Chapter 13
Dave is gone when I wake up in the late afternoon, but he left a handwritten note on the nightstand, which simply says Kyle MacLachlan and Elle Fanning. His handwriting is eloquent, and gorgeous, and full of beautiful cursive loops. It’s artistic and so surprising.
Who even knows cursive these days? This Dave guy seems to.
It takes me ages to get out of bed, but I’ve started to accept that I’ll just live my life in grief and pain. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
Whiska swings at me and hisses when I bring him food before my shower, and I just tell him that he’s a good boy.
For some reason, he’s not scared off by the echoing water, so he stays with me while I sit on the tiled floor and let this rain shower envelop me.
My arm is wrapped in a long plastic casing, and I hold it out of water’s range.
Occasionally, I lift myself to reach the products Dave left out, scrub my hair and body, and rinse off.
This shower is so fucking awesome that if my life is going to be nothing but depressing, moving here could be nice.
Can I live in a shower? I wonder. It’s cozy and nice here. Very spacious.
I somewhat irrationally decide that I can make it work.
Eventually, I get all wrinkly and decide to leave.
Dressing is such a hassle, but I manage to get on a very unattractive sports bra that is hidden away by a luxurious top-and-bottom set, which I paid too much for, but felt justified about buying because I can fit my cast through the sleeve.
My hair situation is still pretty dire, and while I still can’t pin it up in any sort of presentable manner, I at least manage to smear some products in.
Maybe my red curls will dry with not-insane frizz?
God, every little thing feels insurmountable right now.
It’s going to be a mistake to check my email and phone calls, but I’m a glutton for punishment, so I look anyway. And regret it immediately. My agent is livid that I haven’t gotten back to her. She wants this book deal and the Netflix stuff done. Because it benefits her.
When I check my socials, it’s fun to see how much people love what I shared about Dave’s lobster roll and the very kind comments about my shattered wrist and the loss of my friend. Not everyone is vile and hateful, I’m reminded.
While sitting outside in the cold again that night, with a hot drink in hand, a few things hit me.
I’ve always been pushing forward, everything in my life moving so fast, and now I’m forced to sit with myself and ready myself the pain that I didn’t realize had been brewing for long.
Even before Patrick and my shitty break stuff.
How I’m depleted after giving to so many, even though I always want to help.
How much is being demanded of me, the way my agent is pressuring and draining me. She is thinking of herself, not me.
Who is thinking of me?
Maybe for the first time, I appreciate that I goddamn built this wild career on my own. It belongs to me.
I’m allowed to feel proud. For once.
Another fact? While it may appear as though I have a million friends, I really have none. None who are not dead. None who I can call to drive me to the hospital when I have a fucked-up wrist.
My level of depression is growing.
And now there is the damn cat that I took on during the worst possible time. I open a tube of pureed food, and Whiska actually comes out of his cube in the bathroom. He licks this magic treat off my hand before retreating, but it’s a success. One we both needed.
Without warning, Dave barrels in, and again, I hear him drop bags in the kitchen.
“Hungry?” he asks.
I try and fail to grab a scrunchie to put my hair up as I rush out, hoping I look sort of normal. At least I’m in a set of loungewear that is not sushi-themed this time.
I slink to the kitchen and snag a spot on a stool. “Sure, okay.”
As Dave begins to prepare food, he pauses and looks at me with a warm, kind smile.
Slowly, he walks over, takes a tie from my arm, and gently gathers my hair. “I know this bothers you. And your hand is still weak. You’re always cute though.” He kisses me on the forehead like he’s done this a thousand times, as though it were our routine.
David winks and then shucks clams that he presents to me on the half shell, and I suck them down while he prepares a roasted cod with a spicy sauce of fennel, capers, tomatoes, and Calabrian chilis.
While this feels sort of private, I also cannot resist pulling out my phone, and with his permission, I capture his skill at work and the final dish. Somehow getting video that isn’t shaky.
He sets a plate in front of me with some kind of herbed oil and then pulls bread from the oven and tears off a few pieces.
He watches me as I inhale the smell and take a few bites. “Good?”
It’s not often that I taste something totally new, a flavor I can’t identify, but I’m at a loss for this dipping oil that starts off sweet and then hits with a salty punch.
“What? Seriously, what is this?”
“It’s called Nile Dukkah. Hazelnuts, ground with a few things. Pretty good, huh? You can also mix it with heavy cream and Parmesan for a pretty insane pasta sauce.”
After I finish devouring a few more pieces of bread soaked in this blissful oil, I point out something. “You know, you could make big money if you took your food truck into bigger cities during the winters. Why do you stay here?”
He smirks. “I already make big money.”
Given how well appointed this place is and the fees he charges, I smile. “Fair enough.”
Then there’s the main dish.
“Heaven.” The cod about melts in my mouth, and I fear I’m going to melt along with it. “This is incredible. Did you toss in some fresh oregano when I wasn’t looking?”
“I did. Points to you for noticing.”
As he eats from his own dish, he avoids eye contact.
“You know, I looked you up and found your Instagram and your other social media. At first, I hadn’t understood the massive following you had, but you do great stuff.
The way you love your community? The smaller places that cook up the best food?
You’ve got a very unique take. Thank you for tagging me.
My Instagram truck page already has so many new followers.
It’s sort of fun,” he begrudgingly admits.
“I don’t really understand what to do now. With posts. What to share.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” I say with a teasing laugh as I soak up some sauce with the fresh bread.
“I can help with that if you want. Just wait until I actually go to your truck and eat all the things and post all the things. This is what I love to do. Share the places I love. Food I love, people I love.”
“People you love?” Dave asks cutely.
Oh crap. That was a Freudian slip.
After I get my heartbeat to slow, I ask if this bread is his own recipe.
“I wish. Wildgrain. They ship out the best loaves that are par-baked or something. Wish I could bake. Baking, especially bread, is a very exact science that I don’t get.”
“God, this is so good.” I keep dunking my bread and ask him about his gorgeous rental when I finally pass over my empty plate.
“I also checked you out. I mean, online,” I say with a blush.
“And I know you make a killing on rent here. Especially now. Peak season and all. So, why won’t you take my money? ”
Dave is now doing dishes and making an unnecessary racket. Not something I’ve seen before. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him. Or maybe he didn’t hear me.
When he finishes and he’s wiping down the stove, he counters with a small smile, “Why do you think?”
After I cannot come up with an answer and he can see that I’m truly at a loss, he flings the dishrag into the sink, a bit exasperated. “Diana, this place was booked for weeks. And I canceled the reservations I had.”
I shake my head. “Why?”
“For you.”
“But why?” I ask again, truly confused. “You didn’t know about my wrist or my horrid cat. Or Patrick.”
“I figured you’d texted me for a reason. You obviously needed something more important than to just get out of Boston.” He pauses. “I knew it wasn’t a random urge to see me, but I hoped I could help in some way.”
It takes me forever to answer, yet he doesn’t run.
“And maybe I wanted to see you again too,” I say. “I just didn’t want to say so when I was this goddamn messy. I don’t like being needy and vulnerable. I rarely am. This is all new to me.”
“Your messy doesn’t scare me.” He starts to dry dishes now. “We all have messy.”
“Stay here tonight. With me,” I say. Under the half-moon and the smell of the salt air, I confess, “I know about a thousand people in Boston. But no one makes me feel protected. No place makes me feel protected. Until now. Until you. And here. This town and home that you’ve shown me.
So, I want whatever your messy is too. You’ve got to have something. I want to know more.”
“Maybe.” He slams his trunk shut. “And maybe I want to stay here tonight. Like, I really want to. But not like this.”
“Not with me all nutty and emotionally shredded?”
“You are neither of those things.” Dave slowly and clearly reluctantly steps into his car and revs his engine with his door open.
“It’s hard to leave when you’re this crazy beautiful, but also when you’re so, so sad.
It’s going to kill me to drive away right now, but I just want you to be clearheaded when we’re together again.
If we are. But, God, I hope we are.” His wink about drops me to my knees as he slams his door shut.
He’s pissing me off, but he’s also right about us.
Before he takes off, he rolls down his window. “Maybe trade in that silly luxury SUV you have. You’ll be stuck in crap in a heartbeat,” he calls out. “Oh? And stay as long as you’d like, okay?”
Why is he concerned about my being here during bad weather? I wonder as he peels away.
Oh.
He gets it before I do.
I’m going to be here for more than a heartbeat. I’m going to be here long enough to drive through snow and so much more. With him.
After I wander inside, excited, and confused, and dejected, and with too many feelings, I sulk and grab a stack of kids’ books from Dave’s shelf. I plod into the bathroom and toss them to the floor as I wash my face.
When I lean down and stretch my hand just outside of my cat’s cozy house, I’m met with an aggressive swipe and a feral, horrifying hiss.
“Okay, my mistake,” I say as I pull back just in time. “I moved too fast. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
Surely, Whiska didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but he did. Maybe I’m just oversensitive these days. After all, he’s just a scared baby who doesn’t trust anyone.
I settle into the bathroom, the tiles hard against my back, and I prop a book up on my lap and read to this Top Cat about geese named Gossie and Gertie.
It’s positively astounding how he listens and focuses on the pictures and watches as I turn pages.
And after I’m sure he likes this, I read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and Trashy Town.
While he doesn’t make any kind of eye contact with me, I know some sort of wall has been broken. Or at least cracked.
Because just as I start to read about Mr. Gilly dumping trash, my Top Cat shuts his eyes and falls into a clear slumber.
This cat feels secure, at least to some degree. At last.
I stay for just a few minutes until I know he’s in a deep sleep.
After I gently close the book and tiptoe away, I whisper, “I’m sorry that your mom was so mean. And that you’re so sad. I get it, Whiska. I’m sad too.”
It’s now noted that Whiska loves children’s books, and I’m pretty sure I’m still going to get cut up a few times, no matter what I do. But whatever it takes, I’m going to win over this cat.
Back in my bed, I cuddle up with my phone and browse cars. Yes, I have my nice place in Boston. Yes, I like my expensive clothes, but I like simple, easy-to-wear outfits that don’t take a lot of thought. It’s why me and my JAKI brand stuff are going to be lifelong friends.
Now? It’s so simple to do almost everything online. Within minutes after chatting with some bot, I’ve traded in my Audi for a winter-approved Subaru that will be delivered tomorrow. My car is eight years old and pushing two hundred thousand miles, and I guess I deserve an upgrade.
I like my creature comforts—good food, a cozy home, and comfortable clothes. Simple, clean, sleek.
Given my now-insane schedule, I’m not cheering that I have to get up at ten in the morning to sign papers and such, but I click the Agree button. Online car shops don’t account for broken bones, feral cats, or dead friends, and how much those things mess with sleep. Mess with everything.
Nobody really does.