Page 93 of Someone to Watch Over Me

It’s also good for my anxiety, which is much better than it was earlier. Talking and laughing help. I need to remember that going forward. When Jim was ill, there wasn’t much point in talking it out, because there was nothing anyone could say to make his situation better for either of us, and there sure as hell wasn’t much to laugh about.

Not that he and I didn’t occasionally revel in the morbid humor that’d been so much a part of who we were before disaster struck. But it wasn’t as funny when the situation was dire and becoming more so all the time.

My parents are thrilled to see Tom and greet him with hugs and praise for how good he looks and how happy they are that he’s set to make a full recovery.

Like me, I don’t think they could’ve withstood another loss, even if they’re nowhere near as close to Tom as they were to Jim. They know he’s an important friend to me and appreciate the way he stepped up for me, even if they were a bit skeptical at first of his offer of a place to live. However, in the months since, they’ve seen him treat me the way any parent would want their daughter to be treated by a friend and a man, and they love him for it.

So they would’ve suffered, too, if we’d lost him.

They’re the cutest couple ever. They met in Puerto Rico when my dad, Carl, was in the navy. My mom, Valentina—or Val, as everyone calls her—was twenty years old and fell madly in love with the handsome sailor who was five years older than her. I get my light brown skin, curly hair, brown eyes and fluent Spanish from her and the athleticism that made me a track star in high school from him.

I always wanted a marriage like theirs—loving, fun, full of laughter and adventure, and I had that with Jim. Maybe one day, I’ll have it again with Tom. That thought would’ve overwhelmed me a year ago. Now, it doesn’t seem so implausible, which is an amazing revelation in and of itself.

The salmon is tasty and tender, the green beans straight from their garden and canned last summer, and the salad crispy and delicious.

“This healthy-eating thing isn’t so bad when the food is so delicious,” Tom says.

My mom beams with pleasure. She used to love to cook for Jim, who we joked ate anything that wasn’t nailed down. The first time he stayed at our house when we were in college, she offered him six different kinds of cereal for breakfast. He said, “Sounds good.” She asked which one. “All of them,” he said. We laughed about that for the rest of his life.

“What’s so funny, Lex?” Dad asks.

“I’m thinking about Jim wantingallthe cereal.” I share the story with Tom and note both my parents watch him anxiously, no doubt wondering what his reaction will be to hearing a story about Jim.

Tom smiles. “I love that. A man after my own heart. My mom used to say I kept Kellogg in business when I was a kid.”

My parents seem relieved by his easy acceptance of a story from our shared past.

“Guys…” I feel the need to put this out there. “Tom knows how much I’ll always love Jim and how happy we were. He also knows it’s important for me to be able to speak freely about him.”

“I like hearing about him,” Tom adds. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him. I think we would’ve been good friends.”

There’s nothing he could’ve said that would’ve meant more to me or my parents.

“I think so, too,” Dad says softly.

Mom raises her wineglass in a toast. “To our Jim.”

Tom and I touch our water glasses to their wineglasses. “To Jim.”

19

Lexi

We send my parents into their cozy den to watch the news and their favorite game shows while we do the dishes. With the dishwasher loaded and the table wiped, I turn to Tom. “I’d like to show you our place downstairs, if you’d like to see it.”

“I’d like to see anything you want to show me, but are you sure you feel up to that?”

I recall telling him how I never wanted to see that basement again after I moved out. “There’re a few things I left here that I’d like to have, so I suppose I need to do it at some point.”

“I’ll be right there with you.”

“Why do you think I waited until now to do it?”

He leans in and kisses me softly. “Lead the way.”

I take his hand and walk toward the basement door, which is in the hallway of my parents’ ranch home. In the den, I can hear them discussing something about Iran and Russia as the news drones on in the background. When Jim was first sick, I tuned out current events, and I still haven’t tuned back in. I lack the bandwidth to take on anything more than my own load. After having been raised in a home where the news is read, watched and discussed daily, I suppose I’ll get back to paying attention at some point, but not today.

Tom and I go down the most familiar flight of stairs in my world. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve run up and down those stairs, especially during the years we lived here, I’d be able to pay off my debt.

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