The Weight of Life

by Whitney Barbetti

  Wincing, I wrung my hands over and over in my lap. “I’m afraid to ask just how high it got.”

  “Well, since I now know you can hold your booze, you can imagine how much was enough to knock you down.”

  I took the first bite of eggs and my stomach growled impatiently. “Did I give you my credit card?” I hated that I’d been so drunk to not remember any of this. But, on the same token, I found myself completely at ease, eating breakfast with Ames and Lotte.

  “No. You actually dumped your purse—two times, in fact—and gave us all the dosh you had.”

  I tried to remember how much cash I’d pulled out of the last ATM I’d visited, but I couldn’t recall how much I’d had left. “Well, I hope it was enough.”

  Lotte took a big sip of her tea. “I heard Jennie accuse you of giving her free refills. Like, all of them.” She waggled her eyebrows as she looked at Ames.

  Out of my periphery, Ames turned and gave Lotte a look that had absolutely no effect on her.

  “Jennie has no room to talk. She’s the one who kept giving Mila alcohol.”

  I held up my hand. “I’m a big girl, and I’m responsible for my decisions—terrible as they were last night. Don’t blame Jennie.”

  Ames carried two plates to the table and handed one to Lotte as he sat. “That’s well and good, but Jennie should know better than to keep serving a person as pissed as you were last night.”

  I winced, and was so embarrassed once again. “I don’t usually get that drunk.”

  “It’s not like you’re the first person to get trashed at the pub this year, not even this week.”

  Ames pointed at Lotte with his fork. “You’re right. I believe that honor belongs to you, love.”

  Love. That word summoned a memory—Ames calling me it. I knew it was a casual term of endearment, but the word made me feel all tingly and warm—like when he’d touched my lower back.

  “These are great eggs,” I said, and shoveled another forkful into my mouth.

  Ames didn’t reply, just chewed as one side of his mouth lifted. I loved the look in his eyes, like he was laughing with me at the exchange. He was so serious all the time, so intensely quiet. To see him like this, in his home, joking with Lotte was refreshing. So refreshing that I wasn’t eager to leave this moment.

  “Ames.”

  All three of our heads swiveled to the man in the doorway, who took up the entire frame. He was dark, with several days’ scruff over his chin.

  “There’s a delivery downstairs.”

  Without a word, Ames stood and pushed his chair back. His hand grazed over my shoulder as he left the room and Lotte stood, gesturing to the seat beside me. “Sit, Dad. This is Mila.”

  The man paused, peering at me from where he stood in the doorway. “Mila.”

  I nodded and took his outstretched hand, which swallowed mine entirely. He had to have been six-foot-five, and seemed like at some point he’d been muscular. But there was a sense of sadness about him, a wallowing in the way he shifted into his seat, more slowly than a man of his age should move.

  “I’m Asher.” He sighed as he adjusted himself in the chair and Lotte handed him a plate she’d loaded up with food. “Lotte’s father.”

  “So nice to meet you,” I said, and twisted the napkin in my lap as nerves worked their way through my fingers. I’d figured out that Lotte was fine with her brother-in-law seeing someone else—if you could even call it that, but I didn’t know what the father of Ames’ deceased wife would think.

  “You’re American?”

  “Yep.” I exchanged glances with Lotte, who seemed terribly interested in what I had to say. “I’m here another three weeks.”

  “For work, or for a bit of fun?” His voice was deep and gruff, and it made me think of a drill sergeant in how he commanded attention by just the tone of his voice.

  “A bit of the former and a lot of the latter.”

  His expression softened and his lips spread. “That’s good. Seen anything you fancy?”

  I thought of Ames, but decided it best that I not specify that. “Well, I’ve gotten lost a few times. Some of those times were somewhat on purpose, though.” I chewed on the toast as I thought. “I’ve danced at Lotte’s beautiful studio.” She smiled proudly at me, but didn’t add anything. “Oh! I saw Big Ben. Actually, I tried to.”

  “Mila got knocked over on Westminster Bridge.”

  His brown eyes went wide and he tilted his head to look at me. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Luckily, Ames was there to save me. He and Sam pulled me over the railing.”

  He closed his eyes and then coughed. “Ames didn’t say anything about that. How peculiar.”

  “It’s not like Ames to brag about anything, much less possibly saving someone’s life,” Lotte said gently. “But they did. And then they brought her here.”

  “And I haven’t left since.” I grinned at Lotte who grinned back. “It’s a lovely pub,” I told him. “The name is so unique.”

  Asher chewed thoughtfully. “But it’s really not. It was my wife’s idea, actually.” Lotte handed him a cup of tea, which he sipped and then sighed. “Are you a God-fearing Christian, Mila?”

  I wasn’t sure if my answering gulp was audible, but it seemed like it could’ve been heard from miles away.

  “Aw, Dad. No need to send her running for the hills.”

  Asher held up a hand toward Lotte. “Charlotte, I’m not giving her a sermon here. I’m simply asking a question.”

  “Sorry. He’s kind of intense.” Lotte laughed.

  “I hardly leave the flat, Charlotte. I like to talk to interesting people.”

  I took a deep breath, feeling like I was under the firing squad despite what Asher had told Lotte. “I think faith is complicated, and deeply personal.” The answer didn’t seem to satisfy them, because they both waited for me to continue. “I don’t go to a church and I don’t tithe, but I believe that there’s a reason for everything, even if I don’t always agree with it.” It was hard to say, without hesitation, that I believed in a God who could give my brother a potentially-fatal condition, the same God who pulled the rug out from under my boyfriend for that same condition.

  “Why’s that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I had to be careful about my wording. “My brother has a condition.” I pointed to my chest. “With his heart. He’s been in and out of hospitals all his life.” I decided that was all I wanted to explain today—there was no need to get into Colin’s own experience with the same condition. “And I’ve watched him struggle our entire twenty-seven years on earth with it.”

  “If you think I don’t understand, you’re wrong.” He looked fondly at Lotte, who reached her hand across the worn table and clasped his wrist. “I lost the love of my life and my firstborn over the course of just a few months. And I am still struggling with understanding the why of it all.”

  “Ames has told me a bit about your losses. I’m so sorry.” I set my fork down, my stomach churning from the turn in conversation. “I understand loss too.”

  “Tell me, has your brother’s condition changed anything for you? Caused you to look at things differently, perhaps?”

  His condition was the very reason I was who I was—a woman my parents didn’t understand, a woman who did things to the beat of her own drum, things my brother couldn’t do. “Yes.”

  “The greatest thing death has taught me is the value of life.” Then he chuckled, but he didn’t sound particularly amused. “I’m still struggling with that.”

  “You’re doing great, Dad.” Lotte squeezed his arm again before pulling away. Then she looked pointedly at me, and it was as if I could hear her thoughts. Remember what I told you in the studio?

  “Anyway, Free Refills was born from my wife’s faith. Where I faltered, Rayna was steadfast.” He coughed again and Lotte nudged his teacup closer to him. “Every time she felt her spirit being emptied, she had trust it would be filled again. And it always was.” His smile was sad, s
oft, and Lotte seemed lost in the contents of her teacup. “Her faith was limitless, and she believed that if you were in need, your need would be met.” He leaned on the table, facing me. “There’s a passage in the Bible about a widow providing bread for Elijah, despite her low stock of flour and oil. Somehow, the jar of flour and jug of oil refilled themselves until the famine plaguing them receded.” He waved his hand. “Free Refills.”

  Things were starting to click after I heard that explanation. “Your wife sounds like she was an inspirational woman.”

  “She was.” He brought his toast to his mouth but paused before biting it. “Despite not sharing a cell of DNA, Ames is like her. Good, in a way that’s deeper than the surface—in a way that no one else can see. And he doesn’t need or even want acknowledgement for the acts of service he does, but by God does he deserve it.”

  I felt like I’d seen glimpses of it myself, under his quiet and calm exterior. But he still kept so much of himself hidden, that hearing all of this from his in-laws made me want to dig in deeper, to figure out more about him. I had a yearning for knowledge that I’d never had before.

  “He is good.” I looked at Lotte for a moment, before sucking up the courage I needed to say what I wanted to say. “I have to admit, I drank way too much in your pub last night. I was probably a huge hassle, but Ames let me sleep in his bed and took the floor.” I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to explain my presence, but after hearing what Asher had said about Ames, I felt like assuring him that Ames hadn’t brought some random hookup into his house.

  “Really?” Asher sat back and then put a hand to his chin as he rubbed it thoughtfully. “He slept on the floor?”

  I nodded.

  “No funny business?”

  I shook my head.

  He pursed his lips. “Well, then. That explains why he seems so worn out today.” He winked, and then he laughed, a sound so loud that it startled me. Lotte joined his laughing, and by the time Ames had reappeared, he was staring at all of us like we were all crazy. Which, I wasn’t entirely sure we weren’t. And as the laughing subsided, something about the expression on Ames face made me suddenly feel like I was intruding.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She moved to rise, but Asher covered her hand with his. “I hope you visit again, Mila.”

  She looked at me guiltily before turning back to Asher. “I’d love to.”

  He let go of her hand and she turned around, tucking one loose chunk of hair behind her ear as she avoided my gaze. I stood in my spot for a moment, before Asher waved a hand at me, and then I chased after Mila who was already outside of the pub before I’d made it to her.

  “Mila.”

  She stopped her brisk walk and turned, biting her lip and nervously running her hands through her hair. “Sorry.” She laughed and waved a wild hand toward the building. “We were just talking, and he was asking me all these questions, and then I felt like I had to tell him why this disheveled woman was sitting at his breakfast table, and then—”

  I did something that surprised both of us. I stepped up to her and placed three fingers over her mouth. “Shh. I’m not mad. Is that what you think?”

  She wrapped her hand around my wrist and pulled my fingers from where they covered her mouth. “I don’t know. You’re not easy for me to read. The way you looked at me made me think you realized just how stupid it was for you to invite me into your apartment.”

  “To be fair, I didn’t exactly invite you in. I had to carry you in.”

  “Ames,” she pleaded, an embarrassed kind of humor in her voice. “You know what I mean.”

  I dropped my hand so she lost her grip on my wrist. “It’s fine.”

  “He just wanted to know about my faith—hello, awkward question—and then he told me about Free Refills and then he was talking about you and I didn’t want him to think you brought some hussy around the apartment.”

  “Mila,” I repeated, louder this time to halt her rambling. I stepped forward and placed my hands on her shoulders, which were blessedly bare thanks to her sleeveless tank. I gently squeezed, grateful for the access to the soft skin of her arms. Even though I’d been mentally thinking about what to say the entire thirty seconds since she’d left Asher, I found myself so distracted by the feel of her warm skin and the smell of lemons that breezed around her, that I completely forgot what I’d prepared myself to say. “Don’t—don’t be sorry,” I began, meeting her eyes. Hers were so big, so open, the green so mesmerizing that once again, I found myself stumbling over my words. I had to stop touching her, stop feeling that perfect skin under mine. So I dropped my hands and then held them in front of me, awkwardly trying to figure out what the hell to do with them now that I wasn’t touching her. “Asher … he hasn’t laughed like that in so long. It was good to hear him just now. I…” I shoved my hands in my pockets just to keep them from being close to touching her again, but that made me feel clunky and standoffish. Which is what Mila was used to, coming from me, but I didn’t want her to misinterpret my meaning now.

  “I just … thank you. Thanks for giving him that today.”

  It took a long moment, but finally I saw the whisper of a smile curling the sides of her lips. She stepped closer to me, bringing me into that cloud of lemon and her. “You don’t need to thank me.” As if testing me, she gently placed her hands on my shoulders—mirroring me—as she stared up at my face. She was so close. I was going to lose my composure once again. It was only a matter of breaths, of seconds, before her lips were under mine once again.

  “He scared me a little bit at first, like I was taking a pop quiz and I didn’t know any of the answers. But I liked talking to him.” Her pink lips lifted up and I realized then what she’d said about knowing I was about to kiss her was right. Because when I looked at her lips, I could scarcely turn my sights away.

  Her hands slid down my chest slowly, and I got the distinct impression they were about to leave me, so I did something again that surprised us both, I covered her hands with mine and pressed them against my chest.

  Her breath hitched, and startled eyes looked to mine, so I let her go.

  Immediately, her arms wrapped around herself.

  “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head almost violently fast.

  “Then why are you holding yourself like you are?”

  She released a breath on a laugh. “Because you make me so fucking nervous, Ames. You’re all silent, and then when you speak you ask me things that force me to process my thoughts, and my thoughts are a jumbled mess, you wouldn’t believe the shit I have up here.” She pointed at the side of her head and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, and her fingers found their way into her hair, tangling with the ends. I was beginning to see that this was one of her nervous tics.

  “I’m literally just standing here in front of you, not touching you, and you’re all chaos and words. It’s endearing, really.” And it was. She looked like a tamed tornado—which was an oxymoron of epic proportions.

  “It’s not endearing. I can’t hide my emotions around you. It’s like,” she circled her hand over her head, “there’s this lasso that’s spinning around me, threatening to capture me. And I’ll just be helpless and trapped then. So, I’m just spilling out everything I can, to keep from being strangled.” She let go of her hair and made a move with her hands like she was karate chopping the air.

  She was nervous—an understatement, but she was also afraid of something. I couldn’t let her stand in fear in front of me.

  “It’s okay.” I took her hands and held them between mine. It seemed to immediately calm her, and it had the opposite effect on me. I just wanted to keep pulling her in, touching more of her skin, looking deeper into her eyes. Holding her ignited a long-buried yearning in me, and I couldn’t help but look at her lips again. “It’s okay, Mila.”

  Her voice was calmer, softer, when she spoke. “Is it? I don’t know.”

  “What don’t
you know?”

  “I got drunk in your bar—”

  “Pub.”

  “Pub last night. I was a mess. And you had no obligation to help me, and you did. And I’m so sorry you had to play babysitter.”

  “You were a mess last night.” When she looked at me with exasperation, I continued, “But we’re all a little bit messy sometimes, aren’t we? I think that’s literally the human existence. But I still don’t know why you were so upset.”

  She shifted her feet and I could tell she was deciding how much to say. “You thought, when you met me, that no sadness could have ever touched me. But it has, and last night it was,” she swallowed. “Profound. That loss.”

  I felt the movement of her fingers trapped behind mine, felt the way my ring dug into my skin. “Trust me, I know.” She stared up into my face, eyes searching. “What are you thinking?” I asked her.

  “That I’m glad you’re not promising me it’ll get easier.”

  I squeezed her hands, but still didn’t let go. “I only make promises I know I can keep.”

  A new light came over her. “On the bridge. You promised you wouldn’t let go of me.”

  I nodded and hoped she saw the sincerity in my eyes. “I don’t promise things that I don’t know, with absolute sincerity, I can fulfill.”

  “But you weren’t able to pull me over the railing. Eventually, you would’ve had to let me go.”

  I shook my head, and turned more fully toward her. I tightened my grip on her, not painfully so, but to emphasize how serious my next words were. “I meant it. I would’ve fallen in with you before I would’ve let go of you.”

  “Oh.” Her voice had taken on a whisper of air—like she was suddenly weightless. She didn’t stop looking at me. It was if my words had suddenly taken on weight, making me feel completely grounded, stilled to stone.

  And then, she blurted, “Why?”

  I blinked. “Because I didn’t want you to be alone.”