Page 74 of Eternally London

“It’s Meatloaf Monday. You came on a good day,” Tommy says to me with obvious sarcasm and a smirk. “The salad bar is pretty decent though.”

We grab our food and take a seat.

“You seem really good, bud. Better than you have been in a long time,” Loïc says to Tommy.

“Thanks, man. Yeah, I finally got a doctor in this place who knows what he’s doing. The concoction that they have me on seems to be working at the moment—for the most part.”

“That’s great.” Loïc gives him a smile.

Tommy directs his attention toward me. “Listen, London, I just want you to know how very sorry I am. I truly didn’t mean to hurt Loïc. He’s been so…” His voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat that’s full of emotion.

“I know.”

He doesn’t have to tell me what Loïc means to him because I can see it.

“I know it was an accident, and I forgive you. I truly do. Please don’t spend another second beating yourself up over it. It’s okay,” I reassure him. “You mean a lot to Loïc, and though I’m sure we all could have lived our lives without that incident, at the same time, it got you to this place where you feel better than you’ve felt in a long time. I guess it was just part of our collective journey.”

I look to Loïc, and he gives me a proud wink and a grin.

Tommy scoffs, “Yeah, I guess. I just wish my journey didn’t consist of me shooting my best friend.”

“All that matters is that you’re still here,” Loïc says, “so I can still beat your ass in Mario Kart.”

We spend a couple of more hours hanging out with Tommy before we head home.

“That’s the most I’ve heard him talk in two years,” Loïc tells me when we’re back in the truck.

“He must be getting the help he needs.”

“Yeah, this is good.” Loïc nods. “The right meds and therapies change everything. I think he’s going to be okay. Don’t you?” Loïc asks, hope filling his beautiful blues.

“He’s going to be okay,” I say with confidence, praying that I’m right.

Loïc

“We are but two imperfect people, yet when we’re together, our flaws vanish. When we’re together, we’re whole.”

—Loïc Berkeley

The end credits ofTrollsplay, and Lindi rolls around on the floor, dancing to the music. She does this every time a movie ends. I think her favorite part of any movie is its ending credits. I’m sure I’m biased, but I swear, she’s a gifted dancer. I see no difference between her moves and the contemporary dancers on the dancing show London forces me to watch with her every summer.

London snuggles into my side, a blanket over our legs, as we watch Lindi. Our Saturday mornings are typically spent cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. I think Lindi has chosenTrollsthe past nine out of ten weeks, but I don’t mind. It’s actually funny, and it has great songs for a kid flick.

Yet again, life is kind of perfect in the Berkeley house. Lindi turned two a couple of weeks ago and was celebrated for days by family and friends, all thanks to London’ssimple, low-keybirthday-party planning skills. I tease her, but I don’t care if she goes all out with Lindi. It makes London happy, her family happy, and most importantly, Lindi happy.

I’ve accepted the fact that my daughter is going to live a privileged life, and I’m okay with it because I know we’ll still raise her to be a kind and compassionate person. She already is really. She’s the sweetest little girl, and I can’t imagine loving her more.

“We should go for a hike,” I suggest, looking out the window at the gorgeous early-summer day.

“Not yet. I’m too tired. I need another cup of coffee first,” London protests. “Lin’s two-year molars are coming in. She kept me up a lot last night.”

“Why didn’t you wake me? You know I’d have helped you.”

“I know. I loved cuddling with her though. Honestly, I didn’t wake you for selfish reasons. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tired this morning.”

“All right.” I move London’s legs off of me and stand from the couch. “Cinnamon-vanilla creamer?”

“Yes, please,” she says with a yawn.

---