Chapter 16
There’s a crash that jars me awake.
“Sorry!” Dave calls out.
He’s in the bathroom off my room.
“I like this shower better than the one upstairs, and I knocked over a bottle of shampoo. Scared the shit out of your cat, apparently, and he ran out.”
My arm throbs, but I get up. “It’s okay. I’ll find him.”
It takes twenty minutes, but I eventually locate Whiska behind the washing machine, which is in a small room off the kitchen. I have no idea how he crammed himself behind there, but he’s there. I snag another book from Dave’s shelf and read to him about a bear, a mouse, and a giant strawberry.
“Lovey, don’t stay there for too long. And I’ll be back soon. You’re okay.”
When I finally wander into the kitchen, Dave pushes a coffee across the counter. “Does this help make up for it?”
Before I even take a sip, I know by the smell and the frothy froth. “Did you get me a Nespresso maker?”
“Maybe.”
“Aiming for hero status, I see.”
“Also, maybe.”
He already won, but this takes him over the top.
The sound of a plow echoes throughout. There’s something so reassuring about that rumbling. Like we’re being taken care of.
“Sounds like we can drive now. Should we go check out your house?” I ask tentatively.
Dave hesitates. “Sure. The roads are probably fine.”
As we drive, the compressed snow from the plows make the tires emit crunches and creaky noises. While I hadn’t seen his house before, I see it now. It’s so cute, such a darling cabin.
But one with a seriously large oak tree that’s now cut his house in half.
Dave balks. “That was a really nice tree.”
I touch his arm. “A really nice tree that also really smashed up your really nice house.” I put my hand on his. “I’m so sorry.”
He walks up the front steps, and I follow.
After he pushes in the front door, he shudders.
I take a peek and see the devastation. Whatever living room he had is gone.
Pretty sure that tree crushed a bit of the kitchen.
The stairway to the second floor is smashed.
Lord knows what else is destroyed upstairs.
God, this is really, really bad.
Dave starts to step in, but I pull him back.
“This is all structurally unstable. Very much so. I watch enough TV to know we need to back off. This could all collapse on us. Like, now.” My voice is oddly calm.
“Okay.” He’s enough stunned that he lets me guide him away, down to the road.
I put an arm around him and pull him against me. “I think this is a 911 moment? Because of the tree situation and whatnot?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he says with a sigh.
After I make a panicked call, it’s only minutes before various emergency vehicles show up with their lights and sirens. This was not an unfamiliar address. They know Dave, and they take care of their own.
Various people in charge talk to Dave, thump him on the back, offer words that are supposed to be comforting.
But nothing undoes the damage to his beautiful house. His home.
He somehow drives us back to the cabin, and we return to see my car in the driveway.
“Well, that’s something at least, right? I’m glad your car is still with us,” he offers as we tromp through the snow and then unlocks the door to what’s our place, I guess.
“Yes, it’s nice that I haven’t destroyed my car. But your house is a bigger concern. You okay?”
“I am,” he assures me. “This is f’ing annoying, but I realize that insurance will handle it all. It’s just a nuisance.”
“Yes. Everything will be back to what it was. It’ll just take time.”
We go inside, and I check on Whiska, who is still behind the washing machine.
The food and water I put out are both untouched, so I put out more, and he doesn’t make a sound.
Then I open a sleeve of chicken puree—something I know he loves.
Anything to entice him. But, dammit, he’s frozen and not coming out, even with my cooing and his favorite treats.
I’ll wait and not panic. Not yet. So, after a giant sigh, I go back to the living room.
And then it’s just me and Dave. Neither of us knows what to do after this insane night. So, I just take a step in and grab his hand.
“I’m lost when it comes to you,” I confess. “I don’t know what we are. If it’s okay to even hug you, to touch you. Where to go to bed.”
Dave gives me his cute, flirty, damning smile. “I’m not sure either.”
“I would kill to go back to that vacation when it all felt easy, and fun, and effortless. I just can’t do anything now. Like, I’m too messed up.” I toss up my hands. “Like, truth? I want us to be us again. Puerto Rico us again.”
“But you can’t right now. It’s okay. I understand.”
“I wish I could.”
I’m still stupefied that I cannot cry. That I cannot feel.
“I’ll wait.”
I drop to the floor and then my hands are knotted in my hair. I seriously don’t know if I want to laugh or cry about the state I’m in. “But what if I’m never me again? What if I’m forever broken into little bits?”
Dave sits down next to me. “Little bits are okay. And they are never forever.”
“Maybe I should just block off the crying. Set a limit.” I lift my head a bit. “Because what if I can’t cry enough? Otherwise, this is who I am forever. A blob on the floor? There has to be a limit.”
Even in my mess, he holds me. “I’m not sure it’s really up to you. It’s up to your body and soul, and you don’t have control. So, just wait.”
“Let time do it’s fucking thing?” I ask.
“Yes.” His arm pulls me in against him. Saving me from utterly losing it. “How about we cuddle up in bed and not worry about anything? Just get into bed and scoop.”
“The best of scoops and cozy pajamas?” That is everyone’s dream request, I imagine.
He pulls me to my feet and leads the way. “Only good, comforting, and huggy scoops,” he confirms. “And always cozy pajamas.”