Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
OLIVER
Iwatch Nils give Eileen a gentle hug, feeling oddly emotional like the little old woman is my own grandma, back from the dead. It makes me want to give her a hug, too. And Nils, because although his expression hasn’t changed all that much, there’s something in his eyes that looks a little sad.
When she moves along to do her shopping, I put the tomatoes into my cart and brush my fingers down the back of Nils’ arm.
He smiles at me, less of a joyful one than a can you believe that?
one. Honestly, I can’t. I haven’t met many people from Nils’ life other than his family, and those introductions were quick and painless.
It had been clear Nils didn’t want to linger, so we hadn’t.
There had been no rush today, though. No tight rigidity to Nils’ body or shutters over his eyes.
He hadn’t wanted to make excuses and leave. He’d wanted to speak to Eileen.
“She was nice,” I comment, keeping my voice low and pleasant. Nils nods. “You haven’t seen her in a bit?”
“No. Not since high school.” He’s talking extremely carefully, slowly enough that it’s almost robotic. “She was my speech therapist for almost fou-ou-our years.”
I think through a few responses to that, trying to figure out the right thing.
Knowing him as I do, I don’t imagine he enjoyed the therapy sessions very much.
I can easily picture a little Nils embarrassed at being singled out for something that was probably starting to be a source of pain for him.
Kids can be heartless without meaning to, and as I can attest, shame is one of the earliest lessons learned by people who seem or feel a little different.
“I bet you were close,” I say eventually, and Nils gives me such a warm look, I immediately relax enough to say more. “She sort of reminded me of my grandma. Same hair and makeup.”
Nils exhales a soft laugh and nods. “Never seen her without.”
I imagine not. My grandma wouldn’t have been caught dead leaving the house in anything less than her nicest clothes, with her hair styled and lipstick on her mouth. Even then, she’d usually make a joke about how she looked like she was dragged off the trash heap.
Hands wrapped around the handle of his cart, he nods toward the bin of tomatoes in front of me, a silent question of whether I have what I need or not.
Grabbing a couple more—you can never have too many tomatoes—we move forward slowly along the produce section.
I try to go fast, knowing Nils doesn’t enjoy visits to the town like this, but every time I look over, there is a placid expression on his face, and he smiles when his eyes meet mine.
He reaches for me a few times, resting a hand on my lower back as I ponder the asparagus and patiently waiting while I verbally think through whether I need both red and yellow onions.
I get both because, again, one can never have too many onions.
I grab a few pears for Nils, making sure none are bruised before depositing them in his cart. He loves pears.
Snow is falling when we leave the market, my cart so overflowing with bags that some of them had to be put into Nils’.
I know he finds this funny by the pinch of his mouth and the tilt of his eyebrows.
Overbuying groceries is another habit I can’t seem to break, albeit one that I try a little less hard on than I do the overtalking.
Besides, I’ll use all of this up—probably by next weekend—and I’ve already got a dozen plans of recipes to make Nils this week.
Soup, yes, but also stew and homemade dumplings and croissants.
Maybe muffins, too, to give him something to snack on that’s a little bit sweeter.
“We’re probably going to have to shovel a bit this afternoon,” I comment, watching the snow swirl on the other side of the windshield as we leave the parking lot.
Nils fiddles with the controls, blasting the heat.
I wiggle my fingers around the steering wheel, grateful the trip to town is over with before the roads get too bad. The ice around here is awful.
“Yes,” Nils agrees, turning my heated seat on high.
“Thank you. I got stuff to make hot chocolate—maybe we could have that today. And s’mores! You’ve got a wood fireplace, we could totally cook from it. I definitely have graham crackers and marshmallows at home. Lucky, or we’d have to go back to Salty’s.”
Nils chuckles, reaching across the center console and putting a hand on my leg.
“Powder?” he asks slyly, making me snort.
“No, not powder. Real hot chocolate that you make on the stove. It’s going to change your life. I have some candy canes from the holidays left over. I’ll crush those and put them on top to make it extra fancy. Oh, you know what? I should make gingerbread. That would go great with hot chocolate.”
Nils lets me ramble on as we drive, occasionally speaking a few words but mostly maintaining his silence.
I don’t try to tempt him into conversation, knowing he likes to take a break after what he perceives as a lot of talking.
I know he doesn’t mind listening to me, and as he’s told me on several occasions, he actually enjoys it.
If I didn’t like the man so much, I’d wonder if he was crazy.
We shovel my front walk and driveway after bringing the groceries in.
Some I leave in my car with Nils’, intending to bring them over to his house so I can make dinner for tonight.
The unspoken agreement between us always tends toward spending our time at his house as opposed to mine.
I’m happy with the arrangement. Happy to be in any house, anywhere, so long as Nils is there with me.
Kicking the snow off the bottom of my boots, I rub my glove under my nose. There are a lot of things I actually enjoy about winter, but the constantly dripping sinuses isn’t one of them. Nils reaches over and pushes my beanie down where it had ridden up, exposing my ear.
“Should I pack a bag?” I ask carefully, still feeling a little awkward about requests like that. It feels presumptuous and a bit like I’m backing him into a corner, making it harder to say no. He smiles, gloved fingers dragging gently down my neck as he lowers his hand back to his side.
“Yes. So I don’t have to miss you in the morning.”