginger concentrate.”
“I’m really okay—”
“I’m already putting on my shoes, so stop arguing with me.”
“Fine. Hug your children for me.”
“Pet your dog, and make sure you rest, okay? Rest and watch Eurovision videos on YouTube.”
Nico texted me minutes later. “Bringing you ginger,” he wrote. “Per instructions.”
By Tuesday, my throat felt fine but my head was thoroughly congested. I showered well past the prune stage, breathing the steam and willing my nasal passageways to reopen.
Afterward, I bundled into my coziest sweatpants and hoodie and curled up on my couch with Gigi, a box of Kleenex, and the latest Sophie Kinsella book.
Gigi slept, snoring occasionally, but woke at the sound of footfalls on the stairs.
I wasn’t expecting anyone. Had Clementine left something behind?
A knock sounded at the door; Gigi leaped from the couch and jumped in glee at the prospect of visitors. I rose quietly and peered through the eyehole.
Neil stood on the other side, somehow looking handsome even distorted by the bend of the glass.
I scooped Gigi into my arms and opened the door. “I’m so, so sorry,” I said, my face flushing in embarrassment. He looked sharp and I looked…not sharp. “We made plans and I completely forgot.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, an easy smile on his face. I’d forgotten how easy that smile was. “Your brother told me you were under the weather when I asked after you.” He lifted a handled grocery bag. “I thought you might need some supplies.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, but I found myself stepping back to let him inside. “Really, I’m fine. There is a restaurant conveniently located downstairs.”
He strode inside, walking to the kitchen. “So you’ve eaten?”
I chewed on my lip. “I think I forgot about lunch.”
“A restaurant downstairs and you’ve forgotten to eat?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m just teasing you. I thought you might like some soup. And these—” He reached into the bag and pulled out a bouquet of daisies. “I looked for tulips, but apparently they’re out of season.”
“I like daisies,” I said, fingering a petal. “They’re friendly.” I took a deep breath and looked up at him. “This is very, very nice of you.”
He reached back into the bag. “I discovered something my first month here—Thai soup is great for colds. I got sick and the Thai place around the corner from me had soup, and they delivered right to my door.”
“Smart.”
He found the
cupboard with my oversized mugs and pulled down two. “And then I realized that I’d hit the jackpot, because I could actually taste it. I didn’t know what you liked best, so I brought you Tom Kha Gai with chicken and Tom Yum with prawns, in case you’re tired of chicken.”
I tried and failed to fight the feeling of warmth that spread through my bones. “That sounds perfect.”
He poured the Tom Kha into the first mug, putting a spoon into it before handing it to me. “There you go. Drink up.”
I wanted to tell him it was too much, that he was too much, that I worried that my feelings would start to get jumbled up again.
Was that all it took? Flowers and soup?
I thanked him and tasted the Tom Kha; my eyes closed in happiness. “It feels so good to taste something again. Yesterday I had butternut-squash soup and had to let my imagination fill in the gaps.” I nodded toward the soup container. “Make a bowl for yourself if you haven’t eaten. I hate to eat alone.”
He followed suit; we carried our mugs to the living room and made ourselves comfortable, Neil in the chair and myself on the sofa.
“Tell me more about Benjamin’s family,” Neil said. “Did you learn anything else about Gabriel?”
“Actually, yes.” I told him about Benjamin’s observations about Gabriel and Mireille’s marriage. “What he didn’t know, though, was that something happened to baby Alice. That came as a surprise to him.”
“So Alice is still in the wind.”
“She is.”
“What about the oldest brother? Nathan?”
“Disappeared in Spain, along with his family. His parents survived, but Benjamin lost both brothers.”
Neil shook his head. “I can’t imagine. But thinking about Alice—we know that she made it to the chateau, or we’re assuming the chateau. Mireille said she was in a safe place in that last letter, and the letter made its way to the chateau garret.” He thought for a moment. “You said Nathan made it to Spain?”
“Benjamin said he had a letter from Nathan, from Spain. When he replied, he never heard back.”
“I was just wondering if there was any reason for Nathan’s family to take Alice and she disappeared with them.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Occam’s razor, you know? The simplest solution is often the best. So if you’ve got a missing child and a missing brother, maybe they were missing together.”
I winced. “How awful.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe they made it, just under different names. Your mother certainly did. Just because families were broken up doesn’t mean those lives were necessarily lost.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“When are you seeing Benjamin’s family next?” he asked.
I felt myself relax into the happier topic. “We’re talking. I hear from Rose pretty regularly. Benjamin is too frail to fly, but we’re thinking of seeing them either on the way to or from France after Christmas.”
“That sounds nice,” Neil said. “Tarissa’s trying to get me to come to Chicago to have Christmas with them.”
“She’s the best,” I said. “I don’t know if she mentioned it, but she and I had brunch when I was back there.”
“I was going to ask you about that,” he said, his face looking a little rosier than it had a moment before. “I hope it wasn’t awkward for you. I had mentioned in passing to Callan that you were headed out that way.”
I wasn’t too congested to tease him. “You were talking about me to Callan?”
“I was,” he said, his voice almost flirtatious.
“Well, we had a good time,” I said, when he didn’t elaborate. “We decided that no matter what, we were going to be friends.”
“That sounds like Tarissa.”
I tipped my head. “She’s good at girl talk, that one.” A little soup for courage, and I continued. “I know I told you Adrian and I broke up. I don’t think I mentioned it was the night we celebrated Thanksgiving.”
Neil lowered his mug. “I wondered.”
“How did you wonder?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Intuition? Holidays? I have a theory that Thanksgiving brings out the worst in people.”
“Do you?” I asked, before a set of sneezes overtook me.
Neil handed me a tissue from the side table. “It’s just a theory. Don’t let me interrupt.”
I blew my nose, making a honking noise that could never be construed as delicate. “Adrian and I broke up because he proposed,” I said, taking a second tissue to wipe my nose. “And I said no.”
“He proposed on Thanksgiving?”
“My birthday, actually.”
Neil stilled. “Wait a minute—you told me you were worried about your birthday. That he was throwing a large party and you wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.”
“That is true.”
Neil raised an eyebrow. “And you told him all that?”
“Of course I did.”
“And then he asked you to marry him?”
I flopped back onto the couch. “Yes.”
He stirred his soup and looked out the window. “I’m not a guy inclined to violence. But I kinda want to deck him.”
“Please don’t. I can assure you he’s suffered enough.”
“Juliette, your mother passed away. You’re grieving. And you told him what you wanted, and he did the opposite.”
I shrugged. “It was a miscommunication. Which…granted, led to a mistake, but it is what it is.”
Neil shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I’ll carry on, and so will he. We’re all fine.” I reached for my mug. “Please tell me you’re having more romantic success than I am.”
He gave a smile I couldn’t decipher. “I’m not sure yet.”
I thought about the woman he’d mentioned, the one that Tarissa said he wasn’t seeing anymore. Same woman, or a different one? “That’s a pity.”
“Agreed.” He clasped his hands together. “But there’s time.”
“Remind me: when are you scheduled to return to the South?”
I asked because I needed to be reminded. I needed to be reminded before I found myself falling for him all over again.
“Fall term ends on the nineteenth, and I’m assisting in a study for a couple weeks before Atlanta. My sublet is up on the eighth of January, and then I’ll drive to Atlanta.”
“Sounds dreary.” I set my empty mug back down and rubbed my arms. “I’m cold. Are you cold?”
“I’m fine.” He leaned forward and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re feverish, though.”
I yawned and rested my head against the couch. “Look at you being all doctor-y.”
He gave that easy, southern smile again. “Where are your fever reducers?”
“Bathroom cabinet,” I said, planting my feet on the floor to stand. “I’ll get them.”
Neil opened his mouth to protest, but his upbringing must have taught him not to insist on digging through a lady’s medicine cabinet.
I found the bottle with ease and popped two, stopping on the way back for a pair of extra socks.
When I got back, I found Neil in the living room, where I’d left him, and Gigi standing by the door looking very much like she needed to go out.
“I can take her,” Neil said when I started looking around for my shoes. “It’s not raining. Why don’t I take her for a walk, give her some exercise?”
Don’t, I wanted to tell him. Don’t be nice and make me want to get used to you.
But the fact of the matter was that Gigi needed exercise and I had a very kind, very male volunteer. I wasn’t an idiot.
So I hooked up her leash and thanked him before curling up on the couch beneath a blanket, waiting for the meds to work.
And then the book in my hand started to feel heavy, but not as heavy as my eyelids. So I lowered both, the overstuffed couch claiming me as a victim yet again.
I woke when the blanket moved, or maybe it bounced. Gigi jumped up, then settled on the sofa a
bove my head. Someone pulled the blanket up over my shoulder.
My eyes opened, just enough to see Neil’s shoulder.
“Get some rest,” he said.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Neil silenced me with the motion of his hand against my hair. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
And because of the virus, the softness of the sofa, and the warmth of his voice, I fell back to sleep.
Only the pure in heart can make a good soup.
—LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN
By Friday my sinuses cleared, my cough quieted, and I was allowed to rejoin society. I noticed that the wait staff weren’t running quite as efficiently as they had before I’d left. With a little encouragement, they picked up their pace.
I caught up on the accounting when I wasn’t in the dining room, smiling and greeting customers, delivering plates, making drinks. My muscles got back into the rhythm of the work and the nightly cleanup that followed.
Adrian and I found our own rhythm as well. He laughed and joked with Nico in the kitchen, and if he quieted when I approached, that was fine, but he no longer looked at me like I’d removed his heart with a melon baller. As for myself, I didn’t resent him for making my birthday and Thanksgiving more emotionally complex than planned. At least, not overmuch.
In between the work, I thought about Neil.
His hand smoothing my hair, his face over mine before he’d left the apartment. My psyche clung to those moments, even as I told myself not to be foolish.
After work, I pulled out my Christmas decorations and listened to Joni Mitchell and Brandi Carlile, missing my mom so badly that sometimes I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t have many decorations, but the ones I had, my mom had given me. For a woman who tended to embrace an elegant minimalism the other eleven months out of the year, she had a surprising love for kitschy Christmas decorations. Vintage bubble lights, elves, and miniature trees—she loved them all. I had a box of items she’d passed to me over the years, as well as a set of felted poinsettia toss pillows, decoupage deer, and hanging Moravian stars in a variety of sizes. Gigi thought it was great fun, but when I came close to weeping over a porcelain elf, I gathered her in my arms and stroked her ears.
Together at the Table Page 15
