Chapter 21
Imiraculously wake before nightfall, feeling better and more grounded than I have in so long.
When I open a can of cat food, there’s a yowl from the bathroom that stuns me.
And when I set a plate of food outside of Whiska Hargitay’s bed, he meows again and comes out of his cave.
I lift my hand and hold out a finger, as per the million video recommendations, and this damn cat finally rubs a chin against my finger and lifts a tail.
A lifted cat butt is so cute. I’m allowed to stroke his cute nose one time, and then I have to whip my hand away when he lashes out with claws.
Yes, I know I was pushing it, but it’s a really good step, and I am walking on air when Whiska retreats to his pillowy cube.
Dave wakes up. He has taken a few days off, only after Anj and I pressured him, and I’m glad he’s finally gotten some sleep.
Staying in bed all day sounds horrible, and I did it for too long.
But it’s actually healing. Shutting down is okay.
Dave needs that now. He’s exhausted. Been drowning himself in work. Escaping something.
Maybe escaping in me, as I have been in him? More importantly, we are healing each other. We can do both at the same time, which is beautiful.
While I try to entice him with yummy bedside Nespresso, Dave shakes his head. “Come back to bed.”
It’s an impossible invite to resist. So, I crawl into his hold, his heat. And I let myself drown in the way he demands that we explore each other.
I think it’s a day later when we emerge from our lust and when we are nearly too drained to function that Dave pulls me from the bed, both of us half dressed.
“Showers? And food?” he asks.
“Agreed.”
“My aunt’s tapas place, yes?”
“I might faint if she’s got white anchovies. Those are impossible to find.”
“Please don’t faint. But she does.”
I step toward the bathroom. “I know you said showers, but can we make it just one shower? You know, just to conserve water?”
Dave nods as he lowers his sweats. “I think that’s the responsible thing to do.”
Our shower does not conserve water. There is a lot of shampooing and conditioning and body washing that is not necessary.
Our drive north is fun, full of music and hand-holding. But he is solemn for a bit after we park.
“My uncle loved her so much. Sort of a Patrick and Katrina love, I suspect.”
“So, we’ll honor that,” I say.
My jaw about drops when we enter, and David exchanges a few words in Spanish with his aunt.
He shrugs. “I learned a few phrases.”
She hugs me, so he must have said more.
The place is absolutely bustling, and David waves to a number of people from town. The fishermen and lobstermen who devour endless seafood from David’s truck also want meat and veggies now and again, and they are clearly happy to make the drive to get some.
I have to capture all of this. As small plates come to our table, I’m rejuvenated.
This kind of food makes me recommit to sharing what I love.
We devour patatas bravas, gambas al ajillo, albondigas, and—my all-time favorite—white anchovies.
Dave laughs as I scoop up these little fish onto a slice of exquisitely homemade bread.
And his aunt is thrilled to have me behind the scenes, recording in the kitchen as she cooks, and even David gives his nod of approval. He’s sweetly crazy about this warm, wonderful woman.
Who would have thought that a tapas place would be thriving in such a rural town?
The meal is amazing. His aunt is amazing. This food makes me want to scream. I do my best not to groan and kick up my feet while I eat. My posts about this are going to get such love, and I cannot wait.
As we walk out, hand in hand, I make Dave promise that we are coming back for this feast at least once a week until I leave.
And then we both suddenly realize that neither of us knows when I’m leaving. This trip was never set in any kind of stone. I’ve been sort of squatting in his Airbnb.
I fumble a bit as we get to his car. “This was all supposed to be temporary. An escape. And now it’s more complicated.”
“Or maybe it’s now simple.” He pushes me back against the car and brushes back my hair. “There’s no reason to figure things out now.”
“At least through the holidays maybe,” I say. “It’s not as though I have family or plans that mean anything.”
“Then stay with me. My family would love to have you.”
“They know about me?”
He laughs. “No. But they will.” His voice softens in the cutest way. “I want them to.”
Back at the house, I feed Top Cat, who meows when I open a can of food and then licks my hand when I offer him a treat that Dave picked out. A pureed treat that I’ve spread over my wrist, which Whiska loves.
It’s such a fun interaction, even when he retreats back to his cube. To boot, he gives me happy tail wags when I read him a book.
Dave and I ease into bed, a routine that feels so wonderful.
“Stay as long as you’d like. Maybe don’t leave. Not ever.”
His words shake, and envelop, and terrify, and fill me with love.