Chapter 13 #2
I slump down the stairs and into the kitchen where I find Ash in front of a piece of toast, chewing on a biscuit.
The tin that the woman brought earlier is open, abandoned to the side.
Ash seems to be in the middle of making a sandwich but there is only cheese on the counter. It brings a smile to my face.
If I never could do laundry, Ash could never cook. He’ll just slap a cube of cheese on the toast and call it lunch and then complain he’s too skinny, never keeping any weight.
I walk behind him and open the fridge, determined to find something that will feed Ash better.
I find it is fully stocked, something Ash would have never done, and I contemplate who might be helping him.
Ash mentioned my dad being in town, earlier.
The twins, too. Who else has been grocery shopping for us, or bringing shortbread snacks?
I push the thoughts away and ignore the Tupperware boxes labelled “Winnie” and get out butter, ham and a tomato.
“Here, let me.” I push Ash away from the counter with my hips.
Ash just stands there, watching me as I butter the bread and slice the tomato and arrange the ingredients together into a decent meal.
I proceed to make one for myself too, skipping the meat.
It’s only a sandwich but it is delicious after weeks of hospital food.
Biting into the bread, Ash looks timidly at me. “Thanks. Was feeling peckish,” he tells me with a mouth full.
It should be disgusting but he just looks so serene, so relieved I’m back home with him.
His long hair is wet from a shower and dampening the neck of his t-shirt.
His blue eyes are narrow and unfocused and he looks thinner than I have ever seen him.
I want to ask if he has been eating alright but judging by the meal he was making, I think I have my answer already.
Suddenly I need to be closer to him so I move into his space, placing a hand on the counter so that it almost brushes his side.
Ash smells like soap and shampoo and he has a trail of crumbs on his upper lip that I feel the need to lick away.
I think of kissing him again but I really shouldn’t, should I?
It would be unfair, without knowing how I feel for him or how and why we got together.
“Will you show me how to do laundry?” I blurt out needing to do something, anything, that will get me out of here.
Ash frowns, then his face relaxes. He lowers his half-eaten sandwich to the kitchen counter. “Of course.”
We make our way to the basement and as much as I have visited Ash’s house after he’s moved in, I cannot recall ever being down here. There is a large room that must serve as an office and a music studio. Ash closes that door as we walk by and he guides me to the utility room.
“This house has a lot of stairs,” I joke, losing the grip on Ash’s arm and grasping the washing machine instead.
Ash barks out a laugh and I think about kissing him again–in the basement against the washing machine–until he’s breathless and panting and the only sound out of his mouth is my name. One eyebrow raised and a tight-lipped smile, I become conscious of the way Ash is looking at me.
“Do I want to know or shall we proceed with the washing?” He teases me, biting his lip.
Right-o. Laundry. Focus.
If moving is tough, learning about appliances is dreadful. And boring. I agree to everything Ash tells me and once we’re done, I beg for a nap. We slowly make our way back upstairs, leaving the basement and the horrible washer gimmick behind.
I spend the afternoon on the very orange, very comfortable couch, avoiding any attempt to remember the past two years. It’s nearly impossible.
Ash leaves me alone but I want nothing more than his company. When it gets dark, he makes me tea just the way I like it—black, one sugar, no milk—and then he sits next to me.
“Don’t know where to start, huh?”
Shaking my head, I close my eyes. “I can’t remember anything.” I hate how defeated and lost my voice sounds. It doesn’t matter, I gave up trying to play it cool in front of Ash long ago.
“I know.” Ash moves and for a second, I wish he would grab my hand. Instead, he sits perfectly still again, legs tucked underneath him.
“I’m sorry.” I mutter, and finally, I ask, “Why here?”
With a small smile, Ash shrugs. “I wanted to move. You liked this house.”
It’s that simple. It reminds me of what Ash had said in the hospital just a few days ago: I’d do anything for you, Ford.
This time, I don’t hesitate and stretch an arm out, holding my palm up on Ash’s thigh.
The speed with which Ash intertwines his fingers with mine should scare me, but it doesn’t. Holding his hand was my choice and it’s familiar. “My dad’s here?” I ask instead.
“He’s been staying in town,” Ash says, casually.
I hear what he’s not saying anyway: he’s been helping. Helping with Winnie and helping Ash survive this.
“You don’t think I can handle seeing them?”
“This is not about that.”
“It is though.”
Ash is silent for a moment. “It’s hard enough for me. I don’t want to put Winnie through this. Push my stress onto her.”
My heart skips a beat and there’s nothing else I can do but squeeze Ash’s hand tighter in mine.
???
That night I fall asleep in a beige bed.
I don’t dream. Karma is not even giving me that luxury. There’s too many thoughts, too many questions, too many overwhelming unknowns that I wish I knew. But I still keep on taking deep breaths and it’s nearly 2:00 a.m. when I come to a painful conclusion. There’s something I need to know.
So I get up. I walk down the hallway and stop by Ash’s room—our room—and knock gently. Just once, I promise myself. If Ash’s sleeping, I will go back and forget about my stupid need to know things in the middle of the night.
“Come in.”
And so I do.
The room is dark but I can see the shape of Ash’s body, facing the door. The moon is high in the sky and in its light, the room is almost too bright to sleep. Typical Ash, never drawing the curtains. He’s wearing a green shirt and matching shorts and he looks so soft, so handsome.
My mouth hangs open and no words come out. Right, what am I doing there? I don’t have time to find my reasons before I hear Ash patting his hand on the empty space on the bed. A moment later, I’m lying next to him.
“Can’t sleep?” Ash asks.
I shake my head. It’s safer than speaking.
I can’t stand the way Ash’s blue eyes look smaller in the darkness, how the shadows are cutting his face deeper.
I want to take the edges of Ash’s lips and curve them upwards with my fingers.
I want to wipe away the sadness and leave only the happiest version of my friend here.
“So, how was our first time?” I say, hoping my voice won’t betray me. If there’s something I know how to do it’s make Ash laugh. Saying the most unfiltered shit always does the trick.
Ash smacks my arm, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Stop.”
I shrug, and Ash’s fingers start tracing an invisible pattern on my naked forearm. It sends goose bumps up to my shoulder.
“No really. Can I ask you something?”
Breathing out, Ash offers me a malicious smirk. “No.”
I ignore him. “How did we…?”
With a sigh, Ash turns around so that he’s not looking at me.
“You just came over one night. It was right after they fired you and I think you had gone out on a date with that girl, Jessica? Emily? I forgot. You kept saying that nothing in your life made sense, nothing was right anymore. Full panic, existential crisis Ford. So I told you to start small. What does make sense in your life?” Ash pauses, still doesn’t look at me. “And you said ‘you do’.”
The beating of my heart is feral against my ribs and my ears are ringing. I would give anything to have a recollection of the night Ash is talking about.
“Then you kissed me. I stopped you and I asked ‘are you drunk?’ And you replied ‘nope, been sober for…’”
“Eighty-two days,” I finish for him.
Ash meets my eyes, clearly surprised. “You remember?”
But there’s nothing else. Just a flash that reminds me I have always drank too much, I should have slowed down earlier. “No.” I watch as the joy and excitement leave Ash’s eyes, his expression dropping again. I add, “must have been a life-changing kiss, though.”
Ash agrees, lips thinning into a hard line. “I mean, I guess. All of our kisses have been pretty memorable to me.”