Chapter Eighteen #2
“Oh, yes!” Carmen reaches for a white paper bag. “This is for you. And the coffee is yours, too.” She slides a white to-go cup toward me.
“Thank you.” Curious, I open the bag and discover two individually wrapped sandwiches and a handwritten note. The savory smell of bacon and fresh bread makes my stomach growl as I unfold the paper.
Two of my favorite brioche sandwiches from Tart and Soul for one of my favorite people. Feel free to share, but EAT.
Everett
P.S. I noticed you drank your coffee black after dinner the other night, so there’s no cream or sugar in this. Sorry if I got it wrong.
My entire body warms, and my brain regresses to middle school.
He likes me! He likes me!
He notices things about me, like how I take my coffee. He wants to do nice things for me, like making sure I eat on long days. He went out of his way to drop everything off, even though I’m sure he’s busy.
I feel like twirling in circles. Jumping up and down. Kicking my feet.
I settle for a smile and tuck the note into my purse. I reach for the coffee and inhale the bittersweet aroma emanating from the lid.
“Lucky girl,” Carmen says with a smile. “Is the mayor your sweetie?”
“No. Just a friend.”
Her eyebrows peak. “A friend, huh?”
“Yes.” I take a sip of coffee. It’s hot and delicious. “But he’s making it very hard to keep it that way.”
Back in my mother’s room, I offer her a sandwich. “Everett brought these from Tart and Soul. Would you like one?” I ask, pulling them out of the bag. “Looks like both have egg, one has bacon, and one has sausage.”
“No, thank you. My stomach isn’t up for that sort of thing.” She sips her water through a straw, leaving a red lip mark on it. “Very thoughtful of him.”
“Yes. I need to call him and say thanks.” I sit down in the chair and take a bite of the bacon-and-egg sandwich.
“Of course. Just be careful, darling.”
I swallow before inquiring, “Careful of what?”
She takes another sip of water. “I shouldn’t say anything.”
“But you did,” I point out. “So what is it you’re thinking?”
“I just know how you can come on.”
“How I can come on?” The words feel hot enough to scald my tongue. So much for convalescence softening my mother’s edges. “And how’s that?”
“Well, too aggressively, if I’m being honest.” One bony shoulder rises. “You seem to fall in love very quickly. I just think it would be wise to be more measured in your approach.”
“More measured,” I repeat.
“Yes. You don’t want to risk turning him off by being too overzealous.”
“And a phone call to say thanks for bringing me food is overzealous?” My voice rises like hot air.
“You don’t have to get angry, darling. You know I’m only telling you these things because I love you.”
I don’t believe you.
“I’m only trying to protect you,” she continues.
The few bites of sandwich I’ve eaten turn to lead in my stomach. “Protect me from what?”
“From making a mistake. Men don’t like it when women are too easily won. It’s better to be a little stingy with your affection.”
Well, Mom, you’re the expert on being stingy with your affection. How’d that work out for you?
The words are in my throat, but I manage to swallow them down.
Because this is all my fault. I never should have told her about Everett. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved with him in the first place.
“I appreciate the advice, Mom.” My voice is even and calm. “But it’s not necessary. Everett and I are just friends.”
“Good. You know I only want what’s best for you, darling. And jumping into a relationship so soon after your divorce seems ill-advised. It would only be a rebound thing.”
I put the rest of my sandwich back in the bag, my appetite gone.
Jenny arrives with soup and crackers for my mother, and she picks at the meal. A doctor comes in and checks on her, we watch some television, and she falls asleep by late afternoon.
Desperate to escape the room, I grab my phone and slip into the hallway. I take the elevator down to the first floor and go outside, inhaling deep gulps of fresh air, holding it in, counting to four, then exhaling slowly.
After a minute, I call Everett. His voicemail picks up.
“Hey Everett, it’s Mila. Thank you so much for bringing the food and coffee today.
That was very kind of you, although not necessary.
I ate one of the sandwiches earlier, and I saved one for later.
My mom seems to be doing well.” I pause, hating that some part of my brain is questioning whether my tone seems measured enough.
“Anyway, thanks again. It was good seeing you. Take care.”
Cringing, I end the call, feeling like an idiot.
It was good seeing you? Take care?
In my quest not to sound overzealous about the fucking sandwiches, I sound wooden and disinterested.
Immediately, I start to text him.
Hey, sorry if I sounded weird on the VM I just left you. It’s been a crazy day, and I was just trying to
I stop. Trying to what? Be more stingy with my affection?
I hate myself. What am I even doing? Why did I think I could handle this?
Maybe it’s for the best if I sound disinterested.
Maybe my mother is right about me falling in love too quickly, coming on too strong, being too easily won.
I’ve been here before, haven’t I? I’ve mistaken the fiery intensity at the start of a relationship for something that would last. I’ve substituted sex for connection.
I’ve told men I loved them because I wanted to hear them say it back.
Beyond that, I’ve laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, faked dozens of orgasms, and played down my intelligence to make a man feel smarter.
I’ve even pretended it doesn’t bother me when someone squeezes the toothpaste tube from the middle—a vile offense in my estimation.
Mom is right. I’m not good at this. And if I’m not careful, I’m going to keep making the same mistakes over and over again.
After deleting what I typed, I go back inside.