Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
DONNIE
I end up sleeping a lot. Every time I open my eyes, Connor’s there, either lying in bed next to me or set up in the armchair with his computer perched on his lap. He feeds me, keeps me hydrated, helps me shower, changes the bedsheets.
It’s the second—or maybe third—morning when I finally wake up and don’t feel utterly miserable. I stink. My clothes are soaked with sweat. But my body is oddly light when I sit up and my brain doesn’t pound against the inside of my skull.
“Hey.” Connor sets his laptop aside and comes to sit next to me on the bed. He puts his hand on my forehead. “You’re not so hot anymore.”
I give him a dead stare. “Gee, thanks.”
He snorts and kisses the top of my head. “I meant your fever, silly. I think it broke.”
I give my shoulders an experimental roll. There’s only lingering soreness, like I went for a long ride the day before. “Yeah, I think so too.”
Connor holds out a new bottle of Gatorade. “Hydrate.”
“Yes, sir.”
He smirks as I down half the bottle.
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
His cheeks glow a little pink. “You took care of me.”
“Sounds like we take care of each other.”
Connor’s smile is soft. He gazes at me a little timidly and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the fever and everything to do with how much affection I have for him.
I hold my hand out and he comes to me, squeezing himself behind me so I can lean back against him. My eyes drift shut and I sigh.
I feel so much looser than I used to. I can breathe more easily and I swear my resting heart rate is lower now. It’s a steady thump-thump that lulls me into an almost meditative state.
I let my thoughts drift to Roger and instead of the piercing pain I used to feel, there’s a tender bittersweetness now. I’ll always love Roger. I’ll always miss him at least a little bit. But that suffocating weight of grief I’ve lived with for four years is gone.
That doesn’t make what I have to do next any easier. “So, I was thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“I need to sort through Roger’s things.”
Connor kisses me on that spot where my jaw meets my ear. “I can help.”
“Are you sure?” It doesn’t seem all that fair to ask him to help with this. It’s something I should have done years ago. He shouldn’t have to deal with the mess I’ve made for myself.
“Of course, if you want me to.”
I snuggle back against him, a smile on my lips. How many guys would help his boyfriend clear out his dead husband’s things? How many would sit there, listening to stories and asking questions about the dead husband? Not many. Connor is rare. He’s a jewel.
“You know what else we need to do?”
“What’s that?”
“Make an appointment to get tested.”
The smile that grows on Connor’s face shines brighter than the sun. “Okay, I will.”
We eventually get out of bed. He offers to shower with me. I offer to cook us lunch—or is it dinner? I end up in the shower alone while Connor goes downstairs to the kitchen.
By the time I’m clean and feeling human again, Connor’s got pasta boiling on the stove and ground turkey browning in the pan.
“I found the turkey in the freezer,” Connor says, stirring the meat in the pan. “I hope it’s okay I defrosted it.”
“It’s perfect.” I hug him from behind and my eyes drift shut. It’s so good just to hold him, to touch him, to have him in my arms. To think, I’d resigned myself to a life without this, without someone kind and compassionate and giving, without someone who makes me burn and fills me up.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and I slide my hand down his hip to fish it out for him. Connor looks at the screen and grumbles.
“Who is it?” I ask, not opening my eyes.
“Brad.”
“What does he want?”
“To make sure I’m still going home for my parent’s anniversary.”
“You are, aren’t you?”
“Yeah and I told him that. But he wants to double-triple check.” Connor falls still in my arms. “He’s asking if Miles is coming with me.” His voice is strained.
I pull away from Connor so I can lean my hip against the counter and see his face. He’s frowning at his phone and his shoulders are an inch higher than they were a second ago.
“I’m telling him now,” he says quickly. His eyes flick to me, then back to his phone.
I didn’t expect Connor to have told his family about me. I’ve only just told Phyllis and Leonard, after all. Our relationship is still delicately new, even if it feels like we know each other on a much deeper level already.
“Um, so…” Connor slides his phone back into his pocket. He takes the open jar of tomato sauce and pours it carefully on top of the turkey. “Would you… what do you think about… maybe, possibly coming with me? For the weekend?”
He’s nervous and it’s so endearing. He can’t even meet my gaze. How can I say no to an invitation like that?
To be clear, the prospect of going through the whole “meet the parents” routine doesn’t scream fun to me.
I haven’t gone through that since Phyllis and Leonard and that was almost two decades ago.
A trickle of insecurity runs down my back.
What will Connor’s family think of me? I’m so much older than him.
Widowed. We skipped over all the normal stages of dating and dove straight into living together.
What will happen if they don’t like me? What will happen if I don’t like them? I guess we’ll find out.
“I would love to.”
Connor’s head snaps up. “Really?”
I chuckle at how wide his eyes are, like he can’t quite believe his ears. “Did you think I was going to say no?”
“No, I mean, I don’t know. Maybe?”
I drag him to me for a kiss, slow and sweet, punctuated with a tang of the tomato sauce he tasted straight from the pan. “If you want me there, I’ll be there.”
“I want you there.”
Connor’s food is simple, yet delicious. Or maybe that’s just because I’ve had nothing but hot sodium water for the past couple days. Anything will taste better than canned soup. I still think it’s good though, especially because of the chef.
After eating, I leave Connor in the kitchen to clean up while I go back to bed for a nap.
I might not have a fever anymore, but even a couple hours of sitting around are enough to zap my energy.
When I wake up, Connor’s sitting in that armchair again, hunched over, neck extended, face illuminated by the light of his laptop.
I grimace at the sight. My back twinges from watching him sit in that position.
“Doesn’t your back hurt like that?”
Connor looks up and pulls his headphones down around his neck. He bends to one side, then the other. “Not really. Well, maybe a little?”
A sigh falls out of my lips. “Oh, to be young again.”
He laughs and elbows the cushion behind him. “It’s a comfortable chair!”
Yeah, I know it’s a comfortable chair. I’m the one who bought it. But it’s not meant to be used the way Connor’s using it, and his back and neck and shoulders and everything are going to be angry with him in a couple years.
I push myself off the bed and grab my bathrobe from the foot of the bed. “Come on,” I say, holding out my hand.
I lead him down to the second floor and the door that I’ve kept closed for the past four years.
I put my hand on the knob, take a deep breath, then push it open.
Roger’s office looks exactly the way it did the last time I was in here.
Unlike the last time though, I don’t feel that crippling pain in the middle of my chest anymore.
My lips curl into a smile and I step inside.
“This was Roger’s.” I run my hand along the giant desk he found at an antiques fair. It was almost too big to fit through the doorway. All his management books are still on the shelf. Our smiling faces are tacked to the corkboard on the wall.
There’s a photo that was taken at a birthday party. I can’t remember whose and I can’t remember which year. We’re young though, and we’re happy. It doesn’t hurt when I look at it, only that touch of bittersweetness.
I turn to Connor who’s still hovering in the doorway. “Do you want it?”
Connor’s brows draw together. “Want what?”
Look at him, so sweet. “The office, darling. It can be yours for when you’re working from home. Or when you need a quiet space to write.”
Connor’s jaw drops to the floor. His gaze darts from me to the desk to the chair to the bookshelf and back. “Are you serious?”
I can’t take it. He’s too cute. His eyes are so big. He can’t seem to keep his mouth closed. He’s like a kid who’s been given free rein in the candy shop.
“Yes, of course I’m serious. Although, you’ll have to help me clear out Roger’s things, but then it’s all yours.”
I can imagine Connor here already, sitting at the desk, typing away on his computer.
It’ll be nice having someone use this room again.
To have someone bring life back into what has become a mausoleum.
But that’s what Connor’s been doing all along, hasn’t he?
He’s lured me back from my doldrum existence and reminded me what it means to be me again.
And now he’s infusing some much-needed vibrancy into this old, empty house.
“You can switch up whatever you want. New chair. New desk. You should make the office your own.”
Connor studies the desk for a bit, then pulls the chair out. He glances at me. “Can I?”
I nod and he sits down in it. The chair fits him. His posture is immediately better. When he pulls himself toward the desk, he takes on a confidence that I’m not sure he’s experienced before. His shoulders are back, his chest is forward. He’s sitting tall and smiling wide.
“What do you think?” he asks me, eyes bright and shining.
“It looks good on you,” I say. It looks perfect on him.
“I think I’ll keep this,” he says, running his palms over the desk.
“It’s yours,” I say. All of it—all of me—is his.