Chapter 16 #2
So I took a nap and, predictably, dreamt of Nico and his…apple fritters. I may or may not have been licking the sticky sugar and apple juice from his bare stomach to his collarbone, and he may or may not have been bringing me to bliss while forcibly restraining me.
I awoke hot and sticky and with my legs, middle, and arms tangled in sheets—which explained the restraint by force portion of the dream—and decided I needed another cold shower.
I stumbled across Nico’s mix-tape CD when I was getting dressed. Man scrawl stared at me from the inside of my underwear drawer where I’d unthinkingly placed it for safekeeping. At first, I ignored it as I rummaged around for some very white cotton underwear and a sports bra.
I dressed myself in yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt with a chemistry joke about methane inscribed on the front; crude chemistry jokes were my favorite, followed closely by Star Trek puns.
I pulled my hair into a tight ponytail and attempted to busy myself—and hopefully center myself—with some yoga.
But thoughts of the CD in my underwear drawer, touching my underthings, kept me from focusing. After fifteen minutes of mental arm-wrestling while trying and failing to do a firefly pose, I stomped over to the drawer, pulled out the CD, and pushed it into the player connected to our stereo.
I waited, breathing hard for no apparent reason, hands on my hips.
Freaking Nico.
The first notes of the first song startled me. A single cello followed by a group of violins played in abrupt unison—one over the other—and created a solid yet stunted rhythm. Then a woman’s voice, thick and rich and familiar, sang the opening words.
As the song unfolded, a heady modern bass beat reverberated in the background.
I recognized the song and the singer—Shirley Bassey singing “Where Do I Begin”—and further recognized that it was a remix, and that the remix was masterfully done, resulting in a solid, modern, edgy reimagining of an old standard.
I walked back to my exercise mat now feeling curious.
Music, quality music, flowed over me, and I easily centered myself.
I spent the next half hour doing yoga, holding poses somewhat longer than typical.
I strained to listen to the words of the songs and held my breath in anticipation of what would come next.
Some songs I recognized, some I didn’t. They ran the gamut of decades and musical genres. I repeated a few—like The Cars’ “My Best Friend’s Girl”—and I would have skipped a couple of them if I’d known the words ahead of time.
The most distressing song—and one of the songs that I’d never heard before—was a very low-key pseudo-rock song about the last days of a person’s life from the perspective of the one left behind.
The line just before the chorus, and the chorus for that matter, caused a lump to form in my throat. The singer stated, “Love is watching someone die,” which was then followed by a chanting response of “Who’s going to watch you die?”
It gave me chills and instantly made me think of Garrett and his last months, hospice coming to his house, sitting with him the week before he died, watching him sleep.
Musically, the song was remarkable and beautiful, and I loved everything about it other than the words. I had no desire to hear it again.
There were a total of seventeen songs. I stopped my yoga poses for the last two and lay quietly on the couch listening to the music. The last stanza of The Drifters’ “Save the Last Dance for Me” marked the end of the CD.
When the CD ended, I didn’t get up. Instead, I lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, with only the faint sounds of Chicago traffic marring the silence. Nico was right. The music he’d selected for the CD was good music. I missed good music.
I walked to the stereo and hit Play again.
I listened to the CD over and over for the rest of the day—another attempt at yoga, doing laundry, bills, checking email, knitting two more newborn hats then starting on Angelica’s sweater, eating Chinese takeout—but I always skipped song number six, the one about being left behind.
When 9:45 pm rolled around, I wandered up to Nico’s penthouse.
I felt strangely satisfied after spending the afternoon listening to good music, and I was excited to see Nico. I knocked on the door before I opened it with my key, hopped in and bounced to the living room. All the hopping and bouncing—quite unlike me—betrayed my anticipation.
I heard noise coming from the kitchen so I called out to let anyone in the vicinity know that I’d arrived, and then I crossed to the infusion chair to prep the space for Angelica.
“Hi, Elizabeth! I’m in here. Just give me a minute to finish up,” Rose called from the kitchen. A moment later, she came out holding a plate full of biscotti and a cup of tea. “Well, these are for you. Let me go get Angelica. She’s been asleep for the last few hours.”
“I’ll get her.” I offered, and I moved toward Angelica’s bedroom without waiting for a response. “Isn’t Nico here?”
“No, but he should be right back. You just missed him when you left earlier. He and Angelica have been playing My Little Pony all afternoon, bless him. They wore each other out, I think. And now he’s gone to the market before it closes.” Rose set my tea and biscotti on the coffee table.
“You sent him to the market? Won’t he be recognized?”
She tossed her hand in the air to wave off my concern. “I need fresh sweet basil. The least he can do for his mother is help out around here once and a while.”
“Why not just send one of the guards?”
“They wouldn’t know sweet basil from oregano. He’ll be fine. He likes to do it.” With that, she walked back to the kitchen; a moment later, I heard the unmistakable sound of dishes being done.
I found Angelica asleep in her room, her face covered with a night mask connected to her breathing apparatus. I carefully picked up her small body in my arms and wheeled the apparatus after us. It would be ideal to interrupt her sleep only briefly while administering the study drug.
One of her small hands rested on my chest over my heart as I carried her.
I smiled and felt warmed by the contact; I deposited her gingerly in the living room.
Rose sauntered out of the kitchen just as I finished the infusion and took Angelica’s vital signs.
Rose handed me a blanket, which I used to wrap up the little slumbering patient, and I carried her back to her bed.
Before I left her room, I kissed her on the forehead.
Something about a sleeping Angelica, likely a fairy dust she exudes while dreaming, makes leaving her without a kiss completely impossible.
I also loitered by her bed, watched her sleep, brushed her hair from her face.
Then, telling myself I was being ridiculous, I kissed her hand and left.
As soon as I emerged from the hallway, I glanced at my watch. It was 10:45 pm.
“Come sit next to me and have some tea. I made these cookies just for you.” Rose patted the sofa beside her; she held a cup of tea and was wiping crumbs of biscotti from her bathrobe.
I wanted to stay. I hoped Nico would come home soon so that I could talk to him about the CD. I liked the idea of chatting with Rose and catching up on all the Manganiello gossip. I liked her biscotti, and I loved peppermint tea.
I had a dark, empty apartment downstairs full of nothing interesting, so I stayed.
At first, Rose talked a bit about the family and the restaurant with swift precision. She made her way through all her children—in order from oldest to youngest—and focused a bit longer on those who were not married, who were career minded.
It was the tea and cookies that ultimately led to my downfall.
Rose had successfully distracted me with yummy treats and, therefore, I didn’t realize until it was too late that her not so subtle hints—about community and family and love being much more important than work—were leading to a stealth attack.
“Take for example you and Nico.”
I stopped chewing and stared at her, likely resembling a deer caught in semitruck headlights. She smiled like a fox and continued.
“Nico is twenty-seven now, did you know that? He may not realize it yet, but he’s ready to settle down with the right girl and start a family. I feel certain that the two of you have been brought back together for a divine purpose. I always said to your mother that the two of you were meant to be.”
I gulped my tea, swallowed a large chunk of the almond cookie, and glanced at my wrist where I wasn’t wearing a watch. “It’s getting really late, Rose, and I have to get up early for Angelica’s next infus….”
She placed a staying hand on mine and held me hostage with her clever eyes and authoritative posturing.
“No. You’re going to stay with me for a minute.
I want to talk about this with you. You might think it’s none of my business, but Nico’s happiness, your happiness—these things are my business.
I love you and care about you. I held you when you were a baby… .”
“Rose….” I closed my eyes and hoped she’d yield to the pleading within my voice.
“I’m not going to leave it alone until you explain to me why you don’t like my son.”
My eyes flew open. “I do like your son!”
“Is it me? The family?”
“No. You know I love your family.”
“You think you’re too good for him? Because you’re a doctor?”
“God, no! It’s the other way around. He is definitely too good for me.”
“Nonsense. At least be honest with me.”