Page 35 of The Cabin
“Oh, I don’t know. A Birkin bag might make you feel better for a while.”
I cackle. “If you think I’ve ever been psychologically capable of spending that kind of money on a purse, you know nothing about me, woman.”
“That’s because you’ve never tried.”
I sniffle. “Maybe. I guess it just…doesn’t interest me.”
A sigh. “Yeah, I guess I get that.” She glances at me. “The hot tub is supposed to come later today. That’ll be fun.”
I barely hear her, though. I’m lost in thought. Imagining Adrian, sicker by the day, continuing to pay bills, to set me up financially for life. Thinking about me while he died.
I can’t sob—it feels like that ability has been used up, worn out. Now, crying is a quiet, slow affair. Tears trickling down my nose, one at a time.
Adrian, god, you selfless man. I love you so much. I miss you. Fuck, I miss you.33 days“What’s this?” Tess asks, accepting the box from me.
It’s large, wrapped in white tissue paper held in place by a blue silk ribbon I found in my closet.
“Just open it,” I say.
She doesn’t. Just holds it on her lap. We’re sitting on the back porch, a fire going in the little firepit, a bottle of wine half finished. It’s white wine, a dry white. I still can’t drink red. It reminds me too much of Paris.
“Nads, I don’t want anything from you.”
“I know. But…I just…you’ve been here for me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. You take care of me when I can’t function. You’ve literally kept me fed, kept me from getting dehydrated. You’ve cleaned my house. You’ve done more than the term ‘friendship’ can even begin to cover.” I tap the box. “This is nothing. It’s not even a thank-you, Tess. It’s just…a token, I guess. Appreciation is the only word I can come up with, but that doesn’t cover it either.” I sniffle a laugh. “Just open it, dammit.”
She sighs in something very like frustration. She unties the ribbon, slides the layers of tissue paper off from around the box which is square and black, with a black ribbon tying it closed. The word “CHANEL” is written on the top of the box in large white letters.
“You didn’t.”
I just smile.
She gingerly slowly opens the box. Within is a signature Chanel purse, small, black, quilt-stitched leather, with a chain strap of gold woven through with leather, the clasp in that iconic twin C logo.
“Nadia, no.”
“Nadia, yes.”
“You wouldn’t buy one for yourself, if I’m remembering correctly.” She lifts the purse out. Sniffs it. “You said it was too extravagant for your taste.”
“True.”
“So, why…?”
“Because I wanted to,” I say. “I wanted to find some way of showing you how much I appreciate you, and all you’ve done for me the last…however long it’s been. It’s for our whole friendship in general, but since all this started in particular.” I touch her wrist. “I could never repay all you’ve done, Tess. Never.”
“You’re my best friend, Nads,” she whispers, sniffling. “It’s what we do.”
“You’ve gone above and beyond, Tess. Way above, way beyond.”
She sighs. “Is this your way of kicking me out?”
I laugh. “Hell no! This is your home now, too. For as long as you want it to be home. You move out when you’re ready. Don’t worry about me.”
The laughter hurts. It feels wrong. I have to kind of force it. Because I know it’s necessary, socially. She needs the social signifier that I mean what I’m saying. But I don’t feel like laughing. Inside, there is nothing but sorrow. All other emotions have to be faked.
“I do worry about you,” Tess says. “I see you putting on a brave face, Nads. You’re not a good actress, I have to admit.”
I sigh. Nod. “I’m not okay. But I have to…I have to do something. I can’t just sit around feeling sorry for myself. Missing him.” I blink hard. “I promised him I would try, so this is me trying. I’m going to call my boss tomorrow and have her put me on the schedule for as many hours as she can.”
Tess sighs in frustration. “You can’t bury your grief in work.”
I shake my head. “Tess, I…I don’t know if I know how to grieve any other way. Thinking about him hurts too much. I can’t stop it, and it hurts. It’s all I know how to do. The only way I can take care of myself is by taking care of my patients. It’s what I do. It’s the only part of me that I recognize anymore.”
She handles the purse, opening it, pulling out the wad of stuffing, playing with the strap. “This is beyond amazing, Nadia. Thank you doesn’t begin to cut it.”
I cup her cheek. “You’re not supposed to thank me for a thank-you gift, silly.”
“You’re impossible.” She holds it up. “You seriously bought me a Chanel.”
