The Weight of Life

by Whitney Barbetti

  “I like it.” He took my hand and spun me back to him. “It’s sexy.”

  “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Good.”

  “Don’t you have a bar to be running?”

  “You mean a pub, and yes, I do. But I’m allowed to take a break here and there.”

  “You’re working tonight?”

  “I am. Will you still come by?”

  “Definitely.”

  He took my hands and spread his fingers so that mine linked with his. “Good. When do you think?”

  I looked up at the clock, surprised it was already six. “Maybe in a couple hours? I need to shower and change before I come by.”

  “Change?” He held me away from him, looking me up and down. He hooked a finger in the neck of my crop top and tugged me toward him. My heart tripped in my chest in time with my feet, and I felt everything inside of me go lax, like I was surrendering myself to him. “You should wear this. And I like the sweat.”

  “Shut up,” I said on a laugh.

  “You say that to me a lot.” He let go of my shirt and ran his finger down the side of my face. “I should get going, but I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  “Okay.” I rose on my tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss full on his mouth. “See you.”

  When he left, Lotte came out of the back room that seemed to be a storage area and she had her hands pressed against her mouth, stifling her glee. “That was so sweet!”

  “Oh, Lord.” I didn’t think I could burn any brighter than I did when she looked at me like that. There was expectation attached to that kind of glee—and it made my stomach flip. “Aren’t you supposed to be grossed out by that kind of…” I spun my hand in the air, searching for the word, “affection?”

  “Maybe if he was my blood brother, but since he’s not.” She shrugged as she pulled a jacket on. “It’s good to see him smiling. Really good.”

  I bent to pick up my shoes by the door, hiding my own smile. Slipping off the dance shoes, I gave her a look. “He makes me smile too.” She handed me my coat. “But apparently, according to him, I do that a lot.”

  “You do, but I think that’s part of your magic.”

  I rolled up the sleeves of my jacket, too warm to go full long sleeves even in the chilly September evening air. “I don’t have magic.”

  “You do, to Ames.” She opened the door and gestured me out. “I’ve known him a long time, Mila. And you’re the first person he’s looked at more than once since Mal. That makes you special.”

  I let out a puff of air when we stepped out onto the sidewalk, feeling my stomach coil with nerves. I believed she meant to reassure me, to make me proud of the effect I had on her brother-in-law. But he was having the same effect on me—and with the tick of our expiration date echoing in my head, it was impossible to continually feel lifted by the weight of my feelings for him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When I returned to the flat, Asher was sitting on a chair on the patio off of the living room. I needed to get ready for Mila, and the plans I’d made for us, but something about the way Asher was slumped in the chair made me pause.

  He held something in his hands, something I couldn’t discern in the twilight. When I stepped out onto the patio, he didn’t turn, but dropped his foot from the chair it rested on.

  He waved his hand across the seat beside him. “Sit, Ames.”

  Not for the first time, I pushed down the feelings that surfaced seeing him like this—this big booming man, who’d nearly dislocated my shoulder the first time he’d shaken my hand. He was a shell of that man now, living in the shadow of his late wife.

  I sat across from him and saw the thing he held in his hands was one of Rayna’s many scarves. He twisted it, knotted it, over and over.

  “Charlotte wants to sell the studio.”

  I nodded. “She tells me on a daily basis.”

  He was quiet for a few moments, so quiet that I thought he’d actually fallen asleep. But he was deep in thought, twisting that scarf around his finger and then unraveling it.

  “Perhaps it’s not an awful idea.”

  My head snapped to face him. “You believe that?”

  He sighed, this bear of a man, and I could tell this conversation was important to him when he took a sip of his tea before speaking. “She wants to be free. Spread her wings.”

  “And under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t be cause for alarm. But she wants to spread her wings on another continent, alone.”

  “That she does.”

  “She’s young.” I worked to keep my voice level, not wanting to turn this into an argument.

  Asher chuckled. “She’s twenty-three. That’s hardly an infant.”

  “She’s young in ways that people take advantage of. And we’re not talking a visit. She wants to pop around the country, venture into Canada.”

  Asher calmed me with his hand on my arm. “Who’s the parent here?”

  I swallowed, willing myself to speak rationally. “With all due respect, Asher, of course you are. But I can’t help but worry for her.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply I wouldn’t worry for her. In fact, all that worrying would likely send me into an early grave.” He laughed, but I hardened. It wasn’t something to laugh about to me.

  “And how would she feel,” I began, in even tones, “if something—God forbid—happened and she was far away.”

  He sighed again, and I pushed his tea toward him. I worried about his cough in the cool air, and the tea would help temper it.

  “Ames, that’s the very risk of living. Something could happen in the next five seconds. Something could happen in the next five years. Having that ignorance is a gift. Entertaining fears is selfish; it wastes life.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d be giving a sermon today.” I meant it sarcastically, but I knew my tone was off. “Sorry.”

  “It is Wednesday. Rayna’s church met Wednesdays for prayer meetings.”

  “Maybe that’s what Lotte needs.”

  “Church?” Asher chuckled. “A church isn’t going to tell her what’s burning in her heart. She knows what she wants. And I’m inclined to give her the permission she’s respectively seeking.”

  “Fine. If she really wants to go gallivanting off to the states, then fine. But she needn’t sell her studio to do so.”

  “Oh, Ames.” Asher patted my arm. “How will she pay for it? Utilities, taxes?”

  “I’ll pay for it. I’m going to sell the restaurant. She can keep the studio, and when she’s ready to come home, it’ll be here for her.”

  He sipped his tea and settled the scarf on his lap. “You know, when Mal first came home with the look in her eyes—the same one I saw in her own mother’s eyes—I knew one thing for certain. She’d fallen in love. The uncertainties were many: with whom? Was he kind to her? Was he good, in the ways that mattered?” He turned his head to look at me.

  “And then, after a while, she told me it was you. Of course, I’d already known who you were, and had observed your puppy love for my daughter from the start. But I didn’t know your character, except that you looked at my daughter like she was the one thing grounding you to this earth. It’s a scary thing, to watch your baby be loved like that by someone else.”

  I closed my eyes, well aware of the kind of impression I must have made on him. It was enough to make me cringe.

  “And so I told her to tell me about you—the things I didn’t already know myself. And the fact that she was so open, so willing to tell me all the good things about you, did a lot to assuage my concern. She told me that you made her laugh, that when that Johnny-Bobblecock—”

  “Bobblecock?” I said on a chocked laugh.

  Asher laughed with me. “Yes. Whatever his name was. The arse who slapped her lunch tray out of her hands in an effort to gain her attention.”

  It was coming back to me then. “Ah, yes, I think he’s on his third divorce now.”

  “Shocking. Anyway. She told me th
at she sat with you, lunchless, and you took pity on her and gave her your milk and sandwich.”

  “Yes, well, like you said, I was halfway in love with her until I fell all the way into it.”

  “Right. And yes, what you did for her was a good thing, an honorable thing. And it made me like you more. But it was what she told me next that sealed the deal for me.”

  I waited in the silence, the only noise the cars on the street below us. After what felt like several minutes, he continued.

  “She felt awful for taking most of your lunch, and the next day she sought to buy an extra tray for you, so you could eat your fill two-fold. But when she brought you the tray, she told me you did something unusual. You picked up the tray you’d purchased, all the food still uneaten, and carried it to a table of children she said were from the poor end of Camden.”

  “Which end is that?” It was well known that Camden had the worst child poverty rates.

  “That’s fair. But stop interrupting my story.”

  I acquiesced to his request, and propped my feet up on the railing.

  “You gave the tray you’d purchased to kids you weren’t friends with. But they were in need, and you fulfilled their need. And, she told me, that you took the extra milk and pizza off of the tray she’d purchased for you and gave that up too.”

  “I had food at home.”

  “You’re interrupting me again, and I’m in the middle of a good speech.”

  I mimicked zipping my lips and sat back, letting him finish.

  “Did I ever tell you how I met Rayna?”

  “Am I allowed to speak now?”

  He chuckled. “You can nod or shake your head.”

  I shook my head.

  “She came to the restaurant I worked at and purchased sixteen pizzas. I stared at her, this small waif of a woman—much like my Lotte is now—and asked her where she was going to put it all. She said, ‘In hungry bellies.’ She had two wealthy parents, and used her pocket money to buy food for people who needed it. You’re like her.”

  “I don’t think sharing my lunch is quite on the same level.”

  “But it is. You’re comparing amounts and not the act behind them. You did what you could, within your means. When she told me that story, about how you did it every single day, how you inspired her to use a bit of her spending money doing the same, I had no fear. If you could do such an act of kindness for complete strangers, inspire a similar act in my child, I could only think of the good you’d do for people you loved. Like my Mahlon.”

  “I loved her,” I said simply.

  “And you love Lotte. Not in the same way, but in a way that means, for you, sacrifice. It’s honorable, Ames, that you would be willing to sacrifice the restaurant—the dream you and Mal shared—in order to make sure Lotte could keep her studio. Even if she never returned to it.”

  I swallowed. “The restaurant needs work, a lot of work. I don’t have the time to devote to it, nor the funds.”

  “You don’t have the time because you’ve sacrificed your freedom to take over the pub for me.” Asher twisted his chair so he faced me, and even in the dark, I could see the feeling in his eyes. “When Rayna died, when Mal died, I fell apart. You didn’t get that luxury. You kept us three afloat, shouldering the burden of the pub and your own grief. We didn’t give you the space to hurt, to feel.” He patted my arm again and then gripped it firmly, desperately. “I know the blood running through these veins isn’t of my family—but you couldn’t be more my son than if you were born of my own flesh. There’s no son-in-law—you are my son. You’ve done more for me than anyone should. And I don’t want to see you lose anything else.”

  I blinked rapidly. I’d loved this family for ten years, loved Asher like he was my father, Lotte like she was my sister. And while I’d known Asher loved me, hearing it like this, right now, was enough to make my eyes burn. “I’m not losing anything,” I assured him.

  “Maybe it doesn’t seem that way, but trust me—love doesn’t always require sacrifice. Especially not the kinds of sacrifices you’ve made.” He let go of my arm. “Just … think about what I’ve said.”

  I promised I would, and got him another cup of tea. My thoughts were swirling, but after a quick glance at the clock, I realized I had just an hour before Mila would be arriving.

  My body practically hummed with excitement. Tonight was going to be special—for her, and for me. She was special. Probably the most special thing I’d come across in years.

  It didn’t do well to think like that for too long. Mila would be leaving soon, a thought I didn’t let in my head too often because each time I did, the longer this went on, I felt this heavy, unsettling pressure. I wasn’t ready to let go, but I’d need to be. Soon.

  Chapter Twenty

  I showered quickly so I’d have enough time to dry my hair before heading to Free Refills. The air was getting progressively cooler, and after leaving Lotte’s studio, the sweat on my neck felt like ice cubes.

  The dress I pulled on was pale pink, splattered with flowers and a skirt that split up the front to past my knees. Even though this wasn’t a date date, Ames had specifically asked me to meet him and that felt like something special.

  After slicking on some lipstick—a rare indulgence—I pulled a jacket on and made my way to Free Refills.

  As I approached the building twenty minutes later, I took in the way the glass front was practically vibrating along with the music inside the pub.

  I pulled open the door and the music poured out, mingled with a bunch of whoops and cheers.

  It was the busiest I’d ever seen Free Refills—slammed wall to wall with people. I couldn’t see a path to the bar, so I stood by the door for a while until Sam stood before me. “Oh, hey lipstick.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, and handed me a bottle of cider. “Busy place tonight, huh?”

  The cider was cool and tasted like juice. “This could be dangerous.” I held up the bottle between us.

  Sam narrowed his eyes. “I like living dangerously,” he said, a trace of amusement in his expression.

  “That’s hardly surprising.” Before I could ask him where Ames was, the man himself appeared in front of me, dressed in head to toe black—slacks, belt, and sweater. The crowded area around us made it impossible to hug him, so I just reached my hand toward him, which he grabbed and then yanked me—crowd be damned—toward him.

  “Hi there,” he said, and my insides liquefied. His arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me tight against him. “You look…” he shook his head and mouthed, Wow. And my heart had the same reaction.

  “It’s busy here,” I said against his ear, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the music. “Need help?”

  “Not tonight.” He turned to Sam, who clapped him on his back.

  “Get the hell out of here,” he said, practically pushing us toward the door.

  “What?” I asked, twisting around as Ames led me outside. “Don’t you need to be behind the bar?”

  When we were outside, where it was only marginally quieter, Ames said, “Not tonight. Took the night off.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” He stepped back to take me in. “You make a pretty picture, Mila.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” I ran my hands over the front of his sweater, liking the way he looked in the dark colors, the way it accentuated all the muscles along his arms. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Come on,” he said, leading me down the street. After a minute, I knew the path was familiar. “Sorry, I guess I could’ve told you to wear more comfortable shoes.” He looked down at my feet, taking in the nude-colored pumps I wore.

  I stuck one leg out of the folds of my skirt when we were paused at a crosswalk. “These are plenty comfortable.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for that. All they look to me is sexy.” He stepped back, taking me in. “But you don’t look like you could run very fast in them.”

  I kissed the skin under his jaw. “Do I need to r
un fast?”

  “I guess you’ll be the one to decide that.”

  “Well, for your information, I can’t run in heels. I can dance, and stomp, and glide—but run? No. However, it’d only take me a second to kick them off if I really needed to sprint.”

  “I hope you don’t take them off tonight, then.” He leaned into me, forehead against mine. “I don’t want you running away, not yet.”

  I leaned into him, pushing away the echoes in my head reminding me that I’d be leaving soon, and then when it was safe to walk, he scooped me up into his arms and sprinted across the street, not stopping until we were at the door to his restaurant where he gently set me down on the ground. I’d laughed the whole way across the street, surprised and impressed that he’d been able to carry me without breaking a sweat. He waggled his eyebrows at me playfully as he pulled the key out of his pocket. When he opened the door, I noticed immediately how bright it was.

  “Ames!” I exclaimed, taking in the dozens of strings of twinkly white lights all around the restaurant. “You did this?”

  He laughed, and locked the door behind us. “You mean, you can’t tell?” He tilted his head to the side and braced his arm on one table. He’d wrapped lights around it, kind of haphazardly. “I ran out of cord, so I had to use what was closest to the outlets.”

  “I love it.” And I did. It showed thought, and I couldn’t have been more surprised and pleased and … grateful. For his effort. For him.

  He led me to a table he’d set with flatware and glasses. A pitcher with white sangria was sitting in the middle of it all. “Is that the Forbidden Fruit sangria?” I looked over at him.

  “It is. I made it this afternoon.”

  “Wait, how long have you known you had the day off?”

  “Since I asked to spend the time with you.” He pulled a chair out from the table and I sat. He leaned over and his mouth hovered over mine for a beat. “I wanted a night with just us,” he whispered before he slowly pressed his mouth to mine. I turned my head and deepened the kiss, gripping his sweater and waiting until my heart had settled into a steady rhythm before pulling away.