Page 47 of Of Literature and Lattes
“That they do.”
Within seconds Liam and Lexi had sandwiched them into the booth, ordered more wine and a few more dishes, and started talking over one another about the evening’s whos, whats, whens, and wheres.
And they didn’t let up for three hours. After a salmon tartare with red onion, egg, and crème fraîche; a stunning foie gras with cognac and cherry jam; a ricotta gnocchi; a pork paillard; a clementine and fennel salad; and an outstanding cassoulet, along with numerous other side dishes, Alyssa thought she was going to be sick.
“No more.”
“One more.” Liam motioned to one of the waiters, who brought four slices of their famous olive oil cake and four small glasses of his pineapple-infused tequila.
Alyssa reached under the booth for her bag and knocked four Tums into her palm.
“You can’t be serious?” Lexi’s voice filled with worry.
“You’re the one who fed me all this.” Alyssa tried to deflect the concern, but Lexi’s eyes said she’d failed.
“Good food and friends are supposed to ease your stress, not cause it.”
“And they are. It’s just going to take time—that and an FBI interview. But I’m getting better, I promise.” She gave her friend a half hug and lifted her glass. “To good food and even better friends.”
They clinked glasses, and Lexi sighed. She then stood, walked around the horseshoe booth, and gestured for Alyssa, Jeremy, and Liam to scoot over. Alyssa knew she wanted to sit next to her husband. Lexi tucked in next to him as he draped an arm around her. She snuggled back, and he kissed the top of her head.
Alyssa nudged Jeremy. “They do it right.”
He nodded.
As Alyssa watched her best friend, something unfurled within her. When Lexi’s parents starting fighting, really fighting, in the sixth grade, Alyssa’s home became her friend’s most weekends. And when Alyssa lost it with her mom, pitched away her life as she knew it, and decided—in a two-week time frame—to go “save the world” with XGC, Lexi had her back. She helped her close down her Chicago apartment, arranged the move, and as far as Alyssa knew, didn’t cross the battle lines and speak to Janet again. If her mom was telling the truth and “the fight was over,” Lexi needed to be freed too.
And Alyssa thought she should probably begin by giving her best friend both an apology and a thank-you.
Chapter 21
Alyssa unlocked the back door and stood in the dark kitchen. It was as cool and silent as the day she came home almost three weeks before. What saddened her now was not how lifeless and void it felt, but how different it might have been, could be at this very moment, if only she could let it.
She crossed through the kitchen and stood at the bottom of the stairs. In the dim light of the moon shining through the windows, only the bright dots of yellow, silver, and white within her favorite painting could be seen. It felt as if she were looking at an endless night sky, unable to see where the painting stopped and the wall began. She felt small. Insignificant. But rather than upset her, it was a wonderful diminishing. Tonight it made her feel like something bigger existed, and all this would pass away and, as Jeremy said, she’d be okay. That’s what the painting had always given her: a place—albeit small—to stand. Tonight it gave her hope. She touched her lips, reliving a little more hope and something even sweeter.
She climbed the stairs and paused outside her mom’s bedroom door. It was open, but it was as neat as when Alyssa had left the house that morning. She suspected Janet was staying later at her studio within the bookshop to give her space. Space she wasn’t sure she wanted.
Acid burned her stomach, and she turned back down the hall to her own room. She needed more Tums. Lexi had pulled out all the stops tonight but, Alyssa moaned, that didn’t mean she should have eaten it all.
She popped a few more Tums, brushed her teeth, and crawled into bed—only to wake what felt like moments later in a cold sweat. At least she thought she was awake. She couldn’t clear the fog from her head. It felt like she was thinking through water. Her stomach was on fire and she ached. Her whole body ached, not just her back, but her fingers and her ankles. Even her shoulder felt tender against the pillow. Everything throbbed as she tried to roll over again. She felt herself curl tight with the pain. Then cold shot through her brain.
“Alyssa? Alyssa?”
She pushed against the bed. Her wrists hurt. She tried to gain distance from the cold.
“She has a fever.”
Alyssa felt her shoulder shake. The movement reverberated down her spine.
“Honey? Do you hear me?”
“Can they burst?” She spoke through fog, her mouth now full of cotton. She wondered if her lips were cracking with the effort. Her words tasted like a dry biscuit.
“Can what burst?”
“Ulcers.”
“She has ulcers?” Janet’s voice lifted. Alyssa knew she was talking to someone else and not to her.
