Page 77 of The Best Book Boyfriend
“Are you the kind of person who knows they need help and asks for it, or do you just go off grid?” She must already know the answer. “What I mean is, does anyone else know you’re feeling like this?”
I don’t say anything.
“Oh Luke,” I hear the worry in her voice. “It makes me sad to think how long you could be like this with nobody checking in on you.”
“Rob texts me most days.”
“I’m gonna need a number for him.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not OK. When you didn’t reply, I thought maybe you just weren’t talking to me, which is fine, but I was worried about you. I know I can be dramatic, but when I was on the way over here, I genuinely thought I might have to break down your door and find you stuck on the floor upstairs with a broken hip or something.”
“Jesus, I’m not that old.”
“I know, but I’ve got an awful imagination sometimes. Anyway, I would appreciate having the number of someone else in your life, just in case of emergencies.”
“I’m sorry for making you worry.”
“I’m a worrier. I’m always going to worry. Let me get you a drink of water.”
My face crumples when she leaves, my shoulders shaking like I’m about to cry, but my tears are stuck inside me. I hate that she’s seeing me like this. And I hate that I care. My grief is all I have left of my wife. I’m supposed to feel like this every day. I lie back and sink my head under the water, letting it all escape there instead. When I come up for air, Kara is standing there with a glass, looking anywhere but at me.
“Where do you keep your spare bedding? I’ll change your sheets while you finish up.”
“In the hall cupboard.” And she’s gone again. I drink the water, and the icy liquid coating the inside of my throat feels harsh against how hot the rest of my body is.
“Luke,” she calls through. “Is there anything in here I can’t wash?”
“What do you mean?”
“Anything special. Like this scarf.” She reappears in the doorway, sounding choked up and when I look at her face, I know she knows. I don’t know whether I’m upset that she’s found it, or I’m upset that she clearly gets it.
“Can you just put it on my bedside table, please.”
“OK. I’m being really careful with it,” she says, her voice small and quiet. I can’t breathe, so I sink underneath the water again and come up just in time to see her head off down my hallway. After a quick scrub, I slowly climb out and reach for a towel. She’s left a clean t-shirt and sweatpants by the sink for me.
Back in my room, Kara has changed the bedding, opened the curtains and thrown the windows wide. There’s a chill in the air, but I appreciate the freshness. I fold Heather’s scarf and place it back in my bedside drawer. Kara has cleared away all my empty coffee cups and cereal bowls. I think about going downstairs, but hovering at the top of them, I can hear her stacking the dishwasher.
“Hey Luke,” she calls up. “You want to hang out on the sofa or go back to bed?” I appreciate the permission to not have to venture out of my bubble.
“Bed.” I yell down, my voice still croaking.
“OK. You get comfortable. I’ll bring you up some food.”
Crawling underneath the covers, I’ve never appreciated clean sheets so much in my life. They’re cool and fresh and I’m mortified all over again thinking about how much I’ve been wallowing. I’m a pathetic, disgusting slob.
“Time to sit up buddy,” she says when she walks back into the room, a little more upbeat. I do as I’m told, and she plumps an extra pillow behind my back.
“You’re making me feel a hundred years old,” I moan, even though that’s the way my sad, aching, tired body feels after the way I’ve treated it this week. She’s found a tray in the kitchen and filled it with little dishes of things; toast, fruit, cheese, nuts, fresh juice. It’s so nice it’s like being punched in the chest.
“I wasn’t sure what you fancied, so I brought a few things. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Just sad.”
“Do you want to be cheered up or stay in the sad?”
What a way to put it.“Stay in the sad.”
